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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 4 years ago

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prim’s wildemount map scale adventures

i apologize in advance to the folk that use screen readers for this post’s reliance on image references, i will do my best to make my logic and the contents of the images comprehensible in the text portions.

this post isn’t about spoiler territory either, so i won’t go into detail about how recent developments with e111 were the initial reason i started thinking about distance on the official wildemount maps. besides, i think plenty of people will understand when i say that my digging got a lot bigger than the initial question itself lol. regardless, i’m making this post in the hopes that it might be a little helpful for anyone dealing with the same confusion.

see, i realized the funny thing about the official wildemount maps is that they don’t have any scales. as a basic explanation, scales are those funky little bars usually found on maps that illustrate what distance on the map is equivalent to what distance in ‘reality’—AKA the scale of the map.

however, for whatever reason, matt and co. did not create any for the broader wildemount maps like of the menagerie coast or the zemni fields.

[id: two images from the explorer’s guide to wildemount. the first depicts the region of the menagerie coast and related islands in the lucidian ocean. the second depicts the zemni fields, which is the central area of western wynandir and the dwendalian empire at large. map scales are absent from both images. /end id.]

this was a little baffling and unhelpful, but i’m not here to judge matt about his choice to not include scales, considering how it would give people on twitter even more ammunition to rudely question his dming with.

but then i discovered that the maps of the major cities do have scales.

(continuing past a readmore.)

[id: an image from the explorer’s guide to wildemount. it is a map of the city of rexxentrum, the capital of the dwendalian empire. in the lower left corner is a compass rose illustrating the cardinal directions and a scale. /end id.]

at first, i was excited. maybe i could use the city’s map scale to approximate a scale for the larger maps. it wouldn’t be super accurate, especially as things got bigger and errors grew larger, but it would be a little better for some thought experiments than no scale at all.

but then it got weirder.

since the map of rexxentrum takes up a full page, the resolution of the image makes it difficult to read the map scale. so let me zoom in.

[id: an image at a higher resolution of the lower left corner of the rexxentrum map, clearly displaying the compass rose and the scale. the scale is a thin horizontal bar separated into four equal lengths of alternating black and white, with indicators claiming that each part represents 500 miles for a total bar length of 2000 miles. /end id.]

so. maybe some of you can already tell what the problem is.

for those with slightly worse spatial understanding though, that map scale is measuring in miles. and a mile is pretty damn long.

let’s have a comparative illustration from real life to show my point. los angeles, california, is the city in the united states where the critical role cast live and work and stream us their wonderful d&d games. the los angeles area as a whole is massive. anyone who lives there understands what i’m saying and has probably wept before while in traffic (and i’m sorry).

if we use the google maps function to get a distance in miles between two points in the los angeles area...

[id: a screenshot of a google maps route for traveling on foot from the olive view-ucla medical center in the far north of the los angeles area to the los angeles international airport in the southwest. the route is fairly direct as the bird flies due to the on-foot nature of the route and is labeled to be a distance of 31.1 miles. /end id.]

this is a pretty good representation of the distance from one end of los angeles to the opposite end. a modern city with a population of about 4 million people, filled to the brim with urban sprawl and suburbs.

and that distance is 31 miles, or about 50 kilometres.

that scale in the corner of the rexxentrum map? its claimed length of 2000 miles (over 3200 km) measures less than a seventh of the apparent width of rexxentrum. according to the scale, you would have to travel a distance of over 14,000 miles (over 22,500 km) to get from one end of the city to the other.

simply put, that scale at face value is nonsense lol.

[id: a screenshot of discord messages with no identifying account attached. the messages begin with, in all caps, “EXCEPT THE SCALE FOR REXXENTRUM MAKES NO SENSE” (new line) “WHAT IS THIS MATT MERCER?????” an image of the lower left corner of the rexxentrum map follows. below that is the final visible message which reads, in all caps, “DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG A MILE IS SIR. DO YOU KNOW HOW FAR TWO THOUSAND MILES IS SIR.” /end id.]

so. maybe you are wondering if matt, huge nerd that he is, is making some oblique historical reference to a previous measurement of a “mile” that is way shorter than the modern standard mile. that was the first possible explanation to occur to me! unfortunately, based on the wikipedia article on the mile throughout history, there is no prior known definition of a “mile” short enough to make this scale make any sense.

so maybe the explanation is a unit error. maybe it’s meant to be a smaller unit of length, like a metre or a foot.

i spent a bit of time trying to guess which unit it might be by comparing details of the map to each other, since there are detailed individual buildings and roadways illustrated. it quickly became obvious, though, that the details were more for artistry and not to a reliable scale.

so it was time to dive into the transcripts.

i looked for a point where matt not only described the length of time it took for the mighty nein to travel from point A to point B within rexxentrum, but a point A and a point B that i could locate with confidence on the map. i found a scenario that fit the bill in e86, “the cathedral,” when the party raced from the cobalt soul branch in rexxentrum to the chantry of the dawn.

MATT: [...] And you've stepped out from the Rexxentrum Archive of the Cobalt Soul into the wet, slick cobblestone streets of the city, heading eastward towards the base of the Shimmer Ward, where it is believed this cathedral, known as the Chantry of the Dawn, stands.

this bit (beginning 13:39) is the first clue in matt’s narration to locating the endpoints on the map. the chantry of the dawn is located near the base, suggesting the immediate south, of the shimmer ward, and is in an eastward direction from the cobalt soul. this is consistent with the relevant textual descriptions in the explorer’s guide to wildemount: the rexxentrum branch of the cobalt soul is located within the court of colors on the west side of the city, while the chantry of the dawn is near the southern wall of the shimmer ward.

[id: two images of the rexxentrum map. the first is composed of the center and western area of the city, displaying the labeled wards of the tangles and the shimmer ward along with individual points labeled “R7,” “R6,” “R3,” “R1,” and “R2″ from west-most to east-most. at the bottom is the map scale, added for reference, that measures about a fifth of the entire image.

the second image is the legend of the map, which defines a few of the illustrated details and clarifies the R-series labels. truncated to relevance: R7 is the court of colors, R6 is the vigil’s circle, R3 is the academy grounds, R1 is castle ungebroch, and R2 is the candles. /end id.]

as the party made their way to the chantry, matt revealed a few more notable details on where precisely they’re traveling through (17:18).

MATT: [...] Your [Caleb’s] eyes train on the rising walkways and towers of the Soltryce Academy that are peeking over the walls of the Shimmer Ward that you can just make out on the horizon as you pass by a series of buildings where the roofs are a bit lower than the other ones you've been rushing by. You can see pale yellow walls that surround the Shimmer Ward of the capital.

You begin to approach the exterior of the Vigil’s Circle, which is a region between where you are and your destination, as noted by the network of ring-like streets that denote the circular marketplace, some varied shops, and industries that normally fill this area, as well as the mini-fortress of gray rock known as the Tower of Writ.

the view of the soltryce academy is consistent with an approach from the western side of the city, since the academy is located along the inner side of the shimmer ward’s northwest wall. the placement of the vigil’s circle in between the cobalt soul and the chantry is also consistent with their depictions on the map, as the vigil’s circle is both labeled and illustrated through a pattern of circular roads with an apparent depiction of the tower of writ in the center.

anyway, the mighty nein had traveled a little ways into the outskirts of the vigil’s circle from the west when they were abruptly stalled by a giant purple xhorhasian worm coming out of the ground.

at that moment in time is when liam gets a travel time from their current location to the chantry (21:26).

LIAM: Caduceus just asked how far we are from the chantry. Would I know that?

MATT: You would know you're probably about, I'd say, depending on— with it being pretty empty, maybe seven minutes.

this brings me to getting a precise location on the chantry of the dawn. both the explorer’s guide to wildemount and matt’s narration only describe the chantry as located within the tangles and near the southern wall of the shimmer ward. that’s a wide potential area to be seven minutes from.

there’s a pretty helpful pattern in the map details, though. most landmark buildings are visible—the soltryce academy campus is clearly delineated, as well as the colorful tower rooftops of the candles and, as previously noted, the top of the tower of writ. castle ungebroch stands massive in the center of the shimmer ward illustration.

so if the chantry of the dawn is both a huge structure and a significant landmark, that should merit a visible illustration of it on the map.

[id: the image of the western and central area of rexxentrum plus map scale appended to the bottom, edited to include my personal labels. R7 is encircled in red with the label “cobalt soul,” R6 and the visible circular road complex is encircled in blue with the label “vigil’s circle,” and a large rectangular rooftop by the southwest corner of the shimmer ward is encircled in red with the label “chantry to [sic] the dawn.” /end id.]

the position of this large building fits the details of the narration and its description in the explorer’s guide—it’s near the southern wall of the shimmer ward, it is eastward of the cobalt soul, and streets of the vigil’s circle lie on the direct path from the court of colors to this building.

so there’s the approximate location of the chantry of the dawn. we also know the approximate location of the mighty nein on this map.

[id: an image, almost identical to the last, of the marked-up western and central area of the rexxentrum map plus map scale, but with a further addition of an orange star in the northwest corner of the vigil’s circle labeled “mighty 9.” /end id.]

since they had entered the outskirts of the vigil’s circle from the direction of the cobalt soul, they would be within its northwest area by the time they were interrupted via purple worm shortly after.

two approximate locations with a travel time in between means that now i could estimate a distance in length. so i took a look at the d&d official rules for movement speed:

a fast pace is about 400 feet per minute,

a normal pace is about 300 feet per minute.

for campaign 2, matt as a dm tends to follow the official rules. so taking into account how the urgency of the situation had the party moving quickly, along with the emptiness of the streets eliminating the variable of a slowed pace through crowds, the mighty nein are likely traveling between 300 and 400 feet per minute to get to the chantry.

with matt’s provided estimate of 7 minutes, that means the on-foot distance from the party’s current position to the chantry is somewhere between 2100 to 2800 feet.

[id: a zoomed-in image of the marked-up western and central rexxentrum map, focused on the vigil’s circle and the chantry of the dawn. imposed beside the orange star representing the mighty nein’s location and the chantry is the map scale edited to remove the ‘miles’ indicator. its position allows a viewer to measure the distance between the mighty nein and the chantry to about “1500,″ or three-fourths of the total length of the scale. /end id.]

since the scale there measures distance as the bird flies, comparing it to the probable distance the mighty nein had to travel needs to account for the twists and turns of the streets.

with that in mind, though: an as-the-bird-flies distance of around 1500 feet sounds like a pretty good approximation of the estimated on-foot distance of 2100 to 2800 feet!

so with that, it’s probably safe to guess the map scale meant to claim feet instead of miles as its unit of length.

so far i haven’t puzzled out how i might translate this into a makeshift scale for the larger maps, since none of the cities like rexxentrum are clearly illustrated on them. but if anyone was very confused about the unit of length for the city maps’ scales, i think i’ve reached a reliable conclusion that it should be feet.

hopefully some of you find this helpful!

#cr #critical role #rexxentrum #maps #wildemount #wynandir #prim post #prim says some things #long post #VERY long post #readmore #enjoy this dump of what i spent a few hours on thursday night out of sheer curiosity and frustration

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fleckcmscott · 3 years ago

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Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04 for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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fallingappleshurt · 4 years ago

Text

Do y’all wanna see the VERY BASIC outline for my AU based off the Project Pink story, this shit that I wrote while sleep deprived

Too bad have it anyways

(I will be adding a lot more to this AU and might change some stuff but here are just the basics, god I’m tired)

ANYWAYS Finding a Home

There aren’t really any set age ranges or stories in place for this yet, it’s more just a brain dump word vomit thing

Techno:

-A really good student even though he procrastinates all of the time

-He really likes to read

-Has really big boxy glasses that are too big for his face (He’ll grow into them eventually)

-He has claimed himself to be Wilbur’s protector of sorts, making sure he doesn;t do anything too reckless or stupid and overall just trying to help him

-He has stopped Wilbur from doing so much stupid shit, you don’t even know

-They have been through about 6 foster homes before being placed with Phil

-They were split up once but after a few weeks Techno got sick of his home and met up with Wilbur, who hid him for two days before getting busted

-They put Techno back in the same home but he ran away again, he saved up money and stayed in a gross motel for a day then in a park for another before being found

-Finally he was placed back with Wilbur and they were put with Phil

-Techno is obsessed with space, absolutely star-struck (haHA) by it

- The different planets and their environments, stars, comets, he thinks it’ll all super interesting

-He has those shitty glow in the dark stars on the wall next to his bunk

-Once he and Wilbur snuck out to the woods at night and climbed up a tree to star gaze away from city lights

-(Majority of their ��delinquent stuff was before they met Phil)

-He and Wilbur would spray paint animal faces on water tanks and abandoned properties

-They spent half of their childhood in a kind of crappy neighborhood with weird streets, trashy houses, and the town was overall just dumpy

-They would wander around and explore some of the closed off or abandoned houses just to see what was there

-They couldn't do this any when they were placed with Phil, who lives in the suburbs

-They can still cause chaos, somewhat, where he works

-Techno and Phil go to the library everyone, it’s become a tradition

-Techno likes pigs, enough said

Wilbur:

-Dirty crime boy

-Has definitely hidden from the cops before, nothing that serious

-Really likes to play the guitar

-He has fairy lights hanging around the top bunk of his bed, there was nothing to hang them on so he taped them to the wall

-He is actually really good with spray paint

-Phil got some old wooden boards for Wilbur to paint on instead of private property, cause, ya know

-He gets is paint from some rando at school

- He really likes to adventure and sneak around

-Half of the stuff he does gives Techno a heart attack

-Wilbur is okay at school but he doesn’t really like it but for some reason he is really good at science

-He’s mad there isn’t a guitar option for the band or orchestra

-At an old foster home he would steal an older siblings guitar to practice with, he did this so much to the point where they would have to lock it away so he couldn’t get to it

-So he learned to pick locks

-So they had to hide it in different places

-He really likes the ocean, especially coral reefs and sea animals

-He wants to scuba dive some day!

-Techno learned a bunch of ocean facts and will randomly spew them at Wilbur

-He enjoys it

-Wilbur likes to listen to Techno talk about anything like books, shows, movies, anything that he is interested in and will listen to Techno talk about it for hours, it’s especially interesting when he’s passionate about the topic and Wilbur can see him getting more excited and into it

-Techno has books that’d read outloud to Wilbur when they were younger, sometimes when they can’t sleep, he’ll read out loud again

-Wilbur really likes stickers and has a box of them but doesn’t know where to put them so they just stay in the box

-He keeps collecting them though

-He teaches Tommy the guitar every Thursday

-He will randomly walk up behind Techno and rest his chin on Technio’s head

Phil:

-He is the manager of a mall (BEAR WITH ME)

- He has fostered kids before but never adopted before Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy

-He is good at handling chaos, thank god, and isn’t really phased by half of the stuff his kids do

-He gardens, he randomly started one day and found out he has a green thumb

-He also is a good cook and spends time trying to teach the boys how to cook, or at least not set the kitchen on fire

-Techno and Tommy show promise but Wilbur might be a lost cause for cooking

-He has a heart tattooed on his left wrist

-The bucket hat is something he wears when gardening

-He bought Wilbur his first guitar and a song book to go with it, later on he got Wilbur a notebook so he could write songs or anything he wanted to

-He takes Techno to the library every week, the first time they went Techno only got a few books but the next time he got like 16 and some of them were thick boys and Techno couldn’t carry them all

-He has taken all of them to the aquarium and Wilbur almost lost his shit trying to see everything

-Techno read all of the fish information tablets and Tommy liked the interactive pool where you could poke rocks and shit

-He brings them to work with him sometimes and lets them wander around the mall, praying to god they don’t set shit on fire

-He is really patient with Tommy but once they got comfortable with each other he had no problem teasing him, all of the boys really

-He really likes birds and has a bird feeder in the tree in their backyard

Tommy:

-Gremlin

-That’s it

- He is super energetic and bouncy

-He has trouble falling asleep sometimes because of this

-He is loud and can be rude but means well

-He wasn’t super interested in a lot of things but he loves legos, even if there aren’t any specific things he has to build, he just likes to make giant towers with them and sets them up around the house

-They have all stepped on so many legos, oh so many legos

-He’s really smart but has a hard time focusing so he gets help from Techno and Wilbur, and Phil, sometimes

-His knees are constantly scraped

-He made friends with a kid named Tubbo from school, they became close friends really quickly

-Tubbo and Tommy switched bandanas, Tommy gave Tubbo his red one and Tubbo gave Tommy his green one (YES I’m going THERE)

-Tommy doesn’t let anyone else touch it

-None of the others actually knew about Tubbo, they’d ask who gave him the bandana and he’d say some girl from school or something

-After awhile Tommy wanted to see Tubbo outside of school so he lied and said he joined a club then would go hang out with Tubbo after school at a park

-This went on for weeks until Techno and Wilbur got suspicious, Wilbur actually cut class and followed Tommy, who was still in elementary, like 5th grade, at the time and got out earlier, and saw him meeting at a park

-He didn’t find this to be that bad and told Techno but not Phil

-Eventually Tubbo got to meet the rest of the family but that wasn’t until sixth grade or so

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barnesandco · 4 years ago

Note

AYESHA!! Can I request, "their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them?" For any character you feel inspired to write for!

The Pay Off

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: brief mention of therapy and allusions to Bucky’s recovery after Hydra.

A/N: This.. got wildly out of hand.... and really, really wordy. I love these prompts and I want to write all of them while my WIPs stare at me feeling betrayed.

Like sunshine honey, the woman who has been sitting two seats down from Bucky at the library for the past four months, with a smile the ambience of New York dawn aimed unguarded at the book in your lap. He’s spoken a grand total of 37 sentences to you in that time, each one laden with the weight of this new existence he is carving out for himself, softly, a breakfast knife through butter. Every interaction with you -- every stolen glimpse up from his own space magazine -- leaves his throat parched but prickling with that sensitive heat that makes him want to thirst more. Like the tingle of salt after ocean water.

Wetting his lips, he tries to refocus on the page in front of him. It details the scientific contributions of the Hubble Space Telescope, with a colorful side-box about the Nancy Grace Roman, who pioneered the notions of sending telescopes into space to unearth its secrets. The magazine is one from a neat stack to his right, a treasure of information he gathered to go through when he arrived today, but he isn’t making the amount of progress to finish reading by closing time.

Every Avenger has made a comment on getting a library card, to no avail. Sam’s information, Steve’s offer to do it in Bucky’s stead, Natasha’s suggestions of giving a fake name, and Wanda’s kind offer to come with him if he doesn’t want to do it alone, along with Tony’s centenarian-themed jokes and Shuri’s gift of a Kindle containing every book she could buy, have all been politely refused and tolerated in turn. Initially, it was because he likes it at the library. It’s the quietest place he has, and is coming to claim as another safe space. An escape. Now, however, there is a new variable he does not want to introduce to the team.

The woman who sits two seats down from him. You come her every afternoon, a book bag in one hand and a gigantic tote full of Lord-knows-what in the other, both dumped on the table before you go to find a book. He’s close enough to smell watermelons and strawberries, pink, sweet-summer things, reminders of a blueberry sky and sugary lemonade, memories he doesn’t remember having but can taste in the heavy air between them. It had taken him two weeks to discover that the scents were coming from the markers that he saw peeking out from the tote, stationary behaving the same way certain books do, enabling him to live a life he has never had.

Your life is a mystery to him, but he guesses at it, reading you. A rainbow of stray marker lines litters your hands almost perpetually, coming alive when they move rapidly as you check books, sometimes chuckling softly at a particular sentence. Once, he caught a Cheese Whiz stain on your cable-knit cuff, and at another occasion, saw you. Bucky is often overcome by the feeling of sonder at the realization that the clues he is gluing together make for a complex life, a marvel of an individual. There is guilt too, for his curiosity. But your eyes, even looking down, are captivating, and he is too far gone to stop.

The idea of asking you out, of engaging in conversation beyond the moments of stranger familiarity, scares him still. Last time you spoke was when you laughed aloud at the set of examples one particular student had given for an assignment on sensory details. Zachary, age 11, had written that cow poop was a smell he did not like, sending his library companion into brilliant, bubbling laughs that you cut off too soon when you remembered where you were. At that point, you had looked around to see if anyone noticed, and spotting him, offered an apology he had rejected, on the condition that you share the joke. And you did.

But initiating the moment takes something more than what he has right now. His hands, mismatched and cold from the table, empty and longing, shut the magazine.

-----

The courage arrives on a Thursday. An ordinary day, by all accounts, only Bucky is on his fourth week of actual therapy, and got to the library through the subway, instead of Steve’s motorbike. Small victories fill his chest.

Only, you aren’t there when he gets in, and he panics. Fear and disappointment wrestle for a spot in his belly, claiming a tie in knots and weights, as he paces through the aisles of shelves in what he hopes is an unsuspicious speed. Giving up hope, he’s returning to his seat, head bowed, dismayed, when something collides against his side.

It’s you. A hurricane of movement with a slushie in one hand, your eyes also on the floor, and you crash against him with a shriek too late to save either of you. The slushie, cold and blue, spills out and lands on both of you, as you tumble, hands on Bucky’s elbows while his are on yours as he pulls you down, and you land in a heap of ice-water and sticky saccharine snow, a warm weight on top of him.

The library goes silent, for a breath, and then, when the shock lifts, two librarians come rushing from around some hidden corners, by which time you and Bucky have composed yourselves enough to stand and start to apologize profusely in cut-off sentences and shaky stutters. The slush is sinking through his clothes but there is a flush in his cheeks, and somehow, looking at your beautiful face, he has never been warmer.

When the slushie has been cleaned up with rags -- his hand is starting to shiver -- he stands with more sorry on his tongue, but you say, with a grin, “I guess you really fell for me, huh?”

The quip is surprising, but he laughs. Looks between your now-blue blouse and his inky t-shirt, and makes the leap. “Maybe I can get you another drink to make up for it.” And the pleased shock on your mouth, lips parted slightly and breath still recovering, is worth every step and fall it took to get to that one line.

-----

It goes well. He won’t call it a date, in spite of everyone else’s juvenile cooing and teasing when he leaves the Compound on a Saturday evening in his car. It’s a 70s Mustang, body the color of his old Commandos coat, and the interior a shiny black lined with golden stitching and accents. Royal and his very own. Turning towards the neighborhood you live in, he recalls the months it took to restore the damn thing, the last weeks of which were spent practically living in the garage, breathing on the anticipation of this monstrous achievement.

Queens is neon lights and family-owned delis, the scent of tacos mingling with that of curries, and there’s a different language in each window front. You said you lived in an apartment a couple of stories above a Vietnamese bar.

You’re exiting just as he gets out of the car, and it takes a moment to catch his breath. In jeans and a silk shirt, you are the sun, and he cannot wait to get to revel in your warmth for at least one evening.

-----

It goes well. With the exception of nerves he can’t rid himself of but rather ignores, everything is perfect. You had enjoyed his handmade picnic in Central Park, and his disgruntled commentary on how things used to be when you got stuck in traffic on the way back. His imitations of Steve and Tony had you in stitches, after which you had fed him Doritos from a packet he did not know was in the glove-box.

Smooth sailing, soft as cream and just as gentle, the night, until you get back. It is late, and the lights are starting to flicker out of shop windows, and you go a little bit quiet, discontinuing the steady stream of chatter you have been maintaining with him.

Something is in the air. Something sparking with promise. It hushes your voices and tightens his throat and has his hand trembling when he opens his door and then yours to let you own. You stand in the pale glow of the corner streetlamp, and his hands are in his pockets like he’s sixteen again, wanting to kiss a girl but unsure how to go about it.

Fortunately for him, you’re not a girl. You’re a woman. Made from electric fire and whatever strength that holds the cotton clouds in the sky, luminous and wondrous.

“I know that was a bit more than a drink, so thank you for agreeing to this,” he says, meeting your eyes.

Your finger is tracing the face of your watch absently as you smile at him. “I had a great time.”

“Really?” Bucky blurts out, and then hurries to suspend the disbelief.

The answer you give him has his heart doing somersaults. “Yeah. I’d actually love to do this again if you feel the same.”

“Of course. Yes, obviously.” He puts a brake on his train of speech, explains as he walks a little closer to you, close enough to count your eyelashes. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been on a date in 80 years, and I’m a little rusty, but--”

Like the event that started it all, your first kiss is a crash. You lean up slowly and he has time to stop you but he doesn’t. He lets you kiss him and freezes, from head to toe, upon the feeling of your soft lips. Stopping within seconds, you lean back, sheepish, ready to back away and run, he’s certain. His head clears, he thinks a little straighter.

“Sorry, will you let me try that again?” He asks, clearing his throat, and you lift your hand to hold his.

The warmth of your hold envelopes the back of his human hand, and twists your grip so your fingers are intertwined, so much more surface area to gain heat and the motivation to seek further touch from. “If you stop saying sorry, sure.”

He closes his eyes before you do, and this time, the meeting of your lips is soft. A kiss, not a crash, an elegant collision of mouths and shared wants. In a few breaths of movement, as your other hand rises to his hair and his holds your waist, you come closer, and Bucky grows breathless. The kiss lasts for what feels like minutes too long and hours too short at the same exact time, as you break away with a gasp for air that has pride blooming under his sternum.

Eyes shining, he hopes he’ll get to do that again. As you kiss his cheek and turn to your door, he looks forward to sitting two seats closer to you on Monday.

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #ayesha answers

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years ago

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 44

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

Join me and others on a Discord book club/community where we talk about books!

---

Chapter 44

"Hey, how was the honeymoon?"

Ron sat back in his chair, placing his quill on the desk. The workload of an Auror was triple that of what he'd ever had at Hogwarts, and he was only considered a junior Auror — given limited work.

Not to mention that these days, most of the work was kept in the office. Everything was quiet on the front of Dark wizards, and there wasn't much field work on offer. Plus, with Harry off enjoying a holiday, the other new Aurors had been dumped with his share of the office work for the three weeks he’d been gone.

But Harry was back now, albeit a little late, and looking ridiculously happy and relaxed.

Grinning, Harry collapsed into the seat next to Ron’s desk. “Fantastic,” he said. “We got back late last night, and I’ve… never been on a holiday before.”

“You haven’t?” Ron asked, surprised. Although, now that he thought about it, Harry hadn’t exactly been given many opportunities to go on a holiday. Unless he counted camping in a tent for months on end, trying to find parts of Lord Voldemort’s soul, which he suspected Harry didn’t.

“No. Imagine what a nice family holiday that would have been — tagging along with the Dursleys.”

“Huh,” Ron said. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. We missed you around here.” He picked up a pile of paperwork and dumped it on Harry’s desk. “Welcome back.”

Harry looked at the pile in front of him. Surprisingly, he didn’t look defeated at all. In fact, his smile grew.

“You can do mine, too, if it makes you that happy.” Ron smirked.

“Have any of you been out anywhere?” Harry asked, sifting through the pile of work.

“Twice,” Ron said. “Not for much, though. Death Eaters are too scared to do anything wrong, I think.”

“It’ll pick up,” Harry said. “Once we get more experience as well. For now, I guess it’s just desk work.”

“I don’t mind too much,” Ron said. “I mean… I get to see Hermione most days on her lunch break… if she’s not working through it, that is.” He frowned.

Harry snorted.

“She’ll be happy to see you and hear all about your honeymoon,” Ron said. “I’m sure you’ll be enough to drag her away from whatever it is she’s doing today.”

“There’s not much to tell really,” Harry said. “Not much you’d want to hear about, anyway.”

“Yeah… well, just tell the holiday parts,” Ron said, turning back to the work he’d been focusing on prior to Harry’s arrival. “Hermione and I finally picked a date for our wedding, and with any luck and if no one else jumps in, it’ll be March twenty-first. It’s a Thursday, so you better ask for that day off.”

“Why a Thursday?” Harry asked.

“Because that’s when we could get the place we wanted in the month we wanted.”

Harry smiled. “I’ll be sure to ask for that day off. I’m glad you’re finally starting to get things sorted. You really know how to take things slow, don’t you?”

“What’s the rush?” Ron said, not bothering to mention his own concerns about doing everything slowly with Hermione a few weeks back.

“None to either of you, apparently.” Harry laughed. “But that’s great. Something to look forward to… and if you have a meltdown right before, I’ll be there to assure you everything’s okay. Getting married, it’s really not as scary as it seems. Quite nice, actually. Easy.”

Ron grinned. “Thanks, mate.” He thought for a moment. “You know, I think marrying her will be pretty easy.”

“Yes, well, I thought that until the day approached,” Harry reminded him. “And you saw me. But it’s easy once you see her.”

Ron scribbled some more notes onto one of the pieces of parchment in front of him, smiling to himself. He had no doubt that on the day of their wedding, he’d feel incredibly nervous, but he didn’t think — or at least he hoped — he’d reach Harry’s level of nervousness.

“Oh, Harry, you’re back!”

Ron and Harry turned around. Hermione was standing in the Auror office doorway. She smiled as she hurried forward to embrace Harry.

“It’s so good to see you again. How was your honeymoon? Oh, I bet it was so romantic. Ginny told me about what you had planned for it on the day of your wedding. It sounds amazing.”

“Yeah, it was pretty nice,” Harry said. “I’ll tell you about it at lunch.”

“I look forward to it!” Hermione said cheerfully. She then looked at Ron, suddenly appearing slightly guilty. “If that’s alright. I know we were going to —”

“Nah, already invited Harry,” Ron said, smiling at her. “I figured if you knew Harry was coming, it would actually make you take a break. I don’t seem to have the same effect.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione said, sounding put-out. “I like it when our lunches align.”

“You brushed me off the last two days,” Ron reminded her.

“I didn’t — I just had a really busy week. I’ll be there today, I promise.”

“Yeah, because Harry’s here.”

“Well, if you’d prefer, I can just meet Harry?” Hermione asked, her tone taking on an air of annoyance. “And, I’m not sure if I want to tell you what I came here to say anymore, Ron.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

Hermione glared at him for a moment, as if his teasing insult a moment ago really had changed her mind about whatever it was she wanted to tell him. Eventually, she seemed to accept that he was only joking and said, “Make sure you’re free tonight.”

“Why?” Ron said. “And I’m always free.”

She smiled. “I… have something at home. An engagement present for you.”

Ron stared at her for a moment. Then, “Was I supposed to get you something?” He didn’t know that that was something he was supposed to do. They’d been engaged for months now, and she’d not mentioned this before. Weren’t other people supposed to get them presents?

“No, this is just something I wanted to do for you. Just promise me you’re free tonight?”

“I have no plans,” Ron said. “Except to see you, of course.”

She beamed. “Great. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Or at lunch?” Ron asked.

She nodded. “Lunch. Yes.”

“Love you,” Ron said as she hurried out of the office.

He shook his head, grinning and wondering what exactly it was that she had planned. Now that he thought about it, he’d found her a little bit frazzled at times over the past week. He’d just assumed she was stressed with work.

He wondered if it was this that had gotten her so worked up, and then he wondered just what her engagement present might be. A million ideas went through his head in that moment and most were probably impossible. But a few… well, a few he liked the idea of.

“Anyway,” Harry said, bringing Ron back from his thoughts. “We should probably get through all of this stuff and hope that one day we’ll actually get to leave this office and do something exciting.”

Ron smiled. “Welcome back to work, mate. It’s good to see you again.”

…

Harry and Ginny had had the best honeymoon. Harry had spent all of lunch telling Ron and Hermione all about the three weeks they’d spent working their way through Europe, visiting many sights and discovering parts of the wizarding world in other countries.

They’d stayed with Fleur’s parents in France and apparently met up with Viktor Krum in Bulgaria, and then explored the tiny wizarding villages that were spread throughout the continent.

It had been — as Harry described it — the best holiday he’d ever had. Or, as Ron had helpfully pointed out, the only holiday.

“It sounds so lovely,” Hermione had sighed, and Ron had told her they could do that too if that was what she wanted — so long as they skipped Bulgaria.

She’d just smiled and said that she’d have to think about it.

If he was being honest, though, Ron didn’t particularly like the idea of copying Harry and Ginny. It already felt that way because they’d become engaged only a short time after them. He wanted that to be where the similarities ended.

Harry was his best friend and Ginny was his sister, but Hermione was everything else and he wanted to do life their own way.

He'd also spent the day wondering what it was exactly that Hermione wanted to give him and why she was so keen to have him home that evening, acting as if he never came straight home after work. She'd reminded him three times during lunch and then another two times afterwards — one in person, one via a memo. Whatever it was, she was super excited about it, which made him excited, too.

Hermione never really did much in the sense of romance. That was Ron's department, but it didn't bother him. He liked doing the things he did for her and his reward was seeing how happy those things made her.

She was the one who was focused on her work, who liked to work into the early hours and then come to bed and cuddle up to him after a long day. He was the one who liked to find things to help relax her, make her smile, and in return, her happiness made him happy.

Ron was an Auror, and he enjoyed what he did, but he couldn't really see himself advancing any further than becoming a senior Auror. Not with Harry Potter working in the same field.

But Hermione was someone who could achieve anything and probably would eventually achieve all those things. And he was more than happy to sit back and watch her do that.

He'd always found her approach to everything amusing, but in an admirable way. Now he simply loved that about her.

He arrived home shortly after five, having used one of the Ministry fireplaces to do so. The living room was empty.

"Hermione?" he called. It would be typical for her to pester him about being home on time, only for her to have found something else to do at work.

But to his surprise, a reply came from upstairs. "In the study!"

The study?

He made his way — now feeling slightly apprehensive — up to the study. The door was closed, and when he pushed it open, he found Hermione on the floor, a lot of photos scattered around her, and her hair was a total ball of frizz, which meant that she was stressed about something.

He couldn't help but smile. "What are you doing?" He laughed.

She looked up, a guilty look on her face. "Oh, Ron, I tried."

"Tried what?" he asked. "To make a mess?"

"No, to do something… nice."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, eyeing the photos scattered across the floor.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. She looked rather upset. “I was trying to be romantic.”

“Er… how?”

Hermione sniffed. “I was trying to make you something… by hand… but it didn’t really work out. Apparently I’m not crafty at all.”

For a moment, Ron didn’t have anything to say. He bent down and reached out to touch her shoulder gently. “It’s alright,” he said. “That’s okay.”

“Oh, Ron, how do you do it?” She got to her feet and turned to him. She wasn’t crying, but she looked as if she might start soon.

“Do what?” Ron asked, once again looking at the mess on the floor. There were bits of paper that appeared to have been scrunched up among the photos.

“You do such nice things for me all the time, I just wanted to return the favour for once. It didn’t work, though. I’m sorry.”

Ron couldn’t help but smile. In the few minutes he’d been in the study with her, her hair had become even frizzier. He drew her into a hug.

“I love you,” he said, laughing. “I love you so much. And I’ve never made you anything in my life. Unless you count dinner.”

“Maybe I should have cooked something,” Hermione sniffed into his shoulder.

“What was it you were making, anyway?” he asked.

Hermione pulled away, wiping her eyes. She bent back down on the floor and picked up a book. “A photo album,” she said. “It seems so stupid now. And it’s terrible. I don’t want you to look at it.”

But Ron took it from her hands. It reminded him a lot of the one Harry owned of his parents, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if that was where the idea had come from.

He flipped through the pages. She had stuck in a handful of photos — some from school, most from more recent times. Of them. Just the two of them. In all of them.

Hermione had apparently attempted to decorate each page, but he had to admit that she was much better at magic than she was at this.

He grinned. “I love it. I love you.”

She gave a small smile. “You can tell me the truth.”

“I did,” he said.

“I just thought it would be a good memory to have, you know, before we were married. Something to look back on. I should have just given you the stupid photos and been done with it.”

“You know, I was wondering what had you so worked up these past few days,” Ron said, attempting to brush some strands of hair away from her face with little success. “I thought it was work.”

“The whole romance thing works better when you do it,” Hermione said.

“I can guarantee that had I attempted to create a photo album myself… well… I never would have. We can suck together. Anyway, who needs to be able to do that when you have a wand?”

She smiled again, looking up at him. “So, you still want to marry someone who can’t even make some photos look nice on a page?” she asked.

“Somehow even more than I did five minutes ago,” Ron said. “And I didn’t even think that was possible.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. Ron held her, the album still in his hands.

“You can throw that out,” she said.

“Never. I’m going to keep it. Forever. I’ll be looking at it when we’re both one hundred, remembering the times when I wasn’t old and grey with lots of wrinkles, and then feeling really grateful for the amazing fiance — hopefully wife — I was lucky enough to have in my life after all those years.”

She hugged him tighter.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you. Next time I’ll just take you out for dinner or something.”

“Nah, this is better,” Ron said. “I love it, and I mean that. You amuse me in a very good way. I love this side of you.”

“What? The super-stressed perfectionist side?” Hermione asked. “The side of me I’ve come to realise doesn’t like to fail?”

“Yeah, it’s my favourite part. Maybe the part that I loved about you first. The rest is just a bonus. As I said, you amuse me.”

“Well, how about to make up for my pathetic attempt at handmaking something, I make us dinner tonight? What do you feel like?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Ron said. “I’m really hungry.”

Hermione smiled. “Good, because it’s the end of our shopping week, and unless you’ve had time to get things, I don’t think we have much left.”

“We are very organised, aren’t we?” Ron teased. “How many times have we reached the end of our food supply? When we have kids, they’ll go hungry often.”

Before Hermione could say anything, he added, “You know, when you said you had something to show me tonight, I briefly wondered if you were going to tell me we were having a baby.”

Hermione pulled away from him, her smile slightly wider. “And you know that there’s a spell to prevent that from happening and I am very particular about ensuring it is consistently effective. Spells are something I can perform very accurately.”

Ron grinned at her. “Yeah, I know. But the thing is, the thought didn’t actually terrify me. As brief as that thought was,” he added hurriedly at the look on Hermione’s face.

“Do you want dinner, Ron, or do you want a baby?” Hermione asked, smiling at him.

“Tonight, just dinner,” Ron assured her.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. She left the study with Ron trailing slightly behind her. As they went downstairs into the kitchen, Ron couldn’t help but wonder if him bringing up the topic of babies had frightened her or intrigued her. It was sometimes hard to tell.

He hadn’t even intended to say it. No one had said anything to him during the day. It had just been a thought that had occurred to him that maybe… even though he knew how pedantic Hermione was with all of that side of things. It would be virtually impossible for anything to happen by mistake with her. He definitely knew that.

And even though the thought hadn’t scared him, Hermione had been pretty dismissive of the topic, which was a massive hint. Maybe he’d bring it up again in a year’s time. Maybe then she’d be more willing to discuss the idea. Besides, they had a wedding to plan first.

#ron and hermione #ronandhermione #ronandhermionefanfiction #ron and hermione fanfiction #romione #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #hermione and ron #hermione and ron fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #hermione #romance #slice of life #multi chapter

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carolineworld · 4 years ago

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10-12-2020 The Ferris Wheel FIC

IN AO3

Thursday, December 10th, 2020

Driving to this place feels weird. It’s his second year in University, he’s what in America they could say as a Sophomore, he’s very much an adult now. Going back to his old high school makes him feel weird like he doesn’t belong there, but that’s what it takes to have a girlfriend that is finishing high school. And if feeling weird for a while is the cost of seeing her in person for the first time in four weeks, then he’ll take it.

Now that he thinks about it, this whole situation of waiting for her in his car brings back flashbacks. It takes him back to when no one could know about them, that was a month ago, but he’s thinking about the early days when he was still in high school and their relationship wasn’t fucked up, at least not yet.

But now it’s different. He’s waiting for her in his car, yes, but because it’s cold outside and he wants to be cozy, so he’s staying inside his black Tesla, with the heating on and listening to a nice song. Another different thing is that everyone knows about them. After getting back together they stayed in a secret relationship for a bit, to make sure that nobody from the outside could fuck them up and to gain trust and build a healthy, solid, and strong relationship that could battle the obstacles that could come.

And they are, and they did. They learned to communicate in a much healthier way, they worked very hard to strengthen their trust in themselves, in each other, in them, and they learned from their past mistakes. So now that everything is done and still working fine, they are out and public.

Being in University and having a girlfriend that is still in high school has good and bad things. The good things are that he can help her with most things she’s studying. It also helps the fact that it differentiates their social groups and personal interests, even though he’s quite happy that she gets along pretty well with his friends and he does with hers.

But the bad things are kind of bad. Like the mild jealousy, or frustration, like she likes to call it, that they experienced a few times when college boys, and girls, don’t understand the concept of a monogamous relationship and a no cheating policy. And it’s even worse when his finals week is just before hers and they have to spend a couple of weeks apart because of studying.

And that brings him to this moment. Zoë’s finals week has just finished and here he is, picking her up to go to have lunch and spend some quality time together after four painful weeks of studying and missing her.

That is why, when he sees her with her backpack on one shoulder and a big bag on the other one, her blue beret and a huge scarf that he can recognize as his and her baby blue face mask, he cannot help but smile. He gets out of the car to grab her bag and put it in the truck, while she gets in the passenger seat and takes off her mask, putting it in her school bag.

With his arm behind her headrest and a small “hello”, they share a quick and sweet kiss, resting their foreheads together afterward.

“I missed you so much these past weeks, you know that?” he says, massaging the back of her neck, whispering it close to her lips.

She has her eyes closed, and she’s leaning to his hand, but he can point at the exact moment the mischievous thought crosses her mind and her eyes open with a sassy spark. “We talked every night, and you said the same thing every time we did.”

“What, am I not allowed to miss you?” two can play this game.

Grabbing his hand in hers and putting them in her lap, she looks at him and says sweetly: “Yes, I was just joking”

Once the seat belts are securely tied and he has told her that they were going to have lunch at his house, cause he has cooked something nice for them, she asks if she can change the radio station to a more pop one so they can a have a karaoke ride, making him decide to take the long ride home.

Karaoke rides are something they have discovered quite recently. Early on in their relationship, his car was mostly for makeout sessions. Even in their first summer together, when they would go on little trips, they would mostly talk and tell stories about their friends or their past. But one day, after getting back together and getting back home from a date at their lake, Senne began to sing to a song that was playing on the radio and they began to sing along, making it a small little tradition they have whenever they get in his car. And yes, he made her sing Casanova to him a few times.

***

“Did you cook this? Be honest, I’ll know if you lie.” You could have thought that she was just hungry, but with her mouth full of tomato sauce and without even stopping to talk before eating one more bite, you can fully affirm she’s enjoying her food.

“Why are you so doubtful about it?” He’s not going to admit it, but it bugs him the fact that she doesn’t believe that he cooked this.

See, they both love to cook, but Zoë is not good at baking and cooking pastries. Surprisingly enough, Senne is, so that’s normally what he makes, breakfast food, cookies, and desserts. Therefore, the savory stuff is Zoë’s territory. She is normally the one who cooks the lunches and the dinners at the flatshare and their home dates when they don’t do it the easy way, take out.

But this time, he wanted to give her a little surprise and cook for her something he doesn’t cook. He decided that whatever he was going to make, it had to be something easy and quick and that didn’t take him so long. He finishes University only an hour earlier than her school ends, and he had to keep in mind that he had to leave a bit earlier to pick her up, so after a bit of searching, Vegetarian Bolognese spaghetti was the best dish to do.

“I don’t know, it’s not what you normally prepare.” Well, she’s almost finished so it’s easy to say she liked it.

“I know, but that does not mean I didn’t cook it myself”

Reaching for his hand on top of the table, she smiles shily. “I know, schat. Thank you for making lunch for me today. I loved it.”

***

One thing he adores about Zoë is how strong and independent she can look on the outside and how sweet and willing to be protected she is.

Letting her wards down in front of him, especially after all she’s been through, hasn’t been easy, but when she finally trusted him enough to let him see her fully, emotionally talking, was one of the greatest days in their relationship, for him, at least.

In the whole process of getting to know each other again, after the breakup, regaining trust in each other was one of the most important things they did. They needed to learn to trust in each other again and more importantly, feel safe and loved in each other’s one arms.

It hasn’t been an easy process, and there are times that they have to reassure each other and remember things to the other one in the low times, but it's so worth it if he gets to have her trust him completely.

After lunch and cleaning the dishes (the dishwasher did, but still), they decided to lay down and talk about their day, a bit more. Without even realizing it, they eventually fell asleep, taking a nap in each other's arms. And now, Senne is fully awake and looking at the love of his life snuggled up in his chest, thinking how he managed to make such an amazing woman like her, fall in love with someone like him.

With her head in his chest and her hand grabbing his hoodie in a fist, he can fully say that this sight right there is one of his favorite things ever. Only topped but her smile and kisses and his car.

She begins to stretch under his touch, making cute little noises. If that wasn’t enough to make him melt, she reaches out to kiss the closest spot on his neck and whispers a small ‘hi’, pulling him closer.

“Did you sleep well?” he says: kissing the top of her head and fixing the messy blanket, their blanket, around her body.

After hearing her “mhm” and feeling her little nod, he understood that she was not going to wake up any time soon. Not that he’s complaining. “How did your exams go? I think I didn’t ask you.”

“You did, actually, and they were okay. Aced Biology, like always, but Math was so hard. Even with your help, I felt like it was way harder than what we learned.” She’s now on top of him and is playing with his hair with one hand while biting her thumb with the other. That nervous tick she has is one of his favorite things, how she does it unconsciously, without even noticing she’s doing it.

He gently removes her thumb from her mouth and places his hand in hers, like he always does. “I’m sure it went okay, you’re smart, you have a bigger brain capacity than me, right?”

He shoots a challenging smile, giggling his eyebrows up and down, teasing her. She growls, rolling her eyes, and pulling softly the back of his hair, which makes his eyes go dark at the same time a sassy smile appears on her lips.

***

“Can we please go out?” She’s in the rocking chair in front of the big window, looking at the lights in the street. Her hair is still dumped and she’s wearing Senne’s hoodie, the one from this morning.

It’s pretty late in the afternoon, making it dark outside. They have spent all day fooling around and showering together as he loves. After that, they ate some more, played games, and continued watching the tv show they exclusively watch when they are together.

“Why? Outside it’s really cold and here inside the house there’s a ton of stuff we can do.”

She knows she is his biggest weakness. Not because he is head over heels for her, that he is, but because he has specifically said it. He didn’t know that saying that out loud, and to her, was going to end up being a weapon she’s able to use against him, along with her puppy eyes.

“Come on, please? I want to see the Christmas lights, they put them up last week and I haven’t seen them yet.”

Making her stand up just to take her place in the chair and sit her on his lap, he whines and says: “Zoë, it’s only 3ºC outside, we are going to catch a cold. Or even worse, covid. Do you know how many people there are on the streets because of the lights?”

Big mistake, he has challenged her. “Okay, first of all, 3ºC it’s not that cold, we can wrap ourselves warm. Second of all, we will wear our masks all the time. And third of all, we’ll go to the more empty streets. There’s a solution for everything, come on.”

He completely forgot the fact that she’s not only way smarter than he is, but she is also so freaking stubborn, and she’s pouting at him, so he knows she’s winning, like always.

“I’ll even buy you a hot chocolate to drink here if you want.”

“Yeah, deal.”

***

Antwerp is beautiful at Christmas. This year, because covid, there’s no Christmas Market, but the streets are decorated with Christmas trees and a bunch of beautiful lights.

He was right, there are too many people for the fact that there is a pandemic going on, but as Zoë said earlier, they are walking around the less crowded places, and they are wearing their masks, so it is okay.

This global pandemic is now part of their history together. Even though it has brought so much sadness and very difficult times to a lot of people, they kind of have to thank it.

Having to go on a mandatory lockdown, in his house, alone, made him think a lot more, as he was only and completely with himself. He had another girlfriend at the time, yes, but it was different.

To begin with, it started the wrong way. He and Zoë had just broken up, and he fell into a rabbit hole he didn’t know how to get out. He was deeply sad, almost depressed, and coping the best (worst) he knew: drinking and partying as much as he could, and ‘blocking’ his emotions, transforming himself into a man unable to feel.

Max and Daniel, his friends, tried to help him as best as they knew. First, it was partying with him, then it was trying to make him talk about it, make him bring out all the rage and sadness he had inside, even though it was pretty much useless. And then they tried what it ‘worked’ best: introducing him to girls that could get Zoë out of his mind, and him out of his destruction mode.

And that’s how he meets Nina. A beautiful and sweet girl that was perfect for his fucked up self. Different from Zoë, so he was forced to differentiate them, so easy to talk to that he could forget about everything else and be fun to be with. To be honest, she was the perfect rebound girl.

But then lockdown hit and he was forced to be with his mind and no one else. As cliche, as it sounds, being completely alone, did him so well. He was able to identify his toxic mechanisms, in his past and current relationship, and saw that he indeed needed help, as Zoë proposed in one of the many times they made up before breaking up. It also made him mature a bit more, as he had the time to analyze all his reactions and behaviors and see where, how he needed to work on.

It didn’t go as well as he thought it did, as he had to be honest and come clear to her afterward, but after all the mess he caused, he broke up with Nina and got back together with what he believes it’s the love of his life.

Now that he thinks about it, breaking up did them good. He got time to mature and work on his issues, and she got time to deal with her problems alone and become even stronger and more independent. It was painful, and it took him a long time to understand why, but it was worth it.

“Look! Do you remember?” He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize where they were walking. He has his arm around her shoulders, with their gloves covered, hands intertwined. She was the one leading the way, he was just walking beside her, so it’s a nice surprise to see where they have ended up.

The big Ferris Wheel rises upon them, making memories return to their minds, and butterflies play in his stomach. That wheel means a lot to them, and this specific spot holds so many memories together. On the other side of the river, their first date, even though, till this day, she still refuses to call it a date. Right in front of the wheel, their first kiss. It’s not all happy things, this same place holds the ‘bottle’ fight and the following argument they had. But they were memories still, and bits of their rocky, but a passionate love story.

The fact that they have to wear masks bothers him, cause he would love to kiss her, recreate that mind-blowing first kiss they shared so long ago. But the mask makes him focus on her eyes, what he can see, and it’s amazing how many emotions he can see in hers.

“I love you, Zoë Loockx, so damn much.”

“I love you, too, Senne.”

A day, and especially a moment and a place like this, is worth immortalizing.

#my fanfics #wtfock #zoe loockx #senne de smet #zoenne

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revisionaryhistory · 4 years ago

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Three Days ~ 55

~*~Sebastian~*~

I stared at her. Stunned. I'm not sure if it's how the conversation went or she wants me and whatever comes with me. Emma is so intentional. Her words carry meaning. She wants to be clear and asks for clarity. This is heaven for my overthinking brain. I’m not stuck wondering what she means nor am I afraid to ask. Because I know she'll answer. Really answer.

"I've got eight years on you, how are you the more mature one?"

"Stabilizing influence and frighteningly direct communication of my second dad."

The expression on her face and deadpanned delivery had me laughing. "I can see that. I'll be the emotionally reactive one and you can be the calming one." Then I remembered. "Although, Eli did tell a story about you laying into some guy in Hawaii at a volleyball game. Ed dumped you in the ocean. I wish there was video."

"There is. You'll have to get dad to send it to you."

Tuesday was a good day. Workout was hard and my abs were already sore, but we'd laughed a lot. Good phone call with mom. The house had come together, she was enjoying some time in the pool, and she'd picked up some piano students. My afternoon was spent in my manager, Emily's, office. Mostly she and I, but a few conference calls. I was about to be busy. The next six weeks I was more gone than home. I was excited about the work. Excited to see friends.

Admittedly, the timing wasn't the greatest, new relationship and all, but I was confident we'd figure it out. This is different. I'd like to say it was because my previous experience is whining and bitching about me being gone so long, knowing I was going to pay for the distance, and trying to front-load my leaving to make it more palatable. While all of those all true, the actual difference is I care. The emotionally unavailable hot and cold thing comes into play here. I put up a wall to block the whining and bitching, not really listening, because it's my job. Bitching at me isn’t going to change anything and I’m not going to feel guilty for doing my job. Well, I do, but it just pisses me off because I shouldn’t. The expectation of gifts, dinners, or a vacation to make up for being gone made those a lot less fun. And I was never successful at cramming a bunch of stuff in before I left, because my work didn't start when I left. It starts weeks before. I don’t leave for filming for a month, but I’m already prepping: gym reading, watching things, research, and studying the script. I get pretty singularly focused. I don't know any other way. And when pushed I shut down. I don't respond. I brood. And I appear cold. None of this is right. Some just is. Some is my fault. Getting to where I didn't care about her (any of the previous hers) feelings and concerns with me gone was a side effect of shutting down and I regret doing that. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about her feelings. It was feeling ineffectual to do anything about it and my self-protection kicking in. Looking back, saying effectively “deal with it” was incredibly insensitive. Not proud of it.

But now, sitting here looking at my schedule I’m finding places I can find some time for us. We’ll figure it out. I can tell you what won’t happen. Emma won't whine where I block her out. She's not going to emotionally blackmail me for things, which will make me want to give. And she’ll leave me alone to prep, let me bounce things off her, or cook something to remind me to eat. I need all of those. I care how Emma's going to feel about me being gone. I care about what we’ve begun and how we'll keep in touch. I also know that while I'm away she will carry on living the life she had before she had me and be just fine.

Emma had practice tonight and a game tomorrow. It was after eight when she called. She was in a tank top and her hair was wet from her shower. I caught up on her day before leading into mine. "I have good news and bad news."

"OK." Emma drug out the word, wary of my response.

"When I get back from Canada, I've got some time to spend with you. Then I’m gone for the month of July. Fashion show, audition and meetings, comic con, then filming in Rome." Playing off last night’s conversation, I added. "I'm not expecting a bad reaction."

"Well, that's good." Her hand moved toward the screen and I chose to believe she was touching my face. "I'II miss you, but I’m excited for you. And me getting to hear about what you're doing. Living vicariously."

I'd had some time to think. I had a lot of thoughts on plans. This was the soonest. "You get back Tuesday, doubleheader Wednesday, and I get back late Thursday. What's your weekend look like?"

"Empty. I'll come to you. You'll barely be home if you come here. I can come anytime Friday. I'll be done with work except maybe packing up my room. I can do that whenever."

"Early Friday. Thursday night." I wanted to maximize our time. "I have to do some work."

"I can amuse myself."

"Maybe the shop you liked so much will be having a sale?" I laughed at the way her eyes lit up. "July fourth weekend I'm at a fashion show. Wanna go to Paris?"

"What?" Her face moved closer to the screen. I’d surprised her.

"Not necessarily Paris, but near. The third is the show. Have you been to Paris?"

"Family spent the summer in Europe when we were thirteen. Then Pearl Jam tours. Love Paris."

"Not much more than a long weekend, but museums and I'm sure we can find some romantic Paris shit to do."

"I would love to go to Paris with you."

That was good because I'd already made reservations. "California for about two weeks then straight to Italy for at least that. Depends on how long shooting takes. Hopefully back in time to join you in Chicago. Then nothing until the end of August. Will and I had been talking about a group of us going away. We were waiting for my schedule. What do you think about a group trip and we stay a little longer or go off alone? It would be a beach somewhere."

"You going to rub sunscreen on me?"

"Um yay, part of my volleyball job. Beer bitch and sunscreen applier."

“I’m in."

"End of August is a Disney thing. Labor Day weekend is the Toronto Film Fest. Little stuff in there, nothing big. No idea past then."

She laughed, eyes wide, and moving her head in all directions "It's crazy like a tour schedule. I'm jealous. I love touring."

"I thought about Rome, but the schedule's tight. You wouldn't see me."

"I wasn't trying for an invite. I'll get some of my summer PD hours done so I won't have to worry about them. Make sure I've got time for us."

I leaned back on the couch, "That was easy."

She glared at me. "I thought you weren't expecting a bad reaction?"

I shook my head, "No, no, I wasn't. Just an observation. Thought I might have to talk you into the beach." I held it a second before smiling, "Not really. I do know it’s a lot."

"I will always go to a beach."

"You’re not allowed to play volleyball."

"Did you get the video from dad?"

"About an hour ago." I'd enjoyed it several times. "You're a feisty little thing."

Wednesday was a day of pictures and texts. After the gym, I settled in my extra room to prep. I had my laptop on the table, a stack of books on top of my script, and a huge bottle of water. I took a picture and posted it to Instagram along with one of me with a pencil between my teeth and pulling my hair.

Emma ~ How'd you get a picture of your expression during your last blow job?

Sebastian ~ Hidden camera in bedroom. You should see the other things I have. Coupling Season 1. "The Cupboard of Patrick's Love."

Emma ~ “You really don't have enough blood for both ends of your body, do you?"

Sebastian ~ Very good, Sally.

Love that she can quote one of my favorite shows.

After lunch, Emma posted a picture of her in the middle of a group hug with her students. "I'll miss my munchkins.” I sent a sad face emoji.

Then I fell into a hole. I got pulled into my research and reading and the next time I picked up my phone it was one a.m. I need time like this and put my phone on do not disturb. The only thing that comes through is two calls from the same number within a few minutes. Anyone important knows how to reach me. Emma knew, but she didn't. Not even when the Demonic Crickets won their game. She posted several pictures, but I got a much better one in a text. Emma with her back to the camera in her team tank, arm up flexing her bicep, and her looking over her shoulder smiling at me. The gold flecks in her eyes were sparkling and the darker ring made the green more intense.

Emma ~ Hope you're getting a lot done. Internally anyway. XOXO

Sebastian ~ * 12 hours later * Yeah, I did. I'm hungry. Congrats on the win. Picture is beautiful.

Sebastian ~ You're beautiful

Her thank you came while I was working out. After a shower, I fell back into my hole until it was time for therapy.

I'd been seeing Celie for a long time. Frequency varied. She had a dark brown bob, glasses, and a round face. At this point, I could read her as well as she could me. If she was looking at me over her glasses, she thought I was full of shit. No words needed. She was about ten years older than me and her style worked for me. It was a great one-sided friendship.

I took my regular spot on the blue couch, "How are you today, Celie?"

Celie smiled. She had the unconditional positive regard thing down. I say that, but she does genuinely like me. Most of the time. I can be a pain in the ass. "I've had a good day and after you I get to go home. You seem to be in a good mood. Tell what's going on with you, Seb."

I was always her last client of the day. Sometimes I needed more than an hour. "I am in a good mood. I met somebody. Last time I saw you I was going to help my parents move. I met Emma there. In a grocery store, if you can believe that."

"Sounds like you can't."

"I asked her to dinner in under fifteen minutes."

She widened her eyes in disbelief. Exactly my point. "Did you? Good for you, Seb. A complete stranger. What led you to ask her out?"

"I was all covered up and she tells me I looked like a rehab patient checking into the clinic up the road. But she was kind to me. A sketchy stranger. She didn’t know who I was until we were outside and I introduced myself. She helped me find the things on my list and we chatted." I put my hands in front of my chest, fingers splayed. "She felt good. I didn't know why, just enough that I knew I wanted to know more.”

“And what do you know now?”

I spent the next several minutes telling Celie the salient points. We’ve been doing this long enough that explaining isn’t necessary. She’ll recognize why things are important. My face hurt from smiling after I was finished talking about Emma. I stopped short of the whole conversation on Sunday.

“Besides the obvious early relationship high, how are you feeling about all this?”

“Good. Happy. Hopeful. The only concerning thing was Saturday I woke up from a night terror, panic attack. I got myself calmed down pretty quick, wrote for a while, and once Emma got up I went for a run.”

“Even with being happy, there’s been quite a bit of emotional activity. I’m pleased that you’ve only woken up once. Much better. What do you suspect triggered you?”

I took a deep breath, “Emma and I wound up in this conversation Sunday afternoon. A couple of my friends at the party had told her I wasn’t acting like I normally do with women, but more like I am with friends. This led to a conversation about my relationship issues. I’m not the same with her. She really doesn’t know that version of me. I think that’s why I had the anxiety. It was the night after the party but before the conversation. First time we’d been around my friends. I think it was not because I’m scared, but because I’m not. Like you said, there’s been a lot of emotional shit going on and I’m good. Remarkably good.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Emma is different. She’s incredibly kind and is . . . gentle. Not weak though. She’s strong.”

Celie shook her head, “When I think of gentle people it’s a combination. They can be painfully truthful, but their manner makes others able to listen. They have a compassion for others.”

“Exactly! I noticed she knew everyone. She talked to everyone and used their name. I asked and she said she looked at their nametags and you never know what someone’s day has been. That might be the first nice thing that’s happened all day. I know it’s a little thing, but it’s her. She’s like that with me. She doesn’t try to talk me out of being anxious or overthinking. She doesn’t think my insecurities are stupid. They’re all just part of me.”

“She accepts you.”

“Right. The more we got to know each other, the more we talked, I felt safe. She doesn’t do those things I usually shut down over. I don’t feel the need to protect myself. She’s very different.” Celie was looking at me over her glasses. Uh oh. “You’re giving me the look.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why? I thought I was doing good. I asked out a stranger and got this amazing woman.”

“Sebastian, as quick as you are to fault yourself, you’re slow to take credit.”

“Take credit?” I didn’t know what she was talking about.

She leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. “You think this relationship is different because of Emma. You lucked out and met an accepting, kind, gentle person.”

“Yes. No. Both. Emma is different and she makes me different.”

Celie made a loud, jarring beeping noise. This was new.

“Ok, I guess I’m wrong.”

“You are. Not completely. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. Any credit. You’ve worked very hard. You’ve read. You’ve journaled. You’ve talked. You’ve done things I’ve asked you to even if you didn’t understand or want to. I’ve seen you grow. To give responsibility for this relationship being different all to Emma is dangerous. What’s going to happen when she falls off this pedestal you’ve put her on? Is that going to be an excuse to shut down and protect yourself? Fall back on old habits.”

I could feel my eyebrows pulled down and the scowl on my face. “So you’re saying this isn’t as good as I think it is.”

“Not at all. I’m saying it’s got as much to do with you as it does her. Previously you would have never asked out a woman you met in a grocery. But that seems to be the furthest you’re going with how you’re different. I do not believe for one second that no other woman you’ve gone out with has been kind and accepting. Or would have been if you would have been able to show them you. You used to do things to test them. You’d say or do things to see how they’d react. As we’ve talked, you weren’t being real, so you don’t know that their reactions were.”

I nodded then looked down, “I know. Pretty manipulative.” I felt Celie’s hand on my arm and looked back up. Her face was very soft with a smile.

“Stop, Seb. You need to be proud of yourself. You are doing things differently. You have learned from your past, grown, and come a long way in accepting yourself. Warts and all. You have shown Emma who you are, even the parts you don’t like so much. She can have credit for how she’s responded to you, but you deserve the credit for being brave enough to show her in an honest and authentic way. That allowed her to respond in an equally honest and authentic way.”

I grabbed a tissue from the ever-present box on the table and wiped the wet from my face. Neither the first nor the last time I’d cry in this room.

"If you had met her even a year ago, with her exactly as she is now, this relationship would be very different."

"The wedding."

"Excuse me?"

Yeah, non sequitur. "I was supposed to go to a friend’s wedding last summer but didn't because there was a change in my shooting schedule. Emma was at the wedding. You're right. Had I met her then," I shook my head. “I wouldn't have been ready for her and now could have never happened."

Celie shrugged, "Probably not."

I sniffed and wiped my eyes, "How do I get her off this pedestal I’ve put her on?"

"You seem pretty smitten. Maybe not take her off, just lower it a little." I laughed and she went on. "What you do is own your part. You have been making choices to improve yourself. You have been making choices to go out of your comfort zone. And you have been making choices to let her know you. Emma's been making similar choices to be with you. I'm sure you know what she's come through to be where she is. It seems like you complement each other. Recognize this is both of you waking up and choosing to be with each other. Talk and negotiate what that means. Tell her what you want. And when you're not talking you listen. Listen to what she needs from you. The most important for you is to keep processing the feelings with her. She's the only one who can help those make a picture. And you need to give her the same gift. She has things she’s not so proud of and afraid for you to know about her. We all do. You will need to accept her and treat her with gentle kindness she gives you.”

I was crying again. "She told me. I told her she was different than the others. She asked if maybe I was different."

Celie snickered, "I like her."

"You would. She speaks therapy."

"I want to be very clear, Seb. She sounds wonderful and she may make you better. You sound wonderful and I bet you make her better too. That’s how it should work in a relationship. You help each other along. It takes two people with self-awareness making choices to do what it takes. You both have to choose growth, honestly, humility, vulnerability, and sacrifice. I hear you holding up your end. I’ve not heard you do this before. And while she may be the right woman, you've become the right man. Please, please, do not underestimate how much work you've put in to become the right man for another person.”

"I want to go home and cry for an hour or so."

"I wish Emma was here for you."

I shook my head with a grimace, "It's going to be ugly until I get it out."

"Yes. I think Emma would want to be there to hold you and you'd find more acceptance and comfort in that than you can imagine."

At home, I grabbed a beer, sank down in my favorite chair, and cried. I felt everything all at once but fought to untangle the threads. Sad was remnants of the past and dissipated quickly. Its friends regret and shame fought a little harder to stick around, but they were toxic and needed to go. Pride and relief were together too. Celie was right. I had worked hard. An infinite number of hours had gone into figuring myself out. There have been so many times I thought I'd be stuck forever. Sometime in the last two years that I've been without a girlfriend, all the work must have come together. In the last two years I've been filming almost nonstop. Five movies have come out. Two of which were Marvel circuses. It's like all the therapy (and the work that goes with it) knitted me back together while I was busy filming and living my life. Celie had told me to trust the process. I couldn't rush it or make changes happen before it was time. Patience. I am inherently impatient. Pride was for the work. Relief was for seeing results. Finally.

Next was happy. I’m in a good place. I'm excited about the movie I’m making. I have supportive, fun friends, and a loving family. I don't need a girlfriend to be happy, but one does bring everything together. I like having a person who is mine. Mine in the sense of us experiencing life together. The good and bad. I like that. I want that. And now I have it. The beginnings of it, anyway.

After I pulled my shit together, I wanted to talk to Emma. I wanted support. Maybe not support, but I felt raw. I wanted someone to soothe the raw nerves, to sit with me while all this new stuff integrated. I wish she was here. What I needed was a hug.

Sebastian ~ Can you talk?

I don't like that I asked. It feels insecure and I have zero reasons to feel insecure. I quickly decided to cut myself some slack.

My phone rang and I connected to FaceTime. "Hey." Her bright smile and obvious happiness to see me did wonders to soothe those raw nerves.

Emma's face went from a smile to wide-eyed concern. "Sebastian, what’s wrong? You look like you've been crying. What happened?" Before I could answer, she jumped to a correct conclusion. "You had therapy. Good, bad, or cathartic tears?"

"Mostly the last one."

Her hand went to her chest, "Ok." She picked up what I assumed was her iPad and crossed to the chair in her bedroom. I could see her pull her knees up when she put her feet on the ottoman. She rested the iPad on her knees.

"Mostly a repeat of what we talked about Sunday. Celie said I wasn't giving myself enough credit for the work I've done. My growth."

As Emma had alluded to the same thing, I expected a smile or some acknowledgment of her asking if I was different. Instead, I got, "What do you think?"

"I think I still need to work on not being so hard on myself." I smiled because that statement was me still being hard on myself. "When Celie pointed out how I've changed I could see it and was proud of myself. I can’t see it on my own yet, but I'll get there. I never thought anyone would get past my walls. It wasn't someone getting in, it was me getting out." More goddamned tears.

Emma reached out and touched the screen. "I‘m so happy for you. Proud of you too."

Her words felt like a hug. Close enough for now. "Thank you."

"I know you're a grown man, but I wish I was there. Crying alone sucks."

"Oh," I laughed a little, "the chances of us having a messy reunion are high."

"Why?"

"A lot of you and I talk today. I know me, it's gonna hit me when I see you."

"I should warn you. I have a strict policy that nobody cries alone in my presence."

I smiled at her exaggerated southern accent with the "Steel Magnolias" quote. "See ... gonna be messy."

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction

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goldenhemmings · 6 years ago

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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.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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!!

#wowZA this is the longest thing i've ever written #whew ok #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes one shots #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes blurbs #baseball!shawn #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes writing #imagine #mendes army

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idreamofhazeleyes · 6 years ago

Text

Ties in Blood -- Chapter 27

Warning: There is cutting/suicide here.

Here’s Aaliyah dealing with the dream fallout and coming back around. Kushiel’s Legacy is indeed a book series by Jacqueline Carey, and an awesome set of books that’s a twist on historical fiction. If you check it out, start with Kushiel’s Dart.

@mrswhozeewhatsis @percussiongirl2017 @impala-dreamer @winchestergirl-13 @optimisticpeacecollector5 @squirrelnotsam @optimisticpeacecollector5

Chapter 27

Aaliyah slipped into the guest room that Pris had set up for her and closed the door. There had been too much that Aaliyah couldn’t let go unnoticed. With the drops of information from her siblings about her being in a tv show, Aaliyah wanted to check it out. Starting what appeared to be her laptop up, Aaliyah dug through her bag and pulled out a change of clothes. After the long trail ride and tending to the horses, she wanted a shower. Luck had been on her side when the laptop started up without the use of a password. She squinted her eyes at the results that popped up from putting her name into the search bar.

Her name pulled up her page on the database for movies and television shows, news articles about her and what she’s done in ways of giving back to the community and charity work. Most of the charity work focused on those who lived below the poverty line and barely made anything. That didn’t seem so bad. It had touched home for her childhood. Her eye caught the headline of an article that had been posted the day before she arrived at the house.

‘Kushiel’s Legacy’ Seeps into the Real Life

Aaliyah clicked on the link and scanned the article that broke the news that she had been caught having relations with one of the directors of the television show she was a regular on. The article went on with information from an unnamed person who worked on the show telling the news outlet how Aaliyah and the director had been seen to be a bit too close during times on set and would go out after the day’s shooting was done. Even showed up to set the next day as if they spent the night together.

She closed the laptop without closing the window, seeing enough of what her pretend life was like. It sounded like a good life if it hadn’t been for the outside relations the article spoke about. Aaliyah grabbed her clean clothes and headed for the nearest bathroom for a shower. Voices drifted down the hall from the dining area. She would have ignored them if her name hadn’t been said. She crept down and hid in the shadows against the hall.

“I’m surprised she had the nerve to show up with all the stuff that’s going on,” Leo said. “I mean, doesn’t she know what she does reflects on us, right?”

“Not like she has enough … fun while shooting some parts of the show,” Xander added.

“You try having actual adult moments with a bunch of people hanging around watching,” Nissa said in Aaliyah’s defense. “Besides, the guys have this … sling thing that keep ‘em down for those times.”

“Still, she had to be caught like that,” Leo circled back around. “Do any of you think she had enough smarts to not do it?”

“Who said she actually did any of it? We haven’t heard her say anything about it.”

“She could be trying to avoid it,” Xander suggested. “I’m not saying she did or didn’t do what TMZ or other celebrity news are reporting. We all know Aaliyah’s been the one who had to grow up when our mother died.”

That was true enough. Aaliyah had to lie about her age a little in order to gain a job while in junior high. Xander told her not to do it.

“She did have a tough time when we all started living together,” Nissa commented.

“Who’s side are you taking here, sis?” Leo asked.

“Think about it.”

Aaliyah heard footsteps in the kitchen; Nissa walked somewhere.

“Put us in their position,” Nissa continued. “And you had to do what Aaliyah did? Then mom married another man and we social climbed. Then you didn’t have to struggle to save money for food or thrift store clothes. Or help pay bills.”

Aaliyah didn’t hear anyone speak after that. It was her cue to slip back down the hall for the bathroom and start up the shower. It was the perfect dream life; a family, one or both parents living, and a stable job. Hearing her siblings sitting around discussing something she hadn’t done wasn’t part of that dream.

She closed the door behind her and locked it before dumping her clean clothes into the sink. Once she had the water running, Aaliyah put her hands on the sink and put her weight on them. Her breath shook before she looked into the mirror. A green and blue eye scanned her sun kissed skin. No scars or any sort of mares that she had gained from the years of hunting. Aaliyah pulled her shirt off and moved to look at the spot where the hand print should have been from the Djinn. It wasn’t there. Nothing added up.

“Help me,” a disembodied voice echoed in the bathroom.

Jerking at the sound, Aaliyah looked around to find no one was there with her. None of her siblings would have thought to pull the “hide a speaker in the bathroom” prank. Out of the corner of her eye, the mirror reflected the image of the guy in the coma at the assisted living place. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to look at the image. Sleep had been short the past few days, but Aaliyah swore she had enough to not be hallucinating things.

“Aaliyah?” Nissa’s voice was muffled by the door. “Is it okay I come in?”

She shook her head free of the image. “Yeah.” Aaliyah worked off her pants when Nissa entered and closed the door.

“Are you sure you wanna go back next week?” Nissa asked. “I mean…”

“Do I really wanna face all the criticism and backlash of whatever someone claimed I did?” Aaliyah tossed the last piece of clothing into the dirty pile and stepped into the shower. “The news broke Thursday, sis. Unless the higher ups at the network decide to pull the show before the season finale, I’m sure nothing serious has been decided.”

Aaliyah heard Nissa lower the toilet lid and saw her shadow sit through the decorative shower curtain.

“We’re just worried,” her sister said. “I mean, we’re not exactly cut off from the world here.”

Aaliyah paused in working the shampoo through her hair. “You’re worried that the rumor of what may or may not have happened will make everyone look bad.” Not that she could really blame them. “Whatever people are claiming isn’t true. Any bet it was someone who had gone for the role I got but got a lesser role in the deal. And this is their way of trying to get back at me.”

She rinsed out the shampoo with the thought that Nissa would be able to see right through the lie. Conditioner was worked through and left while Aaliyah grabbed the body wash and a washcloth.

“You’ve been here most of the day, and not once brought up the matter,” Nissa said. “We can help.”

“Not sure how much help you all will be.” Aaliyah worked the lathered cloth over her body. “I gotta handle it on my own.”

“Or … you could just stay here. There’s a few job openings at the local theatre.”

Aaliyah stopped mid leg, thrown off by the comment. It sounded like her sister made the suggestion that she quit the show and get involved in the local theatre. Why would she do that?

“Anyway,” Nissa broke into Aaliyah’s thoughts. “We’re gonna be leaving in about an hour for dinner. Thought you’d wanna know.”

Part of Aaliyah wanted to dismiss what Nissa said out of hand. It was the perfect life. Being one of a handful of rising stars, being a lead on a television series based on a book series too good for movies, and all the charity work. Aaliyah couldn’t imagine much else. Something had to be tossed in for a twist; the article. There had to be that one thing to be the wrench in the plans. Rinsing out the conditioner and the body wash, Aaliyah turned the water off and stepped out of the tub.

***

Aaliyah slid her chair under her as she sat at the table. The others were settling in as the host assured that their waiter would see to them shortly. She adjusted her shirt a little before reaching for the glass of water. Her eyes shifted around the full dining room, low conversations at each table and the wait staff moving about like a well-oiled machine. The light was high enough to be able to read the menu and see her siblings and step mother at the table, but not those at the nearby tables.

“You all enjoy your ride this afternoon?” Pris asked, putting her own glass down.

Aaliyah nodded along with her siblings. It had been a relatively uneventful ride that she would have missed in the city. If she had experienced the life everyone else remembered. Her siblings ordered their choice of wine when the waiter came by. Aaliyah glanced at the wine list before spotting the section for other alcoholic drinks.

“I’ll have … a Long Island, please,” Aaliyah ordered, ignoring the barely contained glares from her family.

“Was that necessary?” Pris asked when the waiter walked away. “A Long Island, come now, Aaliyah. How old are you?”

“I believe…” Aaliyah laid the alcohol menu down as she worked to keep her voice low and level. “That I am old enough to make that effect my life without the judgmental looks from my family.”

“Mom, can you not?” Nissa asked, her voice low. “Not here. Please?”

“Why not here? It’s as good as any.”

“Because we don’t want any more attention,” Xander countered.

Aaliyah caught his glance around to the nearby tables to see a few of the people giving sideway looks at them. “They’re right, Pris. Not here. I’m willing to talk…”

“Then talk.”

Aaliyah pulled herself up straight at the raised voice that pulled more looks from the other tables. “I will not here.” A finger teased at the folded cloth napkin, exposing the steak knife. “Do you not think for one second that I would know better than to get involve with a director?” Two fingers continued to work at the napkin, freeing the knife. “I have better morals than you give me credit for, Priscilla. Do not lump me in with a portion of the Hollywood stars that view sleeping with higher ups is a good way to get better roles.”

She watched Pris stare her down from across the table, her fingers subtle movements touched on the knife handle and slid it back within her grasp. Aaliyah caught the anger that seethed just under the surface of her step mother, wanting to lash out at her.

“I knew taking you and Xander in was a mistake,” Pris said with a shake of her head. “This whole dinner was a mistake.”

Aaliyah caught movement behind Pris as she stood. It was the same guy from the assisted living building. He lifted one arm and traced a finger from wrist to crook of the elbow. Was it that simple to escape? It couldn’t be.

“Mom, just wait and listen,” Leo protested, his voice pulled Aaliyah back. “This wasn’t a mistake.”

Aaliyah looked down to the knife in her hand as her siblings worked to keep Pris at the table and not cause the scene to disturb the other diners. It was the knife or break a glass for a shard. The short blade was cool to the touch when she put it against her wrist. With a deep breath, Aaliyah closed her eyes and pressed the knife tip into her wrist. A trickle of warmth pooled at the point before rolling down the side. She mentally counted to three before sliding the blade up her arm. The hushed argument of her family continued at the table. Aaliyah opened her eyes to see them leaning over the table, unconcerned of what she had done. She put the knife in her other hand, blood seeping from the cut, and made the same cut on the other arm.

Her sight started to blur when Nissa turned to face her; someone from another table had seen the blood on Aaliyah. A voice urged Nissa to leave the table, that the mess wasn’t their problem. Aaliyah assumed it was Pris. Leave it to an imaginary step mother to just up and leave like Casey did. Aaliyah slumped forward onto to the table, her arms dangling at her sides. The knife eventually slipped from her loose hold onto the floor.

“Aaliyah, wake up,” Nissa pled, her voice distant. “Come on, sis. Not now.”

The more Nissa pled, Aaliyah swore that her voice grew closer. As if …

Aaliyah shot up gasping for breath. Someone gave a sigh of relief. She sat there on the bed, allowing her breathing to return to normal. A movement at her side brought her attention to Nissa; behind her was Leo tending to the recently deceased Djinn. Aaliyah moved an arm in an effort to stretch and saw IV lines attached to her.

“We thought we lost you for a second there,” Nissa said, working on removing the lines. “It was something we weren’t looking forward to with Xander and your friends.”

Aaliyah narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Friends?”

“Yeah. The one said his name was Plant. He and his FBI partner …”

Aaliyah huffed in amusement. “That’s Dean and Sam. How’d you forget about them?”

“FBI, remember?” Nissa pulled the last line free. “There, all good. How the hell did you get caught?”

Aaliyah rubbed the spots where the needles had been and shrugged. “I don’t know. Low point, maybe. How long was I missing?”

“A few hours. At first we thought you were on to something and didn’t wanna lose the trail.” Nissa shifted on the bed. “But when you didn’t come back … Something was wrong. We went through your journal and found the entry about the Djinn. Do you know how hard it is to find a silver blade and lambs blood in the middle of winter?”

Aaliyah’s head bobbed a little. “It’s tough finding them anywhere. So, you took it out with a blow to the head?”

“One of the best ways with any monster. Come on, I’m sure the others are worried.”

Aaliyah accepted the offered hand up off the bed and stepped over the blood stain. She followed after Nissa back to Xander’s room, smiling every time her sister looked back over her shoulder. She couldn’t blame Nissa for the constant reassurance that she was still there after the Djinn attack. A hand rubbed the spot that sported the double hand print of two Djinn as she walked into Xander’s room.

“Damn it, Liyra,” he cursed when she walked in. “Nearly gave us all a heart attack.”

“Love you too, Jerk face,” she shot back. “Nissa said Sam and Dean were here.”

“Yeah, but they headed off for another case once they were satisfied Nissa and Leo had the Djinn handled.”

Aaliyah nodded, the odd sense of relief washed over her. Part of her hadn’t been ready to see Dean again, but another wanted to make sure she wasn’t dreaming again.

“Tell you what, sis,” Xander broke into her thoughts. “Why don’t we all have a movie night? I’m sure there’s gotta be a store open that’s got some movies or something.”

She chuckled. “I doubt it, but I’ll look into it.” She moved over to Xander and kissed his cheek before ducking out.

In her path to the reception desk, Aaliyah heard a whistle low enough to blend into the background noise. Glancing around, she spotted Leo who gave her a nod. The Djinn had been disposed of quietly somewhere no one would find it easily.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“I know most places might be closed,” Aaliyah started. “But do you know if any movie places and stores would be open?”

“There’s the movie store down the street open until 3pm,” the receptionist answered. “And the dollar store closes at 4pm.”

“Thank you.” Aaliyah aimed back for Xander’s room.

#spn fanfic angst dealing with Djinn

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regularbeans · 6 years ago

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Best Singles of 2018 but it’s chill this year

This category should speak for itself but I just tacked so many amendments onto the description that it’s like... it just makes no fucking sense anymore. Technically this is a list for any single that was released this year or last year December (since I write these lists in December it’s easier for songs to slip under my radar so I sometimes count them for the next year, like the Grammy’s eh? But then sometimes I let a November 30th release date slide as well... or maybe the single was released earlier but the video would qualify or just... any dumb fucking reason. If you see a song that shouldn’t qualify just trust me to find a loophole so... lezzgo.

Also hey, I guess I’ll just straight up say it then, there’s no best covers, best collaborations OR best pop songs list either, I just kinda threw them all on here. With a good portion of this list being kpop I’d have to make a whole different kpop list too? No sir, no thank you, I’ll just dump it all on here especially since the past few years most of the pop songs list was already featured on the singles list so like... why make the extra effort? Enjoy All Songs.

Also the order is just ugh, it’s 200 songs, get off my weenie.

>> YOU CAN LISTEN TO ALL OF THIS IN THIS ORDER HERE I SPENT TWO HOURS PUTTING THESE SONGS IN ORDER WHY DID I DO THAT <<

200 Seventeen: Oh My! 199 Nicky Jam: Live It Up (feat. Will Smith, Era Istrefi) 198 Ariana Grande: imagine 197 Mona: Not Alone 196 The Lumineers: Pretty Paper 195 James Bay: Pink Lemonade 194 Lily Kershaw: Moonlight 193 GOT7: Lullaby 192 Bishop Briggs: Baby 191 Zara Larsson: Ruin My Life 190 (G)I-DLE: Hann (Alone) 189 Matt Simons: We Can Do Better 188 Cardi B: I Like It (feat. Bad Bunny, J Balvin) 187 Apink: I’m So Sick 186 Pentagon: Shine 185 Moon Byul & Seulgi: Selfish 184 FOURS: Sweet Reality 183 The Tallest Man on Earth: An Ocean 182 LSD: Audio (feat. Sia, Diplo, Labrinth) 181 David Guetta: Flames (feat. Sia) 180 The Strumbellas: Salvation 179 Wanna One: Boomerang 178 White Lies: Finish Line 177 Gabrielle Aplin: My Mistake 176 Lykke Li: hard rain

175 Poets of the Fall: False Kings 174 Netta: Toy 173 Highlight: Loved 172 Dua Lipa: IDGAF 171 Christina Aguilera: Accelarate (feat. Ty Dolla $ign, 2 Chainz) 170 Tom Walker: Angels 169 Astro: Always You 168 Craig David: I Know You (feat. Bastille) 167 Vance Joy: Call If You Need Me 166 Years & Years: Sanctify 165 Imagine Dragons: Machine 164 LSD: Genius (feat. Sia, Diplo, Labrinth) 163 Jennie: Solo 162 Wanna One: Spring Breeze 161 Mumford & Sons: If I Say 160 Alle Farben: H.O.L.Y. (feat. RHODES) 159 Vance Joy: Saturday Sun 158 Eric Nally: Spirits 157 Gabbie Hanna: Monster 156 Sunmi: Heroine 155 Amy Shark: I Said Hi 154 Taemin: Eclipse 153 Scenic Route to Alaska: How It Feels 152 Sam Fender: Friday Fighting 151 The Score: Glory

150 Sloes: Misunderstood 149 Ina Wroldsen: Mother 148 Dan Owen: Icarus 147 Amber Run: Heaven Is A Place 146 Cosmos & Creature: I Am Free 145 Echosmith: Over My Head 144 NONONO: Friends 143 Grizfolk: Endless Summer 142 Retro Video Club: Chemistry 141 Sam Smith: Fire On Fire 140 flor: get behind this 139 FOURS: Even In My Dreams 138 X Ambassadors: Don’t Stay 137 Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness: Ohio 136 (G)I-DLE: LATATA 135 Clean Bandit: Solo (feat. Demi Lovato) 134 Momoland: BAAM 133 Momoland: BBoom BBoom 132 Florence + the Machine: Hunger 131 Demi Lovato: Sober 130 Loïc Nottet: Go to Sleep 129 The Mowgli’s: Real Good Life 128 Twice: What Is Love? 127 Imagine Dragons: Bad Liar 126 Muse: Thought Contagion

125 Shinedown: Devil 124 Three Days Grace: The Mountain 123 Imagine Dragons: Natural 122 iKON: Love Scenario 121 Snow Patrol: Empress 120 Sigrid: Sucker Punch 119 Will Jay: Never Been In Love 118 YUNGBLUD: Medication 117 Monsta X: Shoot Out 116 The Carters: Apeshit 115 Jess Glynne: I’ll Be There 114 Florence + the Machine: Big God 113 OneRepublic: Connection 112 Vance Joy: I’m With You 111 The Boyz: No Air 110 Vance Joy: We’re Going Home 109 Imagine Dragons: Next to Me 108 Alexander Oscar: Number 107 flor: heart 106 HAUS: Shameless 105 888: Are You Out? 104 Pop Evil: A Crime to Remember 103 The Collier: I’m Older 102 YUNGBLUD: Psychotic Kids 101 The Record Company: Life to Fix

100 The New Pacific: Anchor 099 The Midnight: Scream 098 Modern Me: Dead to Me 097 Layup: Whole New Level 096 Jack & Jack: No One Compares to You 095 FRENSHIP: Mi Amore 094 Bebe Rexha: I’m a Mess 093 IU: BBIBBI 092 dodie: Human (feat. Tom Walker) 091 FOURS: Snap Out of It 090 dodie: If I’m Being Honest 089 Walking On Cars: Monster 088 Tessa Violet: Bad Ideas 087 dodie: Party Tattoos 086 Tessa Violet: Crush 085 Years & Years: Palo Santo 084 Janelle Monáe: Pynk (feat. Grimes) 083 Rudimental: These Days (feat. Jess Glynne, Macklemore, Dan Caplen) 082 OneRepublic: Start Again (feat. Vegas Jones) 081 EXO: Tempo 080 Ariana Grande: God Is a Woman 079 Ariana Grande: no tears left to cry 078 Christina Aguilera: Fall In Line (feat. Demi Lovato) 077 Iz*One: La Vie en Rose 076 Mamamoo: Starry Night

075 Gabbie Hanna: Honestly 074 American Authors: Do My Own Thing 073 AJR: Sober Up 072 The Wombats: Cheetah Tongue 071 Hayley Kiyoko: Curious 070 Bastille: Quarter Past Midnight 069 Jess Glynne: Thursday 068 AJR: Burn the House Down 067 Matt Maeson: The Mask 066 Shawn Mendes: In My Blood 065 Bill Wurtz: And the Day Goes On 064 Shawn Mendes: Nervous 063 Hozier: Movement 062 The Chainsmokers: Sick Boy 061 Kendrick Lamar: All the Stars (feat. SZA) 060 NCT 127: Regular 059 Zendaya & Zac Efron: Rewrite the Stars 058 Mamamoo: Wind Flower 057 Cö Shu Nie: Asphyxia 056 The Faim: Saints of the Sinners 055 Loïc Nottet: On Fire 054 Mamamoo: Egotistic 053 Avril Lavigne: Head Above Water 052 Céline Dion: Ashes 051 Billie Eilish: lovely (feat. Khalid)

050 Bastille & Seeb: Grip 049 Snow Patrol: Life on Earth 048 Mumford & Sons: Guiding Light 047 Imagine Dragons: Zero 046 Childish Gambino: This Is America 045 Blackpink: Ddu-Du Ddu-Du 044 Bruno Mars: Finesse (feat. Cardi B) 043 Matt Maeson: The Hearse 042 Banners: Let Go 041 Kodaline: Follow Your Fire 040 K/DA: POP/STARS 039 Keala Settle: This Is Me 038 Fall Out Boy: Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) 037 Panic! at the Disco: Say Amen (Saturday Night) 036 Twenty One Pilots: Nico and the Niners 035 Bishop Briggs: White Flag 034 Sunmi: Siren 033 YUNGBLUD: 21st Century Liability 032 SIgrid: High Five 031 YUNGBLUD: California 030 Nothing But Thieves: Forever & Ever More 029 j-hope: Daydream 028 Zedd: The Middle (feat. Maren Morris, Grey) 027 j-hope: Airplane 026 BTS: Airplane pt.2 - japanese ver.

025 NEEDTOBREATHE: Bullets 024 Hozier: Nina Cried Power 023 Janelle Monáe: Make Me Feel 022 Panic! at the Disco: Hey Look Ma, I Made It 021 Twenty One Pilots: Jumpsuit 020 X Ambassadors: Amen (feat. Billy Raffoul) 019 BTS: Fake Love 018 Snow Patrol: What If This Is All the Love You Ever Get 017 Matt Maeson: Hallucinogenics 016 Mother Mother: So Down 015 Steve Aoki: Waste It On Me (feat. BTS) 014 BTS: Idol 013 American Authors: Deep Water 012 Editors: Darkness at the Door 011 Twenty One Pilots: My Blood 010 Mamamoo: Paint Me 009 Amber Run: Carousel 008 Editors: Hallelujah (So Low) 007 Years & Years: All For You 006 Snow Patrol: Don’t Give In 005 Panic! at the Disco: High Hopes 004 Editors: Magazine 003 Years & Years: If You’re Over Me 002 Editors: Cold 001 X Ambassadors: Joyful

I mean I was also surprised a little but in the same time they (they) only have three like, official singles this year as far as I’m aware? And they’re not among my most favouritest songs they released this year so... thaaaaaat’s politics!

#listen idol and fake love are good but like #arent joyful levels of good i mean #alright lets calm down and not be ridiculous #long post for ts #best of 2018 #tia's best of 2018

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eternalstereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

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love letters straight from your heart

For the lovely @poetry-protest-pornography, who listed one of their favorite tropes as “doing something nice for the other and getting caught.” although this didn’t quite turn out to be that, I hope you enjoy anyway ♥

It seemed like a good idea at the time. How much of Stiles’ life was shaped by those words? But this? This was probably one of the worst decisions he had ever made.

After two years of living in the dorms, Stiles was faced with a choice. Either find some people to get a shitty apartment with, or move back home. Between nightmares and training with Deaton, moving back to Beacon Hills made the most sense. The commute was only an hour and he had managed to schedule his on-campus classes to meet only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Everything else he could take online.

But he just had to go complaining about moving back in with his dad to Derek over the summer. In his defense, he never expected Derek to offer his spare room. Because Derek had a house now. A very nice house. And a job.

Honestly, the idea of living somewhere he could be independent, yet still see his dad whenever he wanted was too good to pass up. But now, standing in the fancy kitchen and staring at the yellow sticky note on the coffee maker, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d made a mistake.

DO YOUR OWN DISHES, spelled out in Derek’s blocky hand writing stared back at him. Stiles sighed, scrunching up the yellow square and setting it beside his mug. It was the fifth note he’d found in as many days. One in the bathroom (PICK UP YOUR TOWELS), one on the refrigerator (DON’T DRINK MY BEER), and several others scattered across the house.

It was infuriating. This was the reason Stiles had wanted to sit down and draw up a roommate contract, but Derek’s only stipulation was ‘pay the rent on time.’ Stiles rinsed his mug and dropped it into the dishwasher. It hadn’t even been a week and he was already worrying about making this work.

—

Stiles was stubborn. He told his dad this was for the best, so he was going to stick it out. And Derek wasn’t a bad roommate, really. He worked odd hours because he was the newest deputy on the force, but he was always quiet and neat. Sometimes Stiles didn’t even know he was home.

After the first month, Derek convinced him to take the Toyota to class. It had much better gas mileage, plus meant less wear and tear on the Jeep. So Stiles parked Roscoe in the garage with the Camaro and hung the new set of keys off of his keyring.

All in all, Stiles though they were doing well. Even if they rarely saw each other. (Which, considering the massive crush he had on Derek, was probably for the best. No need to make it weird.)

It had been two weeks without a damn sticky note, so Stiles figured he’d cleaned up his act enough to make Derek happy. Until one morning he came down to a note reading PICK UP YOUR SHIT. It was stuck to the wall above the pile of shoes and sweatshirts and textbooks that had accumulated in the living room.

Stiles sighed heavily before gathering up the mess to take to his room. “This is why we need the expectations outlined,” he grumbled, not even caring if he woke Derek up.

He dumped everything on the floor, grabbed his backpack, and shut the door a tad bit harder than necessary. KEEP YOUR DOOR CLOSED OR CLEAN YOUR ROOM had been the last message and Stiles tried hard to comply. But hell, it was exhausting trying to remember all of the rules. Maybe he should have kept the notes instead of crumpling each one and throwing it away.

—

For the first two months living together, Stiles could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually spoken to Derek. Part of it was his crazy schedule, with classes and training with Deaton and hanging out with his dad. And the rest was Derek’s apparent preference for night shifts. In fact, it wasn’t until mid-October that Derek finally confronted Stiles about his sleeping habits.

Stiles was neck deep in practice tests when the door to the garage swung open. Derek dropped his work bag on the kitchen floor and slipped into the chair across from him. There were notecards, loose leaf papers, and multiple notebooks spread across the table between them.

Derek took in the chaos and sighed. “Why are you still up?”

“Stupid exam tomorrow.” Stiles didn’t even look away from his screen. The words stopped making sense an hour ago, but there was no way he could remember this many conjugations.

“Go to bed.” Derek gently slid the laptop out of range. “You can’t learn anything when you’re this tired.”

“But…” Stiles’ protest died as Derek fixed him with a look. It clearly conveyed that he wasn’t listening to arguments. Defeated, Stiles leaned back in his chair and yawned widely. Ugh. It was almost four in the morning.

The next day was brutal. Stiles rolled out of bed at eight o’clock to an alarm that he didn’t remember setting. He stumbled down the stairs, trying not to wake Derek with his heavy footfalls. But when he went to pull the milk out of the refrigerator, the sight of a yellow sticky note on the door made him freeze.

In neat capital letters, it said: GOOD LUCK TODAY. There was even a smiley face. Was this the Twilight Zone?

Stiles stared, then blinked several times. But the words didn’t disappear.

He smiled the entire duration of his morning routine, stopping to stick the note to the inside cover of his Latin textbook before he left. Then he hopped into Derek’s Toyota and drove to school.

He aced the exam.

—

Several weeks passed and Derek was already out on his night shift when Stiles shuffled in from school. He’d had an incredibly long day, filled with lectures and labs and finishing a stupid group project. Finding a familiar yellow note hanging from the microwave didn’t fill him with dread anymore. Especially not when it said: DINNER’S IN THE FRIDGE.

Stiles heated up the leftovers, feeling exhausted and content. Derek had even made his absolute favorite because he knew today was going to suck.

It was difficult not to read into Derek’s little acts of kindness, and Stiles was crushing harder with every note. The newest one was going to hang alongside DON’T FORGET YOUR LUNCH, and SCOTT SAYS HELLO, and DON’T WORRY I’LL BUY MORE COFFEE TONIGHT, and HAVE A GOOD DAY. That last note had Stiles grinning like a lunatic, to the point where Deaton asked if everything was alright.

So all in all, life with Derek was good. Stiles just had to keep reminding himself that Derek was a friend and not his co-lead in some rom-com about a werewolf and a spark who live together and fight crime. Although that would probably be an awesome idea for a TV show.

Shaking his head at the thought, Stiles loaded his dishes into the dishwasher and headed up to bed.

—

Halfway through the semester, Stiles’ three accelerated online classes had finals. He was super excited because that meant he’d be down to only two classes. His work load was about to be so much easier, and he might even have time to catch up on Netflix

The only problem was that the exams had to be scheduled at the proctoring center on campus. And because he was an idiot, he scheduled them all back to back. How he was going to survive six hours of testing was a mystery.

But Derek stayed up with him every night for a week, flipping through notecards and quizzing him on what he knew. Plus, he promised to take the night off and have a movie marathon once Stiles got home. Because Derek’s house was ‘home’ now and Derek was one of his best friends.

Sure enough, a yellow square saying: YOU’VE GOT THIS was already in his spot on the kitchen table. Stiles grinned at the note, peeling it away so he could add it to his collection.

—

On a typical Thursday night, Derek tapped at the door and stepped into Stiles’ room. Which he had never actually been in before. It seemed kind of weird, now that Stiles thought about it. He glanced over at the mountain of three week old laundry in the corner that was offensive to even his human nose and, well maybe not.

Marking his page, he set the textbook on his desk. “Hey, what’s up?”

Derek didn’t respond. He was staring at the bed with a slightly dazed expression. Then Stiles remembered the little yellow squares affixed to the headboard in neat rows.

He flushed, not really sure what to say. “Was there something that you wanted?”

Derek tore his eyes away. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

Right. This morning’s note read WE’RE HAVING DINNER WITH YOUR DAD. It was a nice reminder of the fact that Derek was taking fewer night shifts. Sometimes he was even around to hang out with.

“Give me a second.” Stiles glanced down at his ratty sweatpants and stained t-shirt. Man did he need to do laundry.

He emerged from his room in more appropriate clothes and followed Derek out to the Camaro.

They were halfway to his house when Derek broke the silence. “You kept the notes.”

“Yup.” Because, obviously.

—

Stiles rushed home from school. It was the last day of the semester and normally he’d be ecstatic to have his freedom back. But this time, he was too nervous. Honestly he had no idea what he was thinking that morning. Maybe he could still get back in time to take that idiotic note off of the counter.

He parked in the driveway and sprinted to the door, hands shaking as he unlocked it. When the door finally clicked open, he crashed into the kitchen. The shower upstairs was running. Fuck. Maybe he could call it a friend dinner? People probably made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town for friend dinners all the time. Right?

Stiles’ panicked eyes landed on the note. His hurried scrawl: Dinner at Luka’s? 6pm was followed by Derek’s blocky print spelling out: IT’S A DATE and underlined three times.

Sagging against the counter, Stiles took a deep breath. He knew he hadn’t imagined the last few weeks. Derek was home all the time now, only taking shifts while Stiles was training or at school. Which meant they spent most of their day bickering over recipes and watching crappy television.

It was awesome and domestic and Stiles couldn’t wait to date the hell out of Derek Hale.

—

(And five years later, they visited Luca’s again. But this time, Stiles’ drink came with a sticky note asking WILL YOU MARRY ME?)

#eternalstereksecretsanta17 #esss17 #fic #submission #sterek

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lindoig8 · 3 years ago

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Tuesday to Saturday, 7 to 11 September

Tuesday

We woke to find we had yet another tyre problem. I thought it looked a bit flat when we arrived back at the van on Monday night, but it was about halfway flat next morning. At least, we are getting some practice in changing wheels and I managed it without too much problem. The spectators were rich with their suggestions, but nobody (apart from Heather) offered to help.

We packed up and got out of the caravan park – if you are not out by 10am sharp, they automatically charge you for another day – they really are the worst, most officious, park managers we have encountered anywhere in Australia or elsewhere! We got a couple of hundred metres down the road when I realised that I had lost one of my hearing aids – a really major problem for me. I left the van on the side of the road and ran back to search everywhere I had been that morning – the van site, the toilets, the dump point, up and down the area 4 or 5 times and eventually gave up, almost in a panic. I was on my way back to the van to search it and the car again when I met Heather walking back to help me search. We went back into the park and started the search again and Heather found it – on the site next to ours. Somehow, I must have dropped it and it flicked away onto our neighbour’s site. Boy, was I delighted? I find it very difficult to wear only one aid and trying to get by without any would really have upset the rest of our trip until I could arrange another pair.

We drove back into Karratha (about 40 kilometres each way) and got the puncture fixed – there were actually two. One was a self-tapper and the other was a nail. I could see them easily enough before we took the wheel off, but it took a while for the guy to fix them both – and he only charged me for one. Very generous.

We then drove back the way we had come, past Roebourne again and about 40 kilometres north to a very rough road in to the Millstream Chichester National Park. We had been there before, but came in from the opposite direction and never experienced the 70-odd kilometres of truly atrocious track. The scenery was quite spectacular, but I was concentrating more on keeping the car and van on the road instead of looking out the window.

Just near the start of the sealed road is Python Pool and we were thinking of calling in for a swim, but access with a caravan was almost impossible. There was a 30 centimetre drop off the side of the road onto a very rough narrow track and we could see quite a few cars already in there. We stopped one car coming out and they reckoned it would be difficult to turn the van around in there so we opted to give it a miss and forgo our swim. Heather had a swim last time we visited and the scenery on the other side of the road was unbelievable so we substituted cooling off for gawking at the hills. The view from the Mt Herbert lookout was breathtaking (reminded me of photos of Monument Valley in the US) and the climb up the hill and across the top afforded numerous other awesome views – the colours, the formations, the views and the vegetation were all spectacular.

We eventually reached the Tom Price road and within about a kilometre, I noticed that one of the van windows had blown open – fortunately very recently so there was no dust inside. We retaped the window shut and continued east on a great sealed road for a hundred-odd kilometres. That section is largely used as a mining road so is maintained very well and then a private mining road branched off and followed the railway line into Tom Price. We were not allowed on that road so continued on what became a reasonably good gravel road for another 100 kilometres to Mount Florence. Last time we were in this area, we had camped remotely for a couple of days just off the road in a partially-gravelled area out in the middle of nowhere – very romantic, but ridiculously ‘nowhere’! We were not really sure where we had camped last time, but less than a kilometre after the Mt Florence Station turnoff, there it was – instant recognition and we parked the van under the exact same tree where we parked four years ago.

Wednesday/Thursday

We spent a wonderfully nostalgic two days just relaxing in the van. We ran the generator most of the time so we could keep the car fridge cold and the air conditioner running – all the comforts of home for the cost of about 5 or 6 litres of petrol. We also had a fire, made more delicious bread, and ate our wonderful evening meals under the stars. It may sound a bit silly to some, but even without any special facilities (no lawn or laundry), just being off the grid and enjoying the birds, plants and trees, even the spinifex, without worrying about what to wear, with just an occasional mining truck speeding past – it was quite wonderful. I wandered the nearby hills and saw a variety of birds and from the crest, I could see at least 25 kilometres to a range of sculptured hills in the distance – just delightful.

Having the generator running meant that we could use our PCs (along with all our other appliances) although we still had no internet. We spent a lot of the day/s preparing posts, editing photos and trying to identify more of the waders I had seen at the Broome Bird Observatory. It was just relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable for a delightful two whole days.

Friday

I restarted the generator as soon as we woke up so we could make a cuppa in bed. It started first pull once again and ran like clockwork until about 3 seconds after I turned on the electric jug in the van – then it simply died. I restarted it first pull again, but it didn’t heat the jug – we had to make our cuppa on the gas stove, but we still did a few puzzles together before breakfast. We experimented around with the generator, swapping cables, testing it on the car fridge, the AC lights inside the van and checked the fuses, but no power! It started and ran beautifully, none of its warning lights came on, but is simply wasn’t working.

No big problem because we intended going in to Tom Price and would be able to get it fixed there. We packed up slowly and stowed everything away, made sure our fire was out and lazed around until after 1pm – then we were on our way and Tom Price was only an hour or two away. We booked into the caravan park by phone, but decided to try to get the generator fixed while the van was still connected to the car. We tried at least 3 places before one guy agreed to have a look at it if we took it to his workplace that afternoon. He would get one of his guys to look at it next morning.

We got set up in the caravan park (pretty crummy site) and put the generator in the car and went to find him. As soon as I walked in, he said ‘you must be Lindsay, Luke will have a look at it straight away!’ Luke was a nice young guy and we fired up the generator – and it worked perfectly! We had mucked around with it for well over an hour in the morning with no success, but now it was working just fine. He put his meter on both outlets and they were actually delivering a bit more than specification and we simply couldn’t fault it. We left, quite bemused by the situation, but Luke wouldn’t take anything for his time so we were happy, if a little bewildered.

Saturday

We had stayed at Tom Price under somewhat of a misapprehension. It is probably the best base for visitors to the Karijini National Park, and based on our last visit, I thought Heather was keen to explore it further – and she thought I was the one wanting to revisit it.

We were late leaving, but headed out to the Park and explored quite a few of the places we had seen last trip – but unfortunately, it didn’t live up to our memories of the place – maybe we should have gone to the Hammersley Gorge – utterly spectacular driving through it just getting to Tom Price.

Within the national park, we visited the Dales Gorge, Three Ways Lookout, and the Circular Pool Lookout. Circular Pool was closed due to a rockfall but we could still look down into it – and we wouldn’t have trekked down into any of the gorges because the trek back up would be just too much. (No doubt, we could do it, but pain and exhaustion are not our friends!) The roads inside the park are a disgrace. The worst corrugations you can imagine, deeper than any we have encountered before and incessant – barely 10 metres of the roads in the entire park are free of bone-jarring corrugations. In my view the Park should be closed until some improvements are made.

We visited Fortescue Falls lookout but the road into Weano Falls was just so bad, we gave up after a kilometre or two. We did get in to Joffre Falls and Knox Gorge but whether it was worthwhile remains an open question. At Joffre Gorge, we overheard part of a discussion between some visitors and a Ranger. They were complaining about the condition of the road and he said he could only afford to grade the road once a year but it needed it much more often. He said he should simply stand at the end of the road handing out hundred-dollar bills to compensate people for the damage to their cars. A good idea, but they should be thousand-dollar bills. The views were all very impressive, but having seen them once under better conditions, the day-trip was a bit disappointing and very tough on the poor driver.

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whipplefilter · 7 years ago

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fanfic: An Adventure in Hyper-Local Food with Exotic Charm

Summary: Lightning finally breaks bread with his mishpocheh. Takes place Thanksgiving 2009. Harv POV.

(MY MAN HAAAAARV!!! 😘 😘 😘)

He cuts Chip off, as usual.

"Yo, I'm out--got a thing. Couple hours, though, and I'll meet all of you at Sandy's, okay?" Harv jabs at the elevator switch impatiently. "I'm about to go get in an elevator, man; Bluetooth's probably gonna cut out. No, it's not a woman! Jesus H Christ, You think I'd go on a date and then make plans with you schmucks? Harv don't play ball just to get to first base!"

He watches the floor indicators light up as the elevator makes its ascent to Harv's penthouse garage. Real freaking slowly. It started from B2, which freaking figures. "Yeah, happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Chip. It's not my mother. You think I'd take my mother to a nice dinner and then skulk off to Sandy's? What kind of hellhole did you crawl out of? I don't disrespect my mother like that. I'm having dinner with Lightning McQu-- Oh, go screw yourself, Chip. Choke on a lugnut."

Harv rolls into his elevator. Chip's still talking.

Harv sighs. "No, I don't think Lightning McQueen wants to join us at Sandy's, Chip. Chip--"

Harv sighs again. "Chip, he's dating a lawyer. So imma say it again: I don't think Lightning McQueen wants to join us at Sandy's. Keep your wax on, man. Y'know, you oughta be glad he's not coming. Girls like a pretty car, my man. If you and McQueen roll into a room?? That car sure ain't you. F'real now, I'm out--catch you on the flipside."

Harv snorts. McQueen dating a lawyer.

It's been what, four, five years now? And that never gets old.

Kid's growing up, though. He's the one who set the date, made the reservations, told Harv when to show up. Sure, Harv's running about an hour late, because love Lightning though he does, the kid's not yet in the tax bracket that deserves his punctuality. Harv's never had a client show quite so much initiative, though. It's kinda refreshing.

This will be the first time he and Lightning McQueen have ever met face to face.

Harv finds Lightning parked alone at the edge of the bar, sipping-- god knows what. Harv eyes the taps judgmentally. Microbrews. It's a gastropub, all black iron fixtures and bistro lights. Harv hates it. It's the kind of place the wannabe chic crowd puts up, farm-to-table menus and everything served with some kind of reduction. Boutique wines and over-inventive cocktails.

Lightning's extremely sober for someone who's been parked at a bar for--Harv checks the time--over an hour and a half. Heaven help him if this kid just spent all evening drinking water. "Hey hey, how'd the world's fastest racing machine end up in this dump?" Harv greets him convivially.

Lightning doesn't skip a beat, replies, "Had to lure the world's greatest agent out of the woodwork somehow!" His eyes go wide, though, like he can't quite believe Harv is real.

Within minutes, it's pretty clear the only reason they're at this godforsaken hipster pub is because Lightning genuinely thinks this is Harv's scene. It's certainly not Lightning's. As for Harv, he generally aims higher--or, if he's slumming it with the guys, significantly lower. Sandy's is a certain kind of seedy, after all. But this place, with its $20 appetizers and table service, is part of that dismal middle ground.

Harv flops his menu onto the table. He's just gonna ask for the chef's speciality. He can't imagine the chef here has one--if there are even chefs--but they seem gastropub-y enough to make one up.

Lightning's still scrutinizing his menu. His gaze flicks up to Harv, who's waiting expectantly. "I don't eat solid food very often," Lightning admits. "You know. Racecar."

Harv says something disarming. He's never had an awkward dinner in his life, and he doesn't particularly feel the threat of one now--bistro lights be damned. He settles into his usual easy pratter, half business, half whatever he feels like. It's a Thursday night; Harv's feeling pretty chill. And the more he talks, the more of his chill Lightning inherits. They've always worked well together. Harv's been giving Lightning the morning report for years--and generally around now, 9PM, because Harv hasn't been awake at 9AM in over a decade--and it's no different in person than over the phone.

That's a lie.

The waitress serves them both $20 salads. Sixteen different kinds of local lettuce, it boasted, and one of them radicchio. Harv doesn't trust radicchio. Lightning doesn't look like he's ever eaten sixteen leaves in one sitting.

"How's your girl?" Harv asks.

"My what? Oh, you mean--"

"The lawyer chick."

"Her name's Sally. And, uh, she's good."

"She doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving?" Harv nods around the pub. It's all singles tonight, well-dressed yuppies lured far from home by the city--or raised here, but too proud to return to the staid kitsch of home.

"We do. Actually, the whole town does. We--"

"But not tonight. Not this time," Harv establishes, well ahead of Lightning's explanations. This time, Lightning will not be sharing in whatever corn pone hi-jinks define the holiday in that little town of his. This time, Lightning flew all the way to the city to dine with Harv. Harv snorts. This kid.

"It was the only date your assistant said you were available." Lightning shrugs. "You're not putting me out, if that's what you're asking. I'll see them all tomorrow; it's no big deal."

It's not what Harv was asking, because that's not the sort of thing asks. But it's part of the difference between Lightning on the phone and Lightning across the table. Usually, Harv just hangs up for this part.

Generally, when Harv talks to Lightning, he runs the kid's lines along with his own. There's some alter-Lightning out there Harv taps into--that Lightning he knows from the media, that Lightning that he himself has helped create--and it's that Lightning he's on the phone with most of the time. Sure, he's had to make adjustments over the years, make the Lightning he's spinning to all the sponsors, all the news rags, track with the Lightning out there on the track, and the Lightning in the recording studio, but it's never actually been the kid who's in front of him now. Who's maybe not a kid anymore. He's got that girlfriend waiting for him back home, after all.

"How you holding up?" Harv asks suddenly.

That Doc Hudson, he'd passed sometime this year. Gotta be a few months ago now--maybe more than a few. If it sounds like Harv only just remembered this, it's because he has. He'd never met the man, after all.

Lightning seems surprised at the inquiry. He also seems extremely tired, Harv notices now, fatigue dragging at the corners of his mouth. Exhaustion isn't how Lightning makes his money; but it is what tends to happen when you fly clear across the country to eat a $20 salad. For the scantest moment, Harv imagines inviting him to Sandy's.

Harv doesn't wait for an answer--just keeps talking. Lightning clearly doesn't want to give one, and Harv's not really sure how he'd have to respond if he did.

They keep shooting the breeze, Lightning occasionally getting words in edgewise. Sometimes when Lightning talks, Harv finds himself imagining the hammering massage of tires against his trunk, his quarter-panels--rubber sauna-warm, Sandy's girls making lilting chatter he's not really listening to either.

Sometimes he listens, though. It's not even so much what Lightning says as the way he says it. When they'd first met, Lightning hadn't known a whole lot of conversation starters--and now, frankly, he still doesn't. Just thinks he does. Whatever floats his boat. But back then, he'd only been eager to please--or rather, eager to hear how much he'd pleased. He'd always known he was getting the job done, which is what Harv liked so much about him.

Lightning's confident now, too--confident that whatever he's saying matters. Something about old garages, museums, some project he's got for the off-season, who knows. But whether he's right or not, it's his own belief. It's not just something someone told him he believed. Harv can admire that.

"Are you enjoying your…" Lightning's not sure what it is. Neither is Harv--but he's got a plate of thin-cut something in front of him, a dainty curlicue of wasabi and floral-looking ginger. Some kind of sashimi fusion deal. Lightning's still waiting for the waitress to notice he's given up on his pile of leaves.

"There something special you wanted to talk about?" Harv asks, slurping fish. He can't imagine what; but hey, he can't imagine flying clear across the country just to talk to Lightning McQueen, so it's not like he's really trying to understand it all. Harv knows he's not being fired. His return on investment is just too good for Lightning to walk away from, and Harv knows everyone in the business--Lightning hasn't been shopping around. Contract's still got a year on it, but maybe Lightning's thinking ahead to the re-negotiations. Maybe thinking ahead is something he does now.

"Not really," says Lightning, and Harv's estimation of Lightning's business savvy handicaps obligingly. "I just-- We've been working together this whole time, you know? I feel like I'd regret it if I never had the chance to meet you face to face."

Harv laughs. "Plenty more chances, champ. You know Harv's always happy to rock it with you!"

Lightning laughs, too. It's the laugh of someone who finally understands the difference between a turn of phrase and an actual desire, and wants to let you know he's in on the joke. It's not bitter--turns out he's still a little eager to please. In this moment, Lightning looks extremely fulfilled.

Heck, if Harv had known breaking a little bread with the kid was gonna make him that happy, Harv'd have done him a solid a long time ago. Harv's the king of schmoozing--ain't no paint off his back. And he'd have chosen a better restaurant. Maybe he should take him to Sandy's.

But no. Harv's a quick read of guys when he's paying attention, and he knows Lightning's grown away from all that. They're very different, these days--him and Lightning.

Hadn't been that way in the beginning. Harv had been Harv and Lightning, he'd have followed. If Harv had tugged that leash at all, he'd have followed. And maybe Harv had tugged, just a little. That's sort of his style. He's hadn't been used to dealing with kids--still isn't. He's used to guys like him--guys like Chip, who respond to the invitations of others by raising them your own. This is probably why his sister screamed when he offered to babysit her puppies that one time.

Harv's glad Lightning found something different. He's proud of him, even; whatever Lightning's got going, it's been good to him.

Harv wonders if Lightning pities him. If Lightning makes a habit of making Thanksgiving plans with the solo flyers of the world, who've got their trunks full of hard cash and roomfuls of lonely ladies waiting to share it with them. And he snorts, because he knows that's a big hell no. Lightning's no saint to the solitary bachelor, dispensing favors. And Lightning knows Harv well enough to know that Harv's happy--this is his style, and he's blitzed to be living it.

This is personal. He'd just wanted to meet Harv. Just for a night.

"Sorry I never got a chance to meet your old man," says Harv, because he knows that's gotta be part of all this. It just is.

He says, "He sounded like one of the real ones."

"Yeah, he was," Lightning agrees, and he gets that look again--extreme fulfillment. Jesus, it's like Harv's never shown him basic decency before.

But then, maybe he hadn't. It's easy to forget about that part. Harv never makes calls unless he's multi-tasking something else, and he's always on the clock.

"You want dessert?" Harv asks. Harv's not much of a dessert man--if he's not licking it off the hood of a sports coupe, he's not sure he sees the point--but he's got a feeling Lightning is.

They talk for another hour, over a confection that involves rum cherries, latticed chocolate, and cream. It's difficult to eat.

For the first time, Harv wishes he and Lightning were buddies. But not really. What they've got is perfect; and for the good of both of them, they don't have more than one dinner's-worth of commonalities. Harv can't realistically envision spending any more time with Lightning than he already has.

Love the guy, don't get me wrong! he assures his inner monologue. But you know, it's like desserts. You don't need that much. They got a good thing going as is, and why mess with that?

Harv still feels guilty, though. Like he's gotta throw the kid a bone, make the trip worth his while. Make up for something, maybe. For what, he's not sure.

Lightning calls for the check. Harv realizes it's the first time he's ever been on the receiving end of a dinner.

"Hey," he says. "Me and the boys are goin' out a little later tonight. You're welcome to join, if you want, let us show you a good time, see the sights--y'know, that kinda thing." He winks licentiously.

Lightning thanks him for the offer, but he's got a red-eye to catch. He'll be back out west with the fam by dawn.

"Good for you, kid," Harv says, and means it. No bluster, no bravado.

They both smile.

Then Harv says, "Hey! Look sharp. Imma shoot you the schedule for Florida in a few weeks, all right? Say hi to your girl for me, tell her I got some stuff for her to review with you, get your pretty Hancock on 'em. Ciao, baby, g'night, I'm out!"

Weaving his way through the darkened streets to Sandy's, Harv watches the planes take off out of JFK. They rise up, head west, and they're on their way. They carve their way through the sky.

#harv #my man harv #the world's greatest agent #h a r v #lightning mcqueen #doc hudson #pixar cars #cars fandom #cars fanfiction #i apologize in advance but i'm probably gonna reblog this like 9 times #because i love harv

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rauliskafan · 7 years ago

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The Doctor and His Doll: Date Night

Author’s Note: Frederick wants to know his Doll better. But their date night does not exactly go according to plan. Read on to see what happens next!!! Enjoy!!! And see below for the previous parts!!!

The Doctor and His Doll

The Doctor and His Doll: Story Hour

Tagging @vintagemichelle91, @yourtropegirl, @mrschiltoncat

To say that sipping that first coffee was awkward was an understatement. After ordering two cups of the russet liquid and not making a face when you asked for a corn muffin with extra butter, Frederick spent the better part of that time in the diner restating his apologies, explaining that he had his reasons for not believing the best in people…

…touching on the fact that the last time he even had anything in the way of “company” at his home led to…

At that he said nothing else; he simply gestured to the scar adorning his sad face. You shuddered despite the steam wafting from your cup and instinctively reached for his hand.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you assured him. “If it’s too much.”

“Not for me,” he said, letting his hand linger in yours while sighing heavily and brushing his thumb against your wrist. “I live with the pictures every day. But I think… no. I am certain that you do not need those images attached to any part of your life.”

Touched by his sweetness, you leaned closer and tightened your grip. A screaming voice in the back of your head longed to blurt out tell me every beautiful and bad thing about you. Let me know you inside and out. It’s not like I don’t have scars, too. And maybe I can help…

None of those words joined the sounds of silverware clanking against plates or the cash drawer opening and closing as one patron after another left the restaurant. And you were content to simply sit there, to see the stubble on his face and wonder how he might look with a beard, to smile when he met your eyes. Each time he bowed his head after a few moments of eye contact. But he also held your gaze longer with every glance, and when a waitress wearing a pink apron and sporting a bouncy blonde ponytail announced that it was closing time, you still held his hand when returning to the night.

“So…”

“So,” you echoed. He seemed to hold is cane more loosely. Was it the support from your fingers? Or just the nearness of you that kept him steady on his feet? Figuring on the former but longing for the latter, you tilted your head to one side, the scent of the black coffee he imbibed mingling with his breath in the air. What would he taste like? Did the exterior damage on his cheek extend to parts unseen, unknown? Frederick parted his lips and looked as if he was more than ready, certainly able, and unquestionably willing to kiss you when he suddenly drew back and emitted an awkward laugh.

“I suppose we should call it a night,” he began. “Is there somewhere I can drop you? I’ll call my driver. He can be here in five minutes. Maybe less.”

“Campus is really just a few blocks away,” you said, and you wished that you could take the words back, wanting to draw the evening out and stop the sun from rising to stay at his side.

“Campus…? Oh! Yes. You… you mentioned something about a dormitory.”

His used of the full term caused you to chuckle.

“Well if that didn’t give me away, I was pretty sure this would.”

You gestured towards your shoulder bag busting with used books and notebooks in worse shape. His scar seemed to melt in the moonlight, concealed by a cloud of rosy red coloring his cheeks.

“And that,” he admitted. “I recall my own days at university. I…”

His attempt at a story stopped before it started, and again he hung his head, leaning into his cane. Yet another moment from his past that he preferred not to discuss.

If you were being honest, you could relate to that feeling in spades.

“Look,” you started as you lightly touched his arm, dismayed when he flinched, but relieved when he failed to flee. “Let’s not do the memory lane thing. Too many potholes, you know?”

“I do,” he said as he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Plus, we have a party to get ready for,” you continued. “Even without the feathers, I can still scare us up the costumes, and…”

Your voice trailed off when his face went white. What had you said wrong? He was the one waiting in the street for you, full of apologies and offering to make like the gentleman he obviously was. What could change his mind in the span of---?

“That sounds fine,” he finally said, mercifully putting your mind at ease. “It… it is just…”

The sight of him tongue-tied caused your heart to flutter. Despite his stance, his old-fashioned way of thinking, and the cane working to support the idea that he was aged, he still looked like a child in the harsh light of the diner or the far gentler rays of the moon.

“What’s up, Doc?” you teased as you gave his ribs a tender nudge. “Not thinking of going without me, are you?”

“What?” he quickly shot back. “No! Not a chance. It’s just that… I mean to say that Halloween is nearly a week away and I… I should very much like to see you before then. If that is alright with you.”

Now you were the one blushing, leaning into him for support and afraid that you might swoon when he lightened his grip on his cane and took hold of your arms.

“You asking me on a date, Doc?” you queried.

“It would seem so,” he confirmed. “And if I am being honest, I am terrified that you are still going to take the chance to turn me down.”

At the sound of that, you didn’t stop to think. Pressing your body close to his, you let your arms loop around his neck. Were those his goosebumps forming under your fingers? Wiping them away with one wash of your fingers, you moved closer still and brought your lips to his damaged cheek. He cringed, perhaps he couldn’t help it, when you kissed him there. Strange how his skin felt as if it was held in place by plaster or something stronger. But you extended the kiss. His flesh turned hot; the hand with no need to cling to his cane just wrapped around your waist as he touched the small of your back. You stayed with him like that until what felt like dawn, breaking away to see that there was still only darkness. But the moon was brighter and the air felt charged with untold electricity as he looked to you with wide, expectant eyes… waiting for your answer.

“Tell me the time and place, Doc,” you whispered. “I’ll be there.”

For a second he seemed stunned by your words, but then he simply smiled and pulled out his phone.

“Then the thing to do is set it in stone, Doll…”

Thursday night. The plan was for Frederick to meet you in the quad. He suggested coming to your dormitory door, but you vetoed that idea. The last thing that you wanted was him getting lost in the hallways; it had taken you long enough to navigate the maze, and to fluster Frederick in any way seemed like a crime. Better to meet him out in the open at the appointed hour. But as bad luck would have it, you were running late from The Devil’s Den. As if it was rocket science for one jock in a jersey to select the costume of another football player before paying the fee. You still thought it amusing, hoped Frederick would share the sentiment as you dressed fast, applied just a touch of makeup, and braided your hair behind your head. Wishing that you could look like a million bucks when you were just dancing close to 1K and change, you still smiled in the mirror and looked at your phone. You hadn’t heard the text, but there it was, his words waiting for you.

I am en route. Hoping to see you soon.

How sad in that one word. Hoping. As if he feared that you would change your mind. Not a chance. Not when he had consumed your mind when you were meant to make sales and understand ancient philosophies. Something so disturbing about Plato’s love of the dictatorship; more distasteful his desire to dispose of those he deemed defective. How would Frederick fare in that Republic? Or you for that matter…?

Pushing the dark thoughts aside and determined to enjoy the date, you rushed for the back staircase and hoped that you’d have a chance to smooth the few wrinkles left in your skirt when you slammed into your roommate, Paulette…

…looking like hell having forgotten its proper place.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you lifted your hand to her brow and felt the heat emanating from her skin.

“I need to lie down,” she muttered, her eyes glazed over. Instinctively, you placed an arm around her shoulders. Could you text with one hand while helping her back up the steps? Opting to wait, hoping that Frederick would hang near the gazebo, you were jerked to the side as Paulette dived towards a toilet to vomit.

Suddenly a few wrinkles were the least of your problems.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned. “I’m so….”

“Forget it,” you said. “We better get you to bed.”

Guiding her back to your closed door, you fished through your purse for your set of keys and finally found them as you heard a familiar voice.

“Is everything alright?”

Stunned to see Frederick so close, his suit perfectly pressed and his face etched in worry, you started to protest when Paulette groaned.

And to your surprise, Frederick sprang into action.

“What is this?” he asked as you opened the door and basically dumped Paulette onto her unmade bed. “Food poisoning? The flu?”

“Death!” Paulette whined, choking back another stream of sick, and Frederick slowly sat at her side.

“Young lady,” he began. “I have seen more death in one day than you could imagine. And despite some of my colleagues’ assertions to the contrary, I am a medical professional.”

“Oh!” Paulette moaned again while struggling to sit up. “He’s your date. The adorable enigma. And here I’m spoiling---”

“You’re not,” you said, turning red and avoiding Frederick’s eyes as you set an empty trash can just a few inches below her head.

“Did you really say that?” Frederick asked. You met his question with silence, and to his credit he let the matter drop as he examined Paulette and sat up straighter to pronounce his findings.

“Flu by way of whisky,” Frederick said.

“What?” you asked.

“A little early for happy hour,” he continued. “But I suppose we are all only young once. If we turn the lights out and leave her with some water, I think she will recover come tomorrow.”

“So not dying,” you said, wishing that you could crawl into some makeshift grave because of her loose lips when Paulette heaved and missed the trash can.

“Jesus Christ!” you said, starting to ease Frederick away when he took hold of your wrists.

“This you can clean up,” he said. “I could tell you…”

Was he going to select this moment to tell his story? Not that you didn��t want to hear, but…

“I have to clean up,” you said. “Hope this won’t screw up whatever you have planned.”

But it did. The French restaurant that he mentioned as Paulette laid on your bed and you changed the sheets hardly sounded appetizing given the stench in the room. And when she finally knocked out, when you swapped your dress for jeans and a sweater and clearly saw the doctor’s tousled hair, you walked with him down the staircase meant to bring you both moments of happiness. But plans had…

“I’m sorry,” you started. “I… work was long. I didn’t get out quick enough. I’m guessing our reservation is a lost cause.”

“Sadly,” he admitted. “They do not hold these tables forever.”

Was that code for whatever existed between you? Maybe he should have left well enough alone and never asked you out for coffee. Or at the very least made plans for the masquerade and not tried to fill in the blanks. Real life… your day to day was a total turnoff, and you awkwardly ran your fingers through your hair.

“So… what happens now?” you weakly asked. “Do you… do you even still want to do the Halloween thing? Or is that a loss, too?”

“A loss?” he asked. “Why would you say that? Did I not do right by your friend?”

“Do… no! No, you were great,” you assured him. “But look at you!”

Smoothing his hair and taking a step back, he caught the light and smiled, almost looking serene.

“What do you see, doll?” he asked. “An adorable enigma?”

“She shouldn’t have said---”

“I… I actually thought that it was sort of sweet,” he confessed. “Far nicer than some of the names that I have been called at other points in my life.

Sighing, needing to touch him for what might be the last time, you held his hand and kissed his cheek once more.

“You’re a decent guy,” you said. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently. But… but this… I mean didn’t you…?”

“My dear, you are not the one that tried to set a record for spilling sick in one small room.”

“Maybe not,” you quickly said. “But this… see I have more messes. Stories. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll want… you deserve better.”

Because who were you kidding? Even if you might have made it to the party, this was never going to amount to anything---

“But I want this.”

You gasped as he pulled you close and parted his lips. Breathing in the air pouring from his lungs, you let your tongue play around his. All traces of clumsiness slipped away as he intensified the contact and wrapped you his arms. Something was strange in his kiss. The faint taste of metal playing with the desire dripping off his tongue. You didn’t mind; you didn’t even think to ask any further questions when he pulled away and rubbed your arms, his cane looking like little more than an accessory in this moment.

Not because he was holding you. Because you were you?

“I… the cafeteria is still open. How do you feel about pizza?”

“As long as there is no pepperoni, I can handle it.”

“Like you can handle the fact that I really don’t belong in your world?” you challenged.

“But you do,” he said. “And I really just want to talk to you. We can save the French restaurant for after Halloween. For tonight, pizza is fine.”

And as you took his arm. You weren’t sure what stunned you more. The fact the he wanted to keep learning about your life in the wake of seeing how cramped and messy it could be? The fact the he was down with a slice of pizza? Interesting that he was a vegetarian…

…or the fact that he was already thinking past the party and of ways to see you again.

And of course, the feeling was more than mutual.

#raúl esparza #frederick chilton #chilton x reader #hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #the doctor and his doll

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nominalbutler · 7 years ago

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modern bar au pt. 2

Here it is, the second installment of the modern bar AU, which I am tentatively titling The Windup. The first part began as a drabble for a prompt request thing that I did, and it can be read here. Thanks to everyone who read the first part and voiced their interest in a continuation; I hope you enjoy.

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It was another week and a half before Sebastian was actually able to talk to Ciel. The night the young man came in from the cold, face ruddy and fingers frozen, the three-man staff had suddenly found themselves swamped with work; a crowd of students celebrating someone’s 21st birthday with a pub crawl had stumbled their way over the threshold as soon as Ciel hung up Sebastian’s coat and finished washing his hands.

Bard was busy working the fryers in the back, cooking buffalo wings and loaded waffle fries and potato skins, and Sebastian was slammed with clambering kids at the bar, all pushing one another to order the most expensive or risque drinks. When he wasn’t helping Bard with the dishes, Ciel was scurrying back and forth from the kitchen to the tables, delivering plates of steaming, greasy food and refilling water glasses and iced teas for the ones that needed to take a small reprieve from drinking. One of the boys in the group ended up calling Ciel a faggot when he accidentally gave him a plate of nachos that the person across from him had ordered, and Ciel was sorely tempted to hit him upside the head with his serving tray. It took everything in him not to; he would never hear the end of it from his father. He brushed it off, shooting the frat boy a cold glance and a snarky comment in response, but it was plain to see the derogatory comment landed Ciel in a sour mood the rest of the night. He couldn’t even enjoy the large tip the rude boy’s girlfriend had insisted he leave as a means of recompense for his shitty attitude. It was uncomfortably quiet as the small staff cleaned up the bar after last call, and Sebastian did not think it was the best time to strike up a conversation.

The rest was just bad timing. When Sebastian was scheduled to work, Ciel had the night off. When it was Sebastian’s day off, Ciel had to work. If he had bothered to check, the debonair bartender would not have been so disheartened when he clocked in and found only Mey-Rin or Bard or someone else behind the counter the next few days. So he waited patiently and expectantly for Thursday to come around again, the day that his and Ciel’s name both appeared on the schedule.

He found himself checking his hair and his teeth in the rear-view mirror of his car before he clocked in on the prescribed date, and had to mentally chide himself for being so vain. To try and impress Ciel now was pointless. He had seen Sebastian in all manner of states before; clean-scrubbed and freshly dressed, creases sharp and hair styled, as well as disheveled, hungover, and craving the sweet release of death at three in the afternoon. It really wasn’t important how he dressed. When he turned the charm on, there wasn’t anybody Sebastian couldn’t snag. There was only an hour overlap between their shifts, with Ciel opening and Sebastian closing, but it was all the time he needed. He guided his hand through his hair once for good measure and headed towards the bar.

“Hey, Sebastian.” Bard grumbled a perfunctory greeting as Sebastian strolled through the back door, dumping an order of wings into the fryer and carefully dropping it into the crackling oil. Sebastian greeted him with a nod and went to hang his coat up on the hook, taking one deep inhale before sliding it off his shoulders; the lingering smell of Ciel’s cigarette smoke had faded quicker than he had liked.

“How’d your daughter’s birthday party go?”

“Great,” Bard said, suddenly breaking into a wide smile. His daughter, recently turned six, was the light of his life, and his favorite subject of conversation. It was so endearing to listen to him, and Sebastian was perfectly happy wasting the last few minutes before the start of his shift hearing about Bard’s techniques for wrangling small children hopped up on birthday party jitters and cookie cake. There was no reason to rush up front; Sebastian knew Ciel would still be there when he clocked in.

Except that he wasn’t. Instead of a pair of brooding azure eyes and pale lithe limbs, Sebastian was met with an uneven smile and a head of long, unnaturally red hair.

“Sebastian!” Grell sang a melodic, yet terribly off-key greeting. “Great, now that you’re here, I can leave.”

“Hold up,” Sebastian held up a hand, blocking Grell from escaping from behind the bar. “What are you doing here? Isn’t Ciel supposed to be working right now?”

“Yeah, supposed to be. But he’s not, so I have to cover for him. But since you’re here,” she chirped affectionately, “I can leave now.”

“Technically, that opening shift lasts another hour. And since when do you cover for people?” Sebastian asked indignantly. “If I had known that, I would’ve called you in last month when Bard was out of town and it felt like I had the fucking plague.” Grell’s nominal position as a manager had her in only a couple of times a week to collect the deposits, evaluate the stock, place orders for more alcohol and bar food, and make sure they were keeping up with their bills.

“I got a call from Vincent this morning,” the redhead explained, “asking me to cover his son’s shift! Can you believe that shit?”

“What?” Sebastian blanched. “Why?”

Grell waved a hand and shrugged, “I don’t know.” Gathering her purse from under the bar, the manager tried once again to sidle past Sebastian and head towards the exit. And once again, she found herself trapped by the bartender’s tall, agile frame.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You’re the nosiest woman I know. Come on,” Sebastian coaxed, “sit for an hour, have a drink with me and let’s gossip. It’s been too long since you and I talked, hasn’t it?” He slyly reached out and grabbed the strap of Grell’s purse, sliding it seductively off her shoulder and setting it on the bar.

The excitable manager squealed, “Oh, alright. You know I can’t say no to you.”

It was a slow Thursday evening, and Sebastian gave Mey-Rin the nod that told her to hold down the bar while he talked with Grell. Mey-Rin, friendly as could be, nodded happily and pranced behind the counter, wiping down the polished surface with a fresh rag. Sebastian poured himself a drink, a diluted whiskey and Coke since he would have to return to work after this, and whipped up some strong fruity mixer for Grell to sip on. They settled in at the corner end of the bar, underneath a TV that was rolling a muted reel of highlights from earlier in the week, athletes running and jumping to the silent cheers from the crowds. Technically the bar didn’t allow smoking inside, but Grell lit up anyway, offering her pack to Sebastian in a polite but superficial gesture. He surprised her by taking one of the proffered American Spirits and lighting it with a Bic from his pocket.

“Since when did you start smoking again? Don’t tell me it’s ‘cause of that Ciel kid. Boy smokes like a fucking chimney I hear…”

Sebastian scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous,” and exhaled a weak trail of smoke. “Some habits are just harder to kick than others.”

Grell smirked and took a drag. “Whatever you say, Sebby.”

Rinsing his mouth of the first few drags with his drink, Sebastian cleared his throat and began pushing the conversation towards what he wanted to hear. He was eager to learn what had happened to Ciel. Even if it was nothing serious, he couldn’t just let it go. Not after he had spent the past week nearly obsessing over him, patiently waiting for a chance to see him again. “So, tell me about earlier. Vincent called you?”

“He did!” Grell said as she practically swallowed her drink in one gulp. “At the house, too, the nerve of him… Woke William up from his nap – he’s been working so hard lately, the graveyard shift really takes it out of him. Two whole years he’s been working for that museum and they still treat him like some replaceable rent-a-cop or some shit. He should be head of security by now, I tell you what…” It took some work, lots of redirecting and steering Grell back towards the relevant topic, but eventually Sebastian was able to piece together almost the whole story. As he did, the weight in his stomach grew, like someone had dumped a metric ton of gravel in his gut; cold, heavy, grating.

Ciel had been in a car crash. Whether he spun out on a patch of black ice, or somebody else had was unclear; all Sebastian knew was that the cute little server ended up getting T-boned by a Chevy Tahoe and rushed to the emergency room late last night. He knew that Ciel was alive and breathing on his own, though he wasn’t sure if he was fully conscious or in need of any surgery. Sebastian also knew that he couldn’t just hop in his car and drive to the hospital to see him like he suddenly found himself wanting to do. How weird would that be? He’d probably freak Ciel out if he showed up right now.

So he finished his drink, smoked another cigarette with Grell, pretended to engage in friendly banter and gossip until he could no longer play along. He didn’t quite care what the manager did now that he had gotten what he wanted from her, and he had become so clearly preoccupied with what he heard that the redhead took the opportunity to slither out of the bar with a waggle of her fingers and a comical, exaggerated “Toodleoo!”

The rest of the night was a literal blur, a dissociated haze. Sebastian found himself daydreaming, passing the hours behind the bar fantasizing about what it would be like to curl up beside the young man’s banged up body in the hospital bed, hard plastic railings along the sides of the mattress confining them together in a warm embrace. He glossed over the tangle of IV tubes and wires he would inevitably get caught up in; ignored the bag of piss that was likely attached to the edge of the bedframe and connected to Ciel by the long thin tube shoved up his urethra. He didn’t think about Ciel’s dad, his boss, sitting in a corner, one leg crossed over the other, reading a magazine as his son’s monitors beeped steadily.

He thought about holding Ciel’s small hand, thumb stroking back and forth along the boy’s parched skin, sucked dry by the warm recycled hospital air being blasted through the vents. He thought about running his fingers through that cute little bobbed mop of hair, dyed blue like the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean. He thought about draping an arm over Ciel’s waist, curling up beside him, face tucked in the crook of his neck, listening to the breath draw in and out of his lungs. He didn’t think about fucking him; he just wanted to hold him.

The cold, bitter breeze outside rattled Sebastian’s bones when he stepped outside at the end of the night and realized he had forgotten his coat. The last few hours of his shift had been completely lost to him in his distracted state. Sebastian supposed he did what he always did: made drinks, chatted with the regulars, counted the drawer, cleaned up and closed with Mey-Rin and Finny, who had replaced Bard not long after Grell’s departure. He just couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop worrying about Ciel.

Again, he had to scold himself for being so silly. There was nothing he could do for the young man. He was already taken care of, safely nestled in the care of those who actually knew how to help him. Sebastian clicked his tongue against his teeth, shook his head at his own foolishness as he headed back inside and discovered that he had completely forgotten to lock the front door of the bar. Retrieving his coat from the back, Sebastian realized the acrid tobacco smoke smell was coming from him, his own fingertips and his hair; it was not the meager essence of Ciel clinging to the fabric of his jacket, lingering around to keep him company as he pulled the collar up to his chin to deter the cold from sneaking down the front of his shirt.

Driving home on autopilot, Sebastian tried to piece together what he knew about Ciel. It wasn’t much. Aside from physical characteristics and some idiosyncratic mannerisms, he knew next to nothing about his boss’s son. Quiet, thin, and short, Sebastian could barely hazard a guess at how old Ciel really was – he barely looked legal, but he had to be if he worked at the bar. Sebastian knew he was a part-time student at the local university, but he couldn’t say what he was studying. He knew the Phantomhives were a wealthy family, but Sebastian could not parse out the nature of Ciel’s relationship with them, whether it was good or bad, whether or not there was a mother or other siblings in the picture.

Small talk and conversation were not the young man’s strong suits, but it did not dissuade Sebastian in the slightest. He found himself infinitely infatuated with the kid. It twisted his stomach up into knots to think about him lying in a hospital bed somewhere, not knowing whether or not he was okay, not knowing if or when he would get to see him again. For all he knew, the opportunity to talk to Ciel, to get to know him, to be more than a coworker to him, could have slipped right through his fingers, and Sebastian would never be able to forgive himself.

#i never know whether or not to stick this under a read more or not #like its not terribly long but i know some people may not be interested #i'll hopefully upload this all to ao3 once i get the third installment done #fic #j writes

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