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blurredcolour · 7 months

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The Night Moves | Part Two

The Night Moves Masterlist

Alternate Universe

supernatural!Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader; supernatural!Jacob Seresin x Female Reader

Summary: An internship with the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History should have been the highlight of your academic career. The perfect addition to your resume while you worked on your doctoral thesis. An interdepartmental assignment, however, sees your reality ripped apart by incomprehensible forces. Five tumultuous days will leave you forever changed and inextricably linked to two men born centuries apart.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Alcohol, Emotional Struggles, Crying, Discussions of Violence/Blood/Gore, Supernatural Themes, Historical Inaccuracies, Institutional Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ Only

Word Count: 4795

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-Wednesday-

Your alarm had gone off at its regular time, jarring your barely-rested body rudely into consciousness. Your eyes, feeling more akin to sandpaper than anything, had only suffered being opened to mere slits, allowing you to simply grasp at your phone weakly and turn off the ever-increasing sound. There had been no internal struggle about calling in late today, nor had your supervisor had any issue with it given what you had gone through the night before.

You had pinned a lot of hope on three extra hours of sleep, and while you certainly felt more human the second time your alarm went off, it was nonetheless a struggle to throw back the covers. Untangling your limbs from the sheets you had wrenched from the mattress at some point in the night, you peeled your tired frame from the bed. Exhaustion had somehow kept you asleep, but the disarray of your bed linens spoke to the restlessness of your body during the night. Scrubbing your hands down your face while exhaling a jaw-cracking yawn, you planted your hands on the bed and leveraged yourself to standing, shuffling into the bathroom to start getting ready.

The apartment felt unsettlingly quiet, the usual white noise of the rest of the complex waking and preparing for the day absent at this hour. Toothbrush in hand, you worked the bristles along your teeth as you ambled down the short hallway passed the dining room and around the corner into to the living room to turn on the TV. Not pausing to listen, you made your way back to the washroom to spit a frothy gob of toothpaste into the sink as a local news update about an unidentified body found not three blocks from your home played unheard in the other room.

A hot shower and, what you realized was your first real meal in nearly twenty-four-hours, had you feeling nearly human and on your way out the door. Living at the terminus of the silver line in Ashburn usually guaranteed you a seat on the train, but at midday there was very little competition anyhow. Just over an hour later, you were riding the escalator up onto the Mall, blinking into the blinding light of the sun before making your way across the street and into your building.

The atmosphere at work was understandably subdued, and you had only just arrived when you were pulled into the first in a series of debrief meetings that descended down the organizational chart until you finished with the curatorial team at three o’clock. Having used all your reserves the night before, you faded quickly through the day, and your supervisor strongly recommended you take the last few hours as compensatory time for the night before rather than try and remain functional with only two working hours left.

The idea of returning home to an empty apartment, however, with six idle hours until you could somewhat justify going to bed filled you with a sense of dread that had you turning not toward the staff exit but instead through the door connecting to the public exhibits. There were just over two hours before closing, a rare opportunity for you to enjoy the displays, and you found your feet carrying you toward the Price of Freedom exhibit – specifically the area focusing on the War of Independence.

It honestly seemed counter-intuitive, to be looking over artifacts from the same era so closely tied to the horrors of the night before, yet your mind seemed unable to focus on anything else. Leaning in to get a better look at a surgical kit from the period, backdropped by a diagram of an amputation from a 1768 medical text, you were startled to see a familiar reflection in the glass. Turning to look over your right shoulder, your eyes widened in surprise as your moustachioed rescuer from the Mall was making his way through the exhibit, just a few displays behind you.

As if sensing your gaze, he raised his eyes to meet yours, grin stretching across his features as he strode forward to your side.

“Is this also part of your job? Perusing the galleries?” His tone was warm and teasing and somehow, despite everything, managed to summon a smile to your face.

“Done early today, just taking advantage of the rare opportunity to enjoy the place during open hours. I see you took my advice?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Seemed like as good a place to start as any, first one at this end of the Mall, cute girl works here, might actually remember to ask for her number if I run into her this time…”

You smothered a laugh, despite the giddy thrill that raced through you, pleased that he had the same regret about your parting earlier that morning. Unlocking your phone, you held it out to him. “Please, text yourself so there’s no mix-up, I am only marginally more functional than the last time I literally ran into you.”

You watched as he took it carefully, swallowing tightly at how small your phone appeared in his hands, pleased to hear his phone vibrate before he handed yours back. “Done. So, aside from shorter, I hope today was also better than yesterday?”

Exhaling thoughtfully through pursed lips you eventually conceded with a nod, clicking your tongue against your teeth. “Not normal, but certainly more bearable.”

“You have some time to show me around?” He tilted his head, and you worked your lower lip between your teeth for a moment – not because you needed to consider his request, but because you did not want to appear over-eager.

Once you trusted your voice again you nodded. “I’d be happy to, where were you before I interrupted?”

He walked over to the display where you had been standing, even though you both knew he hadn’t gotten that far and pointed at the box lined with green velvet. “What is that?”

“A surgeon’s kit, carried by a battlefield doctor.”

“They do a lot of amputations?” He raised an eyebrow, looking at the enlarged medical diagram.

“Quite a few. Musket balls were made of lead, quite a soft material, that would flatten on impact. They left gaping wounds but still shattered bones. The primary medical treatment for such injuries was amputation, though infection was still very much an issue due to the lack of understanding of bacteria at the time.”

Nodding thoughtfully, he walked with you over to the next display before frowning. “And they were doing all that in the time of blood letting?” He pointed to the kit labelled for such a purpose and you shrugged.

“It was an important tool for treatment in that period. I shudder to think what standard practices we rely on today that will seem horribly outdated with the advancement of medicine in a few decades.”

“Or centuries, even.” He looked over the foreign instruments and you could not help but admit the idea of taking blood from an already sick and weakened individual seemed utterly ridiculous to your modern sensibilities.

“Is this really boring for you?” Bradley leaned in to ask quietly, pulling you from your thoughts and you looked to him warmly, shaking your head quickly.

“I spend most of my time with the collection in storage or newly received items, I very rarely get to visit the ones on display. And honestly, I’m trying not to bore you with too many facts.” You smirked gesturing with a set of sarcastic jazz hands that elicited a raspy chuckle from him.

The sound sent your stomach somersaulting end-over-end in your abdomen, and you were convinced it might have the power to end your life.

“Promise it’s not possible.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Bradshaw?”

The pink flash of his tongue darting out to wet his lips had your knees losing their structural integrity and you took a sharp inhale through your nose before locking them back into place lest you crumple onto the exhibit floor.

“I feel like only a fool would challenge you, sweetheart.” He rasped and it took all your will power not to stare at the way his pretty lips formed words and sounds.

“Smart.” You murmured and swallowed, trying to rehydrate your dry mouth with saliva as you moved onto the next display.

Bradley remained delightfully curious and actively engaged in listening to your explanations. No longer concerned about holding back your extensive knowledge on the subject matter, you found yourself expounding at length on topics like conditions in camp, the Battle of Saratoga, and the fall of Charlestown. One conflict proceeded into the next – the War of 1812, the Mexican War, the Civil War – and as you spotted the chairs Grant and Lee sat in during the surrender at Appomattox Court House your excitement got the better of you. You grasped the cuff his jacket, barely noting the quality of the suede, and tugged him over to the glass to look them over eagerly.

“These are the chairs used during the signing of the surrender in the house of a man named McLean. Four years earlier, he had lived in Manassas, and the first battle of Bull Run took place on his land. So, he had moved further north to escape the fighting, but still somehow ended up right in the middle of it. Supposedly, he’s to have said ‘The war began in my front yard and ended in my front parlor.’”

“How could anyone get bored of things like that?” He replied, deftly lacing his fingers together with yours, overtaking your grip on his cuff. “I am in awe of your ability to recall these things with such ease.”

The warm, callous-roughened feel of his skin against yours left you flustered, words abandoning you for the first time in over an hour, so you simply smiled sheepishly and shrugged. He winked in reply, squeezing your entwined hands before moving onto the next display.

You had just made it to the Wyllis jeep from World War II, suspended from the ceiling, when the final closing announcement echoed throughout the museum. “I’m sorry we didn’t quite make it all the way through, but I think the docents might murder me if I were to linger any longer…”

“No apologies necessary if,” he paused for dramatic effect and you looked to him quickly, “you’ll allow me to buy you dinner.”

You eyed him quizzically as the pair of you exited the gallery with the last trickle of visitors. “I may only be a historian, but I am fairly confident that doesn’t really add up? I owe you so you’re repaying me?”

He stepped onto the descending escalator in front of you, smirking cockily as he leaned back against the railing to maintain eye contact with you. “I assure you my math is sound, and my offer stands. But, you’ll have to tell me where to take you because I still don’t know anything about this city.” He finished with a shrug that had you tilting your head back and laughing brightly.

“Well, what kind of food would you like to treat me to?” You asked once your laughter subsided, stepping out with him into the gathering dusk.

“Hmmm, something you’ll enjoy, nothing too pretentious but still delicious? Distance isn’t an issue, my car is just parked over here.” He gestured toward northwest fourteenth street. “In the Ronald Reagan building.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you headed off in that direction, teeth sinking into your lower lip as his hand slipped into yours once he caught up. “I think I know a place and its close to a Metro station too.”

There was a pause as he seemed to be thinking something over but whatever it was, he didn’t share with you. The pair of you headed into the building, stepping into the security line. Because the building was located so close to the White House, anyone entering was required to undergo a screening process similar to that of an airport. After placing your work bag onto the conveyor belt, you stepped through the metal detector, retrieving it once it passed through the scanner.

Bradley followed shortly behind you, collecting his keys and wallet, leading you over to the elevator. When the doors opened, it was already pretty crowded but the pair of you managed to squeeze in, pressed side-by-side.

“What floor?” A gruff, balding man ask from nearby the row of buttons.

“B1.” Bradley replied easily and you swallowed thickly at the feeling of his voice vibrating through you.

“Already pressed.”

“Great.” He replied with an easy smile, tilting his head to catch you eye, raising his eyebrow in a silent check-in.

You offered a soft smile in return before the doors opened at the Concourse level and you were both forced to step out to let a series of people get off the elevator before stepping back on. The next floor was thankfully yours. Bradley gently grasped your hand to carefully guide you over to a classic Bronco in the prettiest shade of blue you had ever seen. Had a car ever suited its owner more? Unlocking the passenger door, he opened it for you, offering a hand to help you up onto the white vinyl seat.

“Thanks.” You hopped up, setting your bag in the footwell as he closed the door carefully before coming around to the driver’s side. You tugged off your lanyard and shoved it into the front pocket of your bag, not wanting to wear your identification badge out in public any longer than you already had.

The Bronco growled to life, and you struggled not to openly stare at his command of the vehicle. Thankfully, the drive to the restaurant was less than ten minutes and a parking spot proved shockingly easy to find. Somehow you had the wherewithal to add your name to the waitlist online during the drive over, so you only had to loiter in the lobby for fifteen minutes. Scrolling through the menu together with heads bowed precariously close over your phone, the feel of his breath caressing your cheek made it difficult to focus on food and beverage choices until two seats to open up at the counter.

Seated on the bar stools with Bradley’s knee grazing against yours, it was no easier to focus on the menu. A waiter stopped by to get some drinks started; Bradley ordered a beer and you managed to blurt out the name of one of the cocktails off the list. To your great relief, when you took your first sip, it was quite delicious, and the alcohol relaxed the tension in your limbs.

Sufficiently braced with liquid courage, you leaned in asking, “So where did you live before your recent move here?”

You were treated to the sight of his tongue swiping foam from his upper lip before he replied, “Virginia Beach, born and raised.” He tucked his chin into his chest, playfully chagrinned. “Promise not to think less of me?”

Laughing warmly, you shook your head, reassuring him. The pair of you became so involved in getting to know one another, trading questions back and forth, that when the waiter returned to take your food order, you looked up to him guiltily. Bradley easily placed his order, giving you time to quickly scan though the options and choose your meal as well. Trading bites of food and bits of personal information, before you realized it two hours had passed. The crowd at the restaurant had thinned somewhat and your fatigue snuck up on you, forcing you to try and smother a yawn behind the back of your hand.

“I should get you home to get a good night’s sleep for work tomorrow.” He sighed reluctantly, gesturing for the bill and insisting on paying the full total. “This is my thanks for the private tour, after all.” He teased in response to your protests, which were admittedly weakened by alcohol and lack of sleep.

Stepping out into the dark of evening, you hugged your jacket tighter around you as the warmth of the day had disappeared with the sun. “The Metro station is just two blocks that way,” you gestured, “so I’ll leave you here.”

“Oh, I’m driving you home, didn’t I tell you?” He shrugged when you shook your head, bewildered. “Well, I am, come on.”

“I live out past Dulles, it takes half an hour to drive out there and then you’ll have to come back to your place…” The words died on your lips as he slid his hand into yours once more and tugged you towards the Bronco.

“I don’t mind, I enjoy driving. And I’m guessing it’s faster than the Metro?” He raised an eyebrow, and you huffed in defeat before conceding with a nod. “Then it’s decided.”

Settled back in the front seat, he handed you his phone to input your address in the map app for directions. “I’m paying the tolls, though, ok?” You insisted stubbornly, pulling up a blank note on your phone. “I just need your licence plate number to pay online.” You typed it in carefully as he rambled it off easily, going to the Express Lanes website to sign up for a notification for when the tolls for today’s trips would be ready.

“Why do you live so far out of town?” He asked, turning on the radio to an oldies station but keeping the volume low, easily following the navigation instructions.

“I wanted outdoor space, a separate bedroom, and to be able to eat. That combination of things is easier to find outside DC, plus I don’t mind the commute. I listen to music and wake up slowly on the Metro. Being the first stop means I usually get a seat, too.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “So maybe living in a crappy studio with one window facing an air shaft for $1800 a month wasn’t my best choice?” He grinned ruefully.

“Leases aren’t forever? You can always move.” You nodded encouragingly. “Sometimes it takes a few times before you find the right place.”

“The included parking space is the best thing about it.” He chuckled and you laughed warmly in response.

“That will definitely have to be prioritized in any search parameters if you decide to start looking for a new place. Can’t leave this pretty vehicle just anywhere.”

He flashed you a smirk before pulling onto the toll road, glancing at his phone balanced on left his knee to confirm the exit number. You settled back into your seat lazily, watching him drive, listening to his music choice, finding an easy smile resting on your lips. It seemed all too soon that he was pulling off the exit ramp to Ashburn, heading towards your building.

Straightening in your seat, you clumsily kicked over your work bag, hearing some of the contents hit the floor mat. Cursing under your breath you leaned forward in the intermittent flashes of streetlights to gather some pens, lip balm, and your keys. Apparently, you had neglected to zip up the front pocket. You sat up as he turned into your apartment complex, a group of four apartment blocks around a play structure, barbeque area, and pool, guiding him to the building in which you lived. He pulled into a visitor parking space, and you hopped out of the car, scanning the floor to ensure you had all of your belongings before you heard Bradley’s voice behind you.

“Have everything?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walked with him up the stairs to your second-floor apartment. “This is me.” You turned to look at him softly. “Thank you again for driving me…and for dinner…”

“Thank you very much for a lovely day.” He smiled in returned.

The pair of you stood, neither moving, both watching the other. Perhaps waiting for an indication, or for someone to initiate something. Fearing the moment might evaporate, that he might turn and head home, you leaned forward pressing your lips against his cheek gently. He sighed softly as you pulled back and you snagged your lower lip with your teeth nervously, glancing at his face.

“We need to work on your aim, sweetheart.” He chided fondly as his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, guiding your lips to meet his warmly.

Your eyelids slid shut as you leaned into his kiss, shivering at the feel of his moustache tickling the tender skin of your upper lip tantalizingly.

“Better.” He rasped as he pulled back. “We’ll need to practice but for now you need to sleep a full night…” His hand caressed down your jaw to rest against the side of your neck, your eyes fluttering open lazily.

“Mmmhmm.” You replied wordlessly, licking your humming lips. “Good night, Bradley.” You managed to summon the words.

“Night, sweetheart.” He smiled fondly, watching you fumble with your keys until you were able to slide them home in the deadbolt and step inside.

Giving one final wave you stepped inside and closed the door with a dreamy sigh. Unfortunately for you, the fatigue from the car did not translate easily to sleep. You followed your normal routine, crawling into bed in your sleep shirt and pajama pants, turning out the light. Thoughts that had been kept at bay by the daylight, by Bradley’s warm and steady presence, immediately flooded your mind. Memories of the night before – a face contorted in centuries-old anguish, a dark and unfamiliar hallway, blood-soaked fabric, the gurgling sounds of a man drowning in his own blood, a pair of eyes vacant in death.

You must have tried for an hour, laying on each side, sticking a foot out of the covers because you were too hot, pulling it back in because you were too cold, before tossing the duvet aside in frustration. You were exhausted but sleep refused to come. Your mind refused to give you peace. Sliding a sports bra under your sleep shirt and a hoodie over top you grabbed your keys and phone, stepping outside for a walk. It had served you well in the past; when a project at work had you nervous, or when you were waiting for news of medical test results from a friend. The grounds of complex were tree-filled, safe, quiet. You could only hope a circuit of them would be enough to provide some relief tonight.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs you turned away from the parking lot, heading toward the courtyard, inhaling sharply as a man was walking towards you. Face illuminated by the security lights that ringed the building, you were struck not only by his longer sandy blond hair, pushed back carelessly from his handsome face, but his piercing green eyes. There was something unsettling about them – predatory, sinister, not unlike a cat preparing to toy with its meal. You offered a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to appear stand-offish to one of your neighbors, before continuing on your planned path. Feeling the hairs standing on end at the nape of your neck you risked a glance backward and exhaled in relief to see he was not following you.

Walking along the wrought iron fence, you made your way past the swing set, the wind moving the empty seats slightly as it picked up, and onward towards the barbeque area before your path was suddenly blocked by that same stranger from the hallway.

“Out for a stroll, Miss Intern?” He spoke smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of the South yet something about the way he spoke was utterly unfamiliar.

His gaze impaled you, your feet were rooted to the spot, and you found yourself unable to continue your walk.

“Can’t…sleep…” You murmured despite your inherent suspicion of him, your mind working as efficiently as wheels spinning in mud. Puzzling unhelpfully over the fact that his grey Henley shirt seemed several sizes too large for him.

His fingers reached out to brush along your cheek bone, the coolness of his touch making you wince. “Perhaps you are simply in need of companionship.”

“Mmmm.” you reply noncommittally, the world hazy. You watched wide-eyed as he stepped closer, his movements blurred while the sway of the tree branches in the distance behind him seemed impossibly slow.

He slid his nose along your jaw before burying it against your neck below your ear. “You truly smell divine, please, I need to taste more. One drop is not enough.” He whispered, cool lips brushing against your flesh, making your full body shudder, goose flesh erupting across your neck. “I beg of you, Miss Intern.” His fingers curled into the thin fabric at your hips, pulling you closer.

Your eyes slid shut involuntarily. Why did he keep calling you that…

The sound of your name being shouted sharply across the courtyard pulled your attention and you turned your head in a daze to see Bradley hurrying toward you. The blond stranger was suddenly gone, sending you stumbling a few steps backward into a nearby picnic table. You leaned heavily against it, head swimming, as Bradley closed the distance between you with remarkable speed.

“Found your key card in my Bronco, thought you’d need this tomorrow” He spoke normally, not at all winded, your lanyard dangling from his index finger, but his eyes were darting around the darkened space. He leaned in closer his posture shielding you defensively. “You alright?” He looked you over, concerned.

“Oh shit, thank you so much” You tug your lanyard from his hand and tucked it into the pocket of your hoodie, straightening as your head cleared. “It’s late, thank you very much for coming back with it.” You continued, not really answering his question as you weren’t entireley certain what your response would be.

“I figured it was important…” He shrugged, pulling back slightly to give you some space. “What are you doing outside?”

You sighed deeply, glancing around before looking to his concerned expression. “I’m having trouble sleeping, honestly.” You swallowed tightly before it suddenly came pouring out of you. “Someone died in front of me last night.” Once you started speaking them, you found the words did not stop. The story was disjointed, by no means linear. You doubted Bradley would be able to fully understand what happened, you surely didn’t, but he stood there in the brisk Autumn wind, near midnight, listening to you ramble about the thoughts that had been plaguing you while you had been attempting to sleep.

Eventually you ran out of steam, ran out of things to say, a hush falling over the courtyard once more before he pulled you close into a warm embrace. You burrowed your face into his neck and squeezed your eyes shut against a sudden flood of tears, but they proved as unstoppable as the flow of words. His palm drew soothing circles on your back, and he pulled you closer as you dissolved into sobs, body shaking against his.

In a tremendous show of patience, he continued to hold you, waiting for your tears to subside. Eventually you were able to take a deep breath without it catching in your throat, and the ache in your chest had eased somewhat. You straightened carefully, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, eyes glancing at his shyly.

“Sorry about that…” You croaked and he shook his head quickly.

“No apologies necessary, but you’re freezing.” He frowned as his fingers swept away the last of your tears, feeling the chill in our skin. “Can I get you inside?” He asked hopefully and you nodded with a sniffle, in desperate need of some tissues.

Sliding his arm around your shoulders he led you back past the swings still dancing in the wind, down the hallway, and up the stairs to your door. You turned and hugged him tightly once more.

“Thank you yet again, Bradley. Good night for real.”

He squeezed you tightly in return. “Get some sleep for real, ok?” He murmured, kissing your forehead tenderly before ushering you inside.

You stepped into your apartment, shivering at the warmth awaiting you there, and glanced the doors out to your balcony, suddenly filled with the unusual urge to close the blinds. Yanking on the cord repeatedly, you sent the louvres flying toward the centre of the sliding doors before you tugged on the chain to spin them shut.

You felt instantly better once the night was shut out of your home. Making a circuit past the front door to ensure the deadbolt was lock and chain was in place, you finally returned to your bed, pulling on an extra blanket. Focusing on peaceful things like the feeling of Bradley’s arms around you, and the heavy exhaustion in your limbs, you finally convinced sleep to overtake you.

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Read Part Three

The Night Moves Masterlist

Tag list: @moonyinthestars

#top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #rooster x you #hangman x you #bradley bradshaw x you #jake seresin x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #vampire au #vampire hunter au

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vettelsvee · 13 days

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YOU'LL FIND ME IN THE STARS | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | history series masterlist

summary: sebastian can't get di out of his head even though he's back home with hanna, his girlfriend. that's why the young man decides to step up with his decision: doing everything possible to have the austrian continuing her internship alongside him, now at redbull. little did he know that does news weren't the only ones that diana wagner not only would receive on christmas, but also would change her life.

word count: 6919

warnings: brief mentions of sexual activities, anxiety attacks, sickness, death and suicide. bad language, curse words.

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe @formulaonebuff] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

a/n: last part of history season 1! hope you liked it because this is just the beginning of seb and di's story. they're my very own fave characters i've ever created and i hope you liked them as much as I do :)

¡! you can read the fanfic as diana or y/n, but the faceclaim will always be my girl emma stone :)

feedback is truly appreciated!

2008 Berlin, Germany

Only two days, actually one if they considered it was already Friday, were left for the meeting with Red Bull and Sebastian, who complained to his public relations that he seemed to have no vacation during the winter break, insisted on driving to the German capital despite the six long hours ahead.

"Are you sure you don't prefer to go by plane?" his girlfriend asked, settling into the passenger seat as Sebastian placed the suitcase they would share in the trunk. "Britta can find us a last-minute flight, I'm sure."

"Hanna, I'm a professional driver, and I have a license to prove it," the blonde replied, getting into the car. "I've spent about nine months driving a single-seater at over three hundred kilometers per hour; now I need to drive like a normal guy, with my girlfriend by my side, while I calmly drive on roads I don't know, enjoy the scenery, and feel the wind on my face."

"You better not open the windows at three degrees we have out there."

"Wait and see."

As soon as the driver started the car, he turned the heating to the max and directed it towards Hanna, who just rolled her eyes at the gesture. Although she knew her boyfriend like the back of her hand for years, there were many occasions when his antics surprised her.

"Okay, okay," Prater finally responded, raising her hands in redemption, followed by a yawn. "I understand you want to act like a normal twenty-one-year-old guy, so go ahead," she indicated, pointing her index finger at the road ahead.

They had only been on the road for about an hour and Hanna had already given up, falling into an immediate sleep that had interrupted the conversation she and Sebastian were having about the apartment they planned to see in Berlin and intended to buy. Although the German enjoyed driving, he didn't like doing it alone, at least not outside Formula 1.

The music playing in the background, coming from a local radio station, along with the constant roar of the engine, was what kept him from dwelling too much on why his mind had been so distracted since the end of the season or, more precisely, on the person who had occupied all his thoughts.

No matter how hard he tried, Vettel's mind was elsewhere, immersed in that unnatural blonde hair and blue eyes that conveyed both security and fear, from the girl who had a brighter future than many people made her believe.

Since that victory in Monza, the German's judgment was completely clouded and filled with confusion. He couldn't overlook any of the interactions they had had since then. The spark in the girl's gaze and her desire to see him succeed, regardless of what happened to her, left Sebastian completely bewildered.

Did the Austrian see the possibility of going beyond a simple friendship between them? Or was it him, seeing in Diana what he would like to see in Hanna?

Possibly the latter: the problem was him.

The night wind entered gently through the window, which the blonde had opened slightly shortly after her girlfriend fell asleep, who was unaware, thankfully, of all the possible scenarios Sebastian was creating and would like to experience with Wagner. The last thing he wanted at that moment was another jealous outburst from his girlfriend, although he deserved it.

While his love for his girl was the most important thing to him, he couldn't help but feel remorse for realizing that there were certain things his girlfriend seemed to lack, but that Diana shared with him. It wasn't just their passion for motorsport anymore, but also the concern the intern felt every time the pilot got in and out of the car, when he finished a press conference or an interview, or even those moments when he saw him with few friends. Prater rarely did that, even if she made an effort to show a minimum of feigned interest.

Diana Wagner was the kind of person whose world could be falling apart, and yet she would worry more about the person in front of her.

For months, Sebastian had been wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him by comparing the two girls. Was it fair to Hanna for him to think of Diana as her replacement? Even for the Austrian: was it normal for him to see her as the idealized version of his girlfriend? Sebastian found himself in completely unknown territory from which he couldn't find a way out, and the more he thought about it, the more lost he became in his feelings.

Hanna shifted slightly in her seat, turning her head in the opposite direction, now facing the pilot. Vettel took a few brief seconds to turn his gaze toward her while still paying attention to the road ahead. He loved the girl beside him and would do anything to make her the happiest woman in the world.

A knot started forming in his stomach: he didn't want to hurt her, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to clear his head, the mental block growing stronger as the hours of the journey passed, even when they had already entered the German capital.

Friday had passed faster than Sebastian expected. As soon as they parked their car in a nearby hotel parking lot and checked in with autographs and a photo session with the hotel staff included, they dropped off their few belongings in the assigned suite and took a short nap to recharge. Within hours, Vettel and Prater were roaming the streets of Berlin incognito, heading to the apartment they had in mind to buy. Sebastian's impulsivity, driven by guilt, led him to say yes without giving the blonde much chance to decide, making the pilot start convincing himself that the future with his girlfriend, Hanna, was what he should have in mind. They also enjoyed an early dinner at one of the blonde's favorite restaurants in the city.

The new Red Bull star wanted to do everything possible to make his partner happy and distance her from all the insecurity she gained because of him. At the same time, he wanted to get rid of intrusive thoughts that, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, were meddling too much in every aspect of his life.

When they returned to the room, a sense of calm invaded them. Hanna left her bag on a chair near the main door, stretching as Seb took off his coat and delicately hung it on one of the racks, his yawns filling the room. After that, the blonde approached the girl from behind, embracing her tenderly and holding onto her as if he was going to lose her.

"I'm very happy about everything we're going to do together from now on, love," he whispered in her ear, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Hanna turned carefully, still hugging him but now looking directly into his eyes while her hands rested on his sturdy chest.

"I am too, Seb," the girl replied with a smile that perfectly reflected her fatigue. "This is just the beginning of a new chapter in our story."

The driver held her even closer, stroking her hair and removing some strands from her face, placing small kisses on her crown. Hanna leaned in decisively, and their lips met. The tenderness that initially seemed to characterize the connection between the young couple gradually turned into passion, their mouths moving in such perfect synchrony that it seemed rehearsed. Sebastian's hands began to explore his girlfriend's back, deepening the caress that was interrupted by the blonde, who was looking at the guy with ulterior motives.

"Do you want me to do something to you?" the girl suggested mischievously. "I'm at your disposal for whatever you want. Just ask."

Prater started taking off the sweater she was wearing, throwing it on the floor, and kissed Vettel again, now with more desperation. At the same time, while trying to dedicate time to his girlfriend, Sebastian once again had visions of the Toro Rosso intern in his mind, remembering the last times they had been together and, especially, how he wished things were different between them.

How his life could be different.

"I'm sorry, Hanna," he said, pulling away from his girlfriend and taking a step back. "I'm very tired... and I can't take it anymore, I need to rest a bit," he tried to articulate as calmly as possible, pretending to lie on the bed.

"Come on, Seb, don't spoil the fun for me," the girl encouraged him, raising an eyebrow, pushing him to lie on the mattress and positioning herself on top of him. "Now we have no one to bother us, and you can make me scream as much as you want."

Hanna wasn't giving up easily, and Sebastian knew that perfectly well.

"Hanna, I'm being serious..." the pilot began to say, trying to get her off him. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I've been driving for almost seven hours all night, and I've only slept about two hours since last night," Seb explained, using the journey as an excuse. "I need to sleep for twenty hours straight. The Red Bull I had is not enough."

Hanna looked at him, changing her expression to a more serious one as she tried to extract something beyond her boyfriend's words. Her expression reflected concern, which upset the pilot even more than he appeared.

"Are you okay, Seb?"

The mentioned sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes, don't worry. I just need to sleep, at least, two days in a row and sort out my thoughts... about tomorrow's meeting."

"Relax, sweetheart," the girl began to say, caressing his cheek. "I don't want to pressure you if you're not comfortable. And don't worry about tomorrow's meeting: I'm sure everything will go smoothly."

The German simply nodded slightly, trying to act as normal as possible.

"Tomorrow everything will be over, so calm down. Everything will be more than resolved, and I promise I'll devote myself body and soul to everything you want until the season starts."

Hanna convinced herself that this would be true, calming down a bit when Vettel approached and gave her a peck, then got into bed. The girl was curious about how events would unfold the next morning with Marko and Horner, especially regarding the famous intern, but she wouldn't find out until much later because she couldn't be at the meeting. Moreover, she preferred to stay studying there; she had too many assignments and final exams to prepare to be up and down. She had accompanied Seb to Berlin to enjoy his company as much as possible.

Determined, she got up to remove her makeup and get ready to go to bed herself, although at the same time, she did it so Sebastian could have some time alone and calm down without pressure. She tried to keep the lights off and not make much noise: there had been few occasions when the pilot had had an anxiety attack, but Prater knew perfectly well that when it happened, the last thing he wanted was to talk, wishing to escape from everyone to hide his vulnerability.

When she was ready, she slipped carefully between the sheets, staying behind Seb's back while trying not to disturb the calm that seemed to have finally consumed him. The room would be immersed in a sepulchral silence if it weren't for both of their breaths, which always became synchronized after a few rigorous minutes. Seeing the scene, Hanna felt the urge to move toward Vettel. Gently, she approached him until she was close enough to put an arm over his waist, pulling him toward her protectively. She felt how the boy relaxed, encouraging her to continue: instinctively, she rested her head on the shoulder she had free, closed her eyes, and let sleep take her to a world where, perhaps, Sebastian Vettel didn't have so many doubts about their relationship.

[...]

Sebastian

The landscape visible through the tinted windows of the van taking Britta and me to the hotel for the meeting to finalize my six-year contract with Red Bull was more than memorized in my memory from all the times I had traveled it. I guess that's the advantage of having photographic memory. But it's also a disadvantage because I remember perfectly every single moment I've shared with her, moments that I'm not supposed to have so vivid.

The so-called power of Diana Wagner, I suppose.

Her face, her smile, her voice... everything seemed to have moved into my mind with no intention of leaving for a long time, and I hated it immensely because I felt an indescribable emotion when I saw her. But at the same time, the confusion was huge because I couldn't understand what role her presence was playing in my life. Add to that, the fact that I felt like a complete idiot for Hanna, who deserved none of this, no matter how many scenes of jealousy she made or how much insecurity she emanated; after all, I understood her—I behaved like a Neanderthal on many occasions when I saw her classmates too close.

Britta was by my side, delivering a speech that my mind didn't seem to grasp because it was already working hard, thinking about the intern.

"Seb, are you listening to me?"

The poker face she threw at me when she seemed to realize I wasn't listening was indescribable. I just nodded quickly.

"Why are you so concerned about Wagner?" she asked, cutting the tension that had formed between us.

My hands turned into a fist automatically, my knuckles turning a shade of red that even worried me.

"I don't know," I admitted, looking at her briefly before returning my gaze to the city's buildings. "Since we said goodbye, I haven't been able to stop thinking about her..."

"It's normal to have feelings for other people," she interrupted, not giving me the opportunity to continue explaining myself. "But you have to know perfectly well what you want and, more importantly, who you want."

If my mind was a whirlwind, after her words, it was even more so. Why was it impossible for me to forget, even for a few months, about Diana? But that's not all: most importantly, I didn't know why everything I did with Hanna or everything I wanted to say to her, I wanted to say to the adopted Barcelona girl. I felt like I was somehow being unfaithful to her.

My public relations continued talking, only sending me another small thread of everything she was saying, repeating as if it were a mantra that I had to take into account what having Di on our team would mean. She even emphasized strongly that, before making a hasty decision, I should think with my brain and not with my penis.

It seemed she didn't know me, and that's what made me dislike her in moments like these.

"Vettel, come here!"

As soon as we stepped into that meeting room in one of Berlin's most luxurious hotels, Christian opened his arms for a hug, setting aside the formalities I had seen from him until then. Marko was in one of the corners, holding a folder with the team logo in his hands, completely still and with a distant look, although I knew he was analyzing everything I said or did; I could see him occasionally commenting to Guillaume Rocquelin, who would be my new race engineer, better known as Rocky, while I talked to Horner about what I had done during the only free week I had had so far.

When Helmut finally deigned to greet me, I stood straight as a candle, just as I did in school whenever I was reprimanded. No jokes for now; Roeske had already warned me about that. I was too young to be out of a job.

"I'm glad to see you again, Sebastian," he said, offering a handshake that I gladly accepted. God, he was so sweaty. "We're delighted to have you here. Let me introduce you to Rocky," he turned to the man next to him, who already had a big smile on his face, "from now on, if you decide to sign the contract, he'll be your race engineer at Red Bull."

How could I not sign the contract? I wanted my favorite girl from the paddock to be with me wherever I went. I didn't want to be out of a job.

Damn it, thinking about Diana again.

"Pleasure, Sebastian," the engineer said, giving me a hug that left me completely out of place. "I'm thrilled that we'll be working together from now on. I know you have potential."

"Thank you."

I couldn't say more because, even before finishing the word, Marko was already demanding that I sit next to Britta, who already had an impressive pile of papers in front of her. I did that, also asking her with my gaze what it was; she didn't answer, of course, but threw another one of her many phrases at me with her eyes that I knew perfectly. In this case, it could be something like "stop being a teenage jerk and focus on being an adult for once."

"All right, Sebastian," Helmut Marko began to say, "you already know well what the contract entails because, if I recall correctly, we publicly confirmed your entry into the team at the German Grand Prix this year, 2008," I nodded, "and we agreed that you would replace Coulthard about two months earlier, in May," I affirmed again, "so you must have read the contract around February or March, but it was confidential."

God, how annoying.

"Exactly."

"Well," he continued, making me more nervous. I don't know how he could live from the calm he always carried with him, "let's review the terms and everything you'll be facing for the next six years."

"The contract will last, as I've already mentioned, six years, from 2009 to 2014, with the possibility of extending it, which will allow us to establish a solid relationship with you and, especially, to develop your potential to the fullest. You already know well that during this time, you will be the number one pilot, the most important member of the team, without intending to belittle Webber," he clarified, although I knew it was an excuse as thin as a demon. "This will give you the opportunity to demonstrate what you are capable of and, above all, achieve what we believe you desire most: accumulating podiums, victories, and even winning a championship or two. Regarding responsibilities," he changed the subject to one that seemed infinitely more boring to me, "we only expect you to integrate into the team and contribute both to the development of the car and to race strategies," he said, looking at the engineer beside him, "alongside Guillaume. We're not just looking for the best driver for the coming seasons, nor the fastest, but someone who can provide the necessary feedback to make us a rocket."

"And how much are you going to pay him?" Britta impatiently wanted to know, eliciting a smile from me that didn't amuse the company owner as much. "I believe that's what my client is most interested in and what we haven't discussed yet, I'm afraid."

For those reasons, I knew I couldn't easily let this woman slip away.

"He'll have a base salary and, from there, bonuses based on the results he achieves, especially if they're P1," explained the older man, earning mere murmurs from Britta. "But don't worry about that, Roeske, we'll provide everything necessary in terms of facilities, personnel, and resources so that your client, as you've called him, walks away satisfied every year."

"And would that be all?"

"Don't play dumb, woman," now Christian was speaking, whom I both loved and hated in equal measure. "You read the contract even before Sebastian did."

The expression she made seemed like she wanted the ground to swallow her. I knew nothing about her knowing what would be in the contract before I did... Should I be worried, or should I be calm because that was her job?

"Do you have any questions or concerns about the contract?" Horner asked with interest. "We want you to have everything clear before you sign anything. If you regret something, you can tell us with complete sincerity, you know you're the new star and we want you to feel at home."

Britta's gazes were penetrating me even before I knew she was looking at me because I knew what she was going to ask. Was it the best decision? Probably not, but sometimes the heart wants what it wants and mine, in those moments, wanted to do everything possible for Diana Wagner to have the opportunity to show the world what she was capable of. The woman looked at me, making faces so that I wouldn't say anything of what she knew as well as I did that I was going to end up saying.

"Yes," I said, taking a breath before explaining what had been going through my mind for so long. "I would like Diana Wagner, the Toro Rosso intern who was subordinate to Alex last season," I told them as I saw their faces turn into completely different expressions, "to be with us, on the team, doing something more than what she has done this year."

Roeske observed me impatiently, while the two big shots from Red Bull exchanged somewhat uncomfortable looks. The engineer simply remained silent, watching the other three as much as I was.

"Why would you like this Diana to join us, Sebastian?" Helmut wanted to know, which seemed very odd to me.

"I know what she's capable of," I began, "but since she's not given a chance to demonstrate her talent, it's impossible for you to see it. Each and every one of us, myself included, has underestimated her at some point because she's a woman and inexperienced, when all she's doing is fighting to learn, carve out a place for herself, and above all, try to be the best at what she knows could be her future profession," I declared with a tone increasingly angry from the rage contained within me. I had to learn to control it as my mother had told me so many times, but it was impossible in cases like this.

Christian Horner and Helmut Marko glanced at each other again, but unlike before, now they seemed to have a clear decision, and it didn't give me a good feeling. Before they could say anything, Britta interrupted them, showing no consideration for how much I disliked talking about my personal life in public:

"Sebastian..." she commented, knowing perfectly well the doubts that had been plaguing my mind for so long, "don't act like Diana is Hanna. Don't do this out of pity because it will end very badly."

I couldn't say anything because I knew she was right. Britta Roeske once again had bloody well hit the nail on the head, and I couldn't take it away from her. Her words echoed in my mind constantly, along with every single conversation we had had on the subject. I had a serious problem, and making another impulsive decision wasn't the best way to act.

But I did it. I ended up doing it for that bright-eyed girl whose eyes turned dark every time they trampled on her, threatened her, insulted her, or suggested she do another job than the one she was there to do, among thousands of other words and gestures that surely made her feel like crap in the area of her life that stood out the most; surely Toro Rosso hadn't selected her from thousands of candidates if they hadn't seen the potential she had. I wasn't the only one who could think that.

"This has nothing to do with me feeling sorry for Diana or not," I tried to calm my anger, "but these are professional matters that I would like to address because, just as something, I don't know what, was seen in me to run for this team, I also see that this girl can succeed when given the opportunity to do so," I turned to Helmut eagerly, and I swore his eyes began to penetrate him like no one had ever done before: “You are the ones who claim to have a young team. Don't you think it would be good to have a more rejuvenated vision of engineering, to learn from each other? No offense, man," I ended up looking at my engineer.

I could feel the doubts of everyone present, but there had come a point where I didn't care anymore: I was determined to fight for what I believed was right, regardless of the consequences that all this fuss I had created based on a slight obsession with a colleague might bring.

"Seb, please," the blonde replied authoritatively, but at the same time with affection as she looked at me with concern, "take things slowly. You're not thinking clearly, your feelings are doing it for you."

"No, Britta, I'm thinking very clearly," I replied firmly. "I can't turn my back on someone who has passion and potential for this sport, and that was clearly seen with the victory I achieved in Monza because she was the one who designed the strategy since Alex decided to leave after psychologically abusing her."

Shit, I had gone too far revealing details, but I didn't care because their faces, which had been completely impressed, except for Roeske's, were the sign that made me affirm that I had made the right decision.

"Diana was the one who prepared it?" Rocky wanted to know, and I nodded. He was the most surprised person in the room, and that gave me a little hope.

"If it hadn't been for her, I probably wouldn't have finished the race."

Everyone in the room was even more surprised. I don't blame them, I was too at the time, but I was bored: I needed Diana Wagner to surprise me even more.

"To be honest, we had no intention of continuing to trust Miss Wagner for the next season," Helmut Marko confessed, and my heart began to race. What if, after all, I had messed up even more? “To be honest, the internship program we set up turned out to be much worse than initially thought. If you are so determined for this girl to join the team, then we will establish some conditions for her to join," announced the man, "and if she doesn't meet expectations, she will be expelled immediately."

Marko's voice was firm, but behind it, I knew he wanted to test Di and me for what I had proposed. His look conveyed to me that, as much as he trusted that I could make Red Bull Racing shine, he didn't trust the opinion of a twenty-one-year-old kid; the same could be said of Horner, Rocky, and Britta, who probably weren't giving credit to the kind of debate the team advisor and I were having.

"Agreed," Roeske sighed beside me and crossed her arms. I knew she was angry and that she would scold me as soon as we left there, but I didn't care. WI don't know what Diana will think of all this, but I'm sure she's more than willing to prove more than she's worth; just as I know she won't disappoint you."

"I hope your words are true, Vettel. You'd better not do this because you have some kind of fling with the girl, because if you mess up, she'll be out on the street with you right behind her."

My lungs seemed to have disappeared because at that moment I didn't feel the air flowing through my body. Her look made me feel like a lost child, with no one to help him and not knowing where to go. I had defended Diana tooth and nail and didn't regret it; in fact, I would do it as many times as necessary, but... was it just because of the innate talent I had seen in her from the very beginning?

I had to prove at all costs from March onwards that everything I had said had been from a professional point of view, and emphasizing that there was no future life that we planned to have together because I had Hanna for that.

Diana's and my future, our future, was now more at stake than ever, and if we failed the Austrians, we would fail ourselves more than anyone else.

However, no matter how much I tried to calm my mind and forget them, Christian Horner's words stuck to me like darts because I knew that, deep down, I had just brought out a truth that I myself wasn't ready to face yet.

[...]

2008 December 25th

Barcelona, Spain

The dreaded Christmas Eve had arrived, marking the beginning of another ridiculous Christmas at the Wagner family home. Since Rosalie's departure, those festive times filled with music, food, gifts, and, especially, love, had turned into a routine that had to be celebrated no matter what in Bernhard's eyes; for Diana, however, it was quite the opposite.

After her mother's suicide, the girl had done everything in her power, without anyone's help, to ensure that Christmas wouldn't be ruined for her six-year-old sister. The redhead was in charge of preparing the decorations during the famous December festivities celebrated in Spain from the sixth to the eighth of December, where she set up the Christmas tree and various other ornaments. Also, well in advance of the 24th, she prepared a dinner different from the usual with care, trying to make it more elaborate as the years went by; and she even bought gifts, saving money for months thanks to sporadic jobs that she managed to get.

All of this took a lot of effort, and sometimes she thought about not doing anything to avoid conflicts with her father during those two weeks, but the desire to keep the excitement alive in little Amelie was what ultimately won.

That year, thanks to her salary as an intern, she had been able to exceed her initial budget. The food was of better quality, and she had even made enough to eat in the days to come. At the same time, there were more gifts for the youngest of the house, and even for their father, who always rejected any presents they gave him.

Although the little one was now 12 years old, she still had as much excitement for Christmas as they did when they were a normal family, thanks to the efforts of her older sister.

"Amelie, come get the foie grass and grab a beer for dad!"

The girl quickly obeyed her elder sister's orders, taking what she had been told and bringing it to the head of the household. As she watched her sister walk away and finished finalizing the details of the main dish, she felt her mobile phone vibrate in her pocket.

She took out the device and saw messages from Sebastian. To say that her heart didn't skip a beat would be lying to herself.

It was Sebastian, telling her that they would see each other on February 9th in Jerez. That she was going to continue in Formula 1, now as a Red Bull intern. With him.

"Diana, come to dinner now!"

As soon as she heard the voices in her native language from her father, she quickly tucked her phone into her pocket and returned to the living room, carrying a tray with the roast she had been preparing all day. Upon crossing the door, she saw her father sitting in his armchair watching the Christmas programs on Spanish Television, trying to hum along to a few carols he liked with his limited level of Spanish. Diana placed the food in the center of the table and sat to the right of her sister, leaving Bernhard at the head of the table.

At that moment, Sebastian Vettel had given her the best Christmas gift she had received, and the only good news that would resonate in the Wagner family unit for quite some time.

"Dad, Amelie..." the girl began, unable to hide her excitement. Barely a few minutes had passed since she had received the messages from the German, and maybe she should inquire a bit more in case it was a joke, but she couldn't wait. "Sebastian sent me a message a couple of minutes ago saying they have decided to promote me to Red Bull alongside him to be his track engineer's assistant."

The father's face lit up, something Diana hadn't seen for quite some time. Her younger sister jumped out of her chair and bounced around, completely euphoric, rushing to hug her instantly.

"What do you mean, an engineer?" Bernhard wanted to know, taking a sip from his beer can and trying not to choke on what seemed to be excitement. "Does that mean you won't be an intern anymore?"

Diana nodded, shaking her head faithfully. "That seems to be the case. In the end, getting fired by the other team seems to have worked out."

"By the way, Diana," the man said again, steering the conversation to a completely different topic, "I'd like to tell you and Ame something."

The sisters' faces paled a bit, not knowing what their father might be referring to. He straightened up in his seat and looked them directly in the face. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and the redhead had a premonition that what would come out of the mouth of the man who gave her life would not be good.

"I've been facing some health issues lately," he announced. "Your sister knows that I've been to the doctor more times than I'd like to count," he recounted, looking at the younger one, who agreed with her father, "and if we haven't told you anything, it's because we didn't want you to abandon the season for a father with less and less time left."

Diana, who was drinking Coke, spat out the soda she had in her mouth, staining her burgundy-colored dress a shade of brown. Amelie was in shock, and her gaze began to alternate between her father and her sister.

"Excuse me?"

The words that came out of the adult's mouth couldn't be true.

"The doctors have diagnosed me with ALS, and besides having a late diagnosis, it seems to be progressing faster than expected."

That was impossible. She couldn't lose her father too.

Tears began to form in the girl's eyes as she felt arms wrap tightly around her waist. The muffled sobs of her younger sister on Christmas Eve were the last thing she expected. Trying to process the news, Diana could only blame herself for not being there with her father, thinking if she had been, none of this would be happening.

"I know this is difficult...," Bernhard continued, his voice trembling slightly, "but I want you to know that I'm taking the appropriate measures, listening to the experts, and I'll be joining palliative care in the coming days."

"What's palliative care, Diana?"

Ignoring her sister's question, Diana carefully pushed her away. She couldn't believe it; this couldn't be happening to her.

"Does what Dad said mean he's going to die, Didi?" the girl insisted again, this time tugging forcefully at her dress sleeves.

Diana couldn't deny her sister, not because she wanted to deny her the truth, but because at that moment, she couldn't say anything. Faced with her sister's deafening silence and her father's growing anxiety, Amelie opted to leave the room in tears, ignoring what might happen next in the living room.

"Hey, Dad..." Wagner tried to say, but it was completely impossible. That day felt like a dream, and neither what Vettel nor his father had said was true.

It was difficult for her to articulate words now that she was alone with someone who would leave her sooner rather than later. She tried to stay calm to maintain the family's composure because if it wasn't her, no one else would. Inside, her body was a bundle of nerves, on the verge of collapse. She wanted to scream, to hit something, and above all, to die in those moments so she wouldn't have to watch her father die.

She couldn't become an orphan at her young age of twenty.

Who would walk her down the aisle if she ever got married to someone who loved her enough, as her father had promised her so many times?

Especially that question, and a thousand more, began to swirl in her mind, only causing her to sink deeper into her newly found misery.

"You need help in these moments. If that means I have to leave Formula 1, don't worry," she managed to articulate at last, drawing strength from where she didn't have it.

Bernhard jumped up as best he could. He wasn't going to let his daughter give up the dream she had been waiting to achieve for so long, and for which she had fought for years.

"Don't you dare say that, young lady!" he exclaimed with an authoritative yet sweet tone. "Listen to me," he continued, trying to capture the girl's attention. "When I'm no longer here, I want to see you succeed, do you understand? I want to see you at the top, from the top," his eyes turned to the ceiling of the house, knowing Diana would understand where he was going with this. "I want, when you manage to stand alongside the driver you direct and collect a world title, to look up and be aware that I'm watching you from a better place."

"I can't bear the thought of losing you, Dad," the young woman was sobbing, unable to control her tears. "Saying goodbye to you too, in such a short time, isn't fair... Six years ago it was mom, and now you."

"Diana Wagner, I want you to know that wherever you are, you will always find me in the stars," the man gently took his daughter's face in his hands, wiping away the tears that covered her cheeks. "You were born for this, so don't let my situation make you abandon everything you're fighting for."

"But, Dad..."

"I know this is very difficult, little one, but I want you to know that I am very proud of you and the woman you have become," he paused to catch his breath due to the difficulty he had with it, "and the woman you will surely continue to become. I know your mother would be very proud of you too."

Tears flowed freely again, and the sobs increased. Diana hugged her father tightly and wished to die right there with him.

"I don't know how I'll be able to do it without you," she revealed, leaving the man stunned. "It hurts to think of losing you."

"Well then, don't," he declared.

Immediately, Bernhard sat back on the couch and patted his lap, indicating to his daughter to sit on it. Despite hesitating for a moment due to her father's well-known delicate health condition, Diana eventually complied, feeling like she was five years old again.

"You know? I like this Sebastian guy you've talked so much about. I don't think I've ever told you," the man said.

The girl felt a slight blush beginning to creep onto her cheeks. Diana had shared everything she had experienced with Sebastian day and night with her family, but they had never reached the point where they questioned whether she had a slight crush on the German.

"Do you think I'll ever get to meet him?" the brunette continued to insist.

The redhead knew that question would come up at some point, but not minutes after her father had told her and her sister that he was dying and that there was nothing to be done for him except to wait for his life to fade away.

"Of course, Dad. You'll get along great, I'm sure," she lied, knowing it would be very difficult for that to happen.

"And will he like me enough to have him as a son-in-law?"

Diana laughed. Her father always had to match her up with someone, regardless of what happened between them.

"Sebastian is just my friend, Dad," the redhead clarified, getting off her father's lap. "Plus, I'm not sure he would ever come to love me in the future as anything more than... his friend. Well, I'm not even sure about us being friends, to be honest," she corrected herself.

She knew Bernhard was putting on all this show to calm her down and make her forget the devastating news that not only ruined their holidays but possibly their lives; but at the same time, a fervent desire arose in her to tell him the whole truth about how she had felt in recent months with the blue-eyed German who had been so kind to her, unlike many others.

Tears welled up in Diana's eyes again when she realized that her father might never know that she was slowly but earnestly falling in love with Sebastian Vettel, and that there was nothing she wished more at that moment than for him to meet the man she wanted to be her future son-in-law.

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bambamramfan · 2 days

Text

Discourse knows, there have been too many articles in the UMC publications about polyamory, and I apologize for adding to the bonfire of think pieces. At least this one linked above is less obnoxious than most of them.

(The most obnoxious one is referenced in this article, the Atlantic piece saying that polyamory is bourgeois identity politics distracting from material change.)

And what gets me is that for a bunch of supposed Marxists decrying how polyamory is just cultural superficiality irrelevant to the superstructure of material conditions.... none of them can bother to write a Marxist analysis of polyamory! It's just throwing different names at each other, no discussion of material incentives.

And it's so fucking easy to write one, isn't it. Here's our starting points:

Marriage (and the relationship models that lead to it) is an economic institution.

The change in modern polyamory fads is, like most fashion, coming from the upper-class.[1]

I think we can all agree on these basic premises, and they provide a great deal of grist for economic analysis.

For instance, the middle class in America is falling apart. Especially if you are a recent college graduate. It's easy to get an internship that might be on track to a very lucrative career, especially in a big city. It's a lot harder to start a stable middle-class job somewhere between the coasts. So you can't really start planning for baby until you're 30 and after 5 different careers you maybe have one that will last more than a year, and can put a down payment on a home at maybe 35. (Housing costs rising, especially in cities, has really exacerbated that.

Does this apply to everyone? No. Does it apply to more people that in the past? Big yeah. So, what does a young educated something do in their twenties and early thirties?

But the upper class - I suppose we are supposed to say upper middle class, but c'mon programmer earning $250k you're fooling no one - is booming. It's easier to enter it, especially if you're smart, than ever (note that increasing from 1% mobility to 10% mobility is a big change, even if on the absolute scale it's still unfair.)

Polyamory - or extramarital sex - has always been popular among the rich. Because marriage isn't really an economic necessity for them. If a couple splits, well there's enough money to go around for all the kids to live in nice houses. Mormon bigamy flourishes when a male breadwinner is so ultra-successful they can support for 5 wives, and geek group poly houses flourish when one systems engineer can pay for the whole house on their own too (maybe there's one kid everyone chips in babycare for in the house, but no one is even thinking about enough children in the group house for a fertility rate close to 1:1.)

So if you cut out the ladder from the middle-class-monogamy path, and widen the highway for upper-class-laissez-faire-culture, then cultural norms are gonna flow from the former to the latter.

The thing about relationship norms that makes the change really noticeable is their NETWORK EFFECTS. Being the only polyamorous person in a monogamous community is basically irrelevant, right? Who you gonna date? Similarly if you are in an entirely polyamorous community, my sympathies if you happen to be monogamous and so everyone you want to date has incompatible norms.

But once you start getting away from the edges, they S-curve up real fast because there's finally the option to try the minority relationship style, and for the agnostics who are okay poly or mono, they start seeing people they think are cute in the other camp, and hey, why not try it out.

So combine the collapse of the middle class, the proliferation of upper class hedonism, and network effects and a poly-explosion seems almost inevitable, doesn't it?

...

Of course, I haven't presented any hard evidence, this marginal change at most applies to less than double digits percentage of the populace, and this isn't even how the story feels from inside my head (as a poly converted person.)

But it was. At least. An attempt. To do. Materialistic analysis!

Why are all published Marxists so bad at this.

[1] Polyamory, or extreme family/relationship/household flexibility has always flourished in the underclass. But the NYT isn't going around interviewing trailer parks in Appalachia to ask them about their exciting new lifestyle.

#polyamory

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alleannaharris · 1 year

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Today's Black History Month illustration is of Paul R. Williams, the first Black member of the American Institute of Architects.

Paul Revere Williams was born in Los Angeles in 1894 and was orphaned at four years old. Immediately after high school, he landed internships and jobs at local architecture firms despite the racial prejudice. Williams took classes at the Los Angeles Beaux-Arts School and then attended USC’s School of Engineering. He became a certified architect in 1915.

In 1920, Williiams was appointed to the first Los Angeles City Planning Commission, and the year after, he received a license to practice architecture in California and started working for John C. Austin. In 1922, he opened his own firm and served as an architect for the Navy during WWII. In 1923, Williams became the first Black person inducted into the American Institute of Architects.

He was an outstanding draftsman, and had the skill of rendering drawings upside down. He developed the skill so that his white clients (who might have been uncomfortable sitting next to a black architect) could see his drawings right side up across the table from him.

Williams designed over 2,000 homes, including the homes of Lucille Ball & Desi Arnaz, Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.

Along with designing homes for the wealthy and the stars, he designed affordable homes, public housing, civic, commercial and institutional buildings. Williams was also part of the Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) planning and design team.

Some of his works include the Golden State Mutual Life building in LA, St. Jude Children’s Hospital in Memphis, and the Los Angeles Superior Court.

He spearheaded the redesign of the Beverly Hills Hotel, a renovation which cost $3 million. The cursive letters on its sign are based on his own handwriting. Outside of LA, he remodeled buildings and spaces for Howard University (dentistry school, architecture and engineering college.)

He received many awards including the NAACP Spingarn Medal and USC’s Distinguished Alumni Award. In 1957, he became the first African American to become an AIA Fellow. In 2017, Williams was posthumously awarded the AIA Gold Medal, America’s highest honor for an architect. He was the first Black architect to receive the Gold Medal.

Williams passed away in 1980 at 85, leaving a mark on West Coast architecture and aspiring Black architects.

I’ll be back tomorrow with another illustration and story!

#paul r. williams #black history matters #black history month 2023 #black history facts #artists on tumblr #illustrators on tumblr

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lgbtq-history-museum-cfl-intern · 5 months

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The Final Count Down

Sunday 11/26/2023

Technically I’m supposed to be on vacation until tomorrow, but I have some time on my hands and thoughts on my mind.

This is the last day of classes and I’m working on some final assignments: The last touches on a research paper for the capstone course for my Interdisciplinary Studies major, a PowerPoint for the Hands-on History Internship Showcase on Friday, and a reflection on my service-learning hours with the LGBTQ History Museum of Central Florida – again, for capstone.

All I can think about is graduation! I’m so close, I can feel the end nearing!

My nerves are finally dissolving, leaving me with anxious anticipation, and a bit of “senioritis” as I chug through these final tasks.

Once the semester ends, this internship will fulfill the last course credits that I need – pending the History Department’s substitution – to complete my history minor.

Even though UCF has an Interdisciplinary Studies Master’s Program, I’m looking forward to turning in my application for the Public History Master’s Program by the priority deadline (January 15th). I aim to start my degree in the Fall of 2024 and, after learning about another student’s experience from Rollins’ Archival staff, I plan to take one seminar course at a time.

The only exception would be if I’m accepted into the Summer Research Program at UCF, allowing me to earn 6 credits the summer before.

This plan to take things slow is to hopefully avoid burnout and allow me to work with plenty of thought, care, and attention to my master’s degree. I’d also like to have time and energy to dedicate to internships and other forms of hands-on learning experiences like volunteering – maybe even a job that provides opportunities to expand skills that are relevant to public history professions.

Thursday 11/30/2023

Tomorrow is presentation day and I’m first up on the schedule (thank goodness! I’ll get to just sit and listen to everyone else’s experiences for the rest of the time!)

I’m literally functioning on meeting and due dates:

Tomorrow is the Hands-On History Showcase.

Sunday, all of my Capstone Assignments are due.

The following Friday, my final is due.

Then the Friday after that is graduation.

After that, I have about a month until the priority deadline for applications for the Public History Master’s Program at UCF.

That’s as far out as I can think right now.

I’m full of excitement and anxiety, but I’m also hopeful and optimistic!

Most of all, I am grateful, and I plan to spend some time throughout the following weeks communicating that to the mentors who positively impacted my undergraduate journey – pretty much all of them. (I was wondering if I was going to get sentimental leading up to graduation and, finally, here I am typing through calm tears as I reminisce on how lucky I am to have so many wonderful people to reach out to with gratitude.)

I’m glad this is how I chose to spend my final semester. Earlier this year, I was thrown off my path and I was heartbroken trying to piece together a new plan that accommodated my limited capacities as a student living with disabilities.

Now, two weeks from graduation, I stand firmer and more confident in my plans, goals, and desires.

Thank you to the wonderful faculty, staff, and peers who taught me so much along the way! Without their support, I would not have accomplished all that I have throughout my undergraduate career.

See you next Fall as a master’s student! (fingers-crossed)

Friday 12/01/2023

The showcase just ended and that just about wraps up the semester for me!

Everyone else had some incredibly enriching experiences and it was cool to see someone else who participated in the HerStory: Women in History Internship at the Orange County Regional History Center.

It seems the structure of it has come a long way, allowing her to accomplish so much more hands-on work than I had during my time there!

There was a lot of diversity in the projects everyone worked on, so I also learned other ways of being a public historian and doing public history work.

Hopefully, when I enter the Public History Master’s Program at UCF I’ll get to work alongside some of these wonderfully talented individuals!

Thanks for following my journey!

- Marena

#history student #internship blog #public history intern blog #history intern blog #public history internship #museum internship #student internship #college student #internship #history exhibit #banned books #graduation

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17020s · 1 year

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ANONYMOUS — GOSSIPCORP.

FILE 1: MEET THE BUSINESSPEOPLE... AND THE HISTORIAN.

REO MIKAGE: Heir of the Mikage Corporation, and owner of GossipCorp, a secret-spilling twitter page. Reo keeps things strictly professional on his profile, he has an image to maintain. He's received his BLU acceptance letter to major in Economics, and is counting down the days to attend inside his father's office.

GOSSIPCORP: Reo's gossip page. Most confessions are about him, and sometimes they revolve around Mikage Corp's employees. It's a miracle nobody has snitched, since everyone has been entertained by this. The confessions are anonymous to the public, but not to Reo.

YN LN: BLU sophomore, currently majoring in Business Administration & Management. She, along with her best friend Ivy, are doing a paid internship at Mikage Corp. Her accounts are mostly private, to not put her internship at risk. Currently, she's freaking out due to GossipCorp's post about her.

IVY: Yn's best friend, and an intern at Mikage Corp. She's a sophomore at BLU, majoring in Business Administration & Management. Ivy is only doing the internship because it was Yn's idea, and also because she has her eye on a white-haired visitor.

SEISHIRO NAGI: Reo's best friend, who is sometimes forced to go with Reo to Mikage Corp, as his moral support. He'll be attending BLU to major in History, since it was his best subject in high school and according to him, is less of a hassle than other programs. He doesn't bother with posting on his socials, he'd rather use them to text other people.

taglist below (currently open)!

TAGLIST: @dooonjia , @dazaisusedtampon , @itonashi , @thetruepair , @kawaii-desv , @strawberrypockybox . if your name is in bold, it means i couldn't tag you!

note. obvi i had to use pictures from pinterest, i don't own these pics! also, yn isn't necessarily a brunette, you can imagine her as you want.

#ANONYMOUS — BLLK.#blue lock x reader #blue lock smau #reo mikage x reader #bllk smau #bllk x reader #reo x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x you #reo x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n

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myglassesareinkansas · 9 months

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Obviously, I wanna write an academic rivals to lovers book but I can't really do that until I've finished at least one semester of grad school so I can get a feel for what academia is actually like

#joy speaks #i'm in some doctoral level classes with some phd students #so this is The Way #i'm gonna learn so much about people #and history obviously #i just wanna write about two characters shouting at each other across the seminar table #and one of the characters is like 'SIR I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL'#ugh the humor #unmatched #also i think that trope literally should only be for university/grad school #maybe actual academic scholars who are employed #not high schoolers i'm ngl #there's just so much more you can do with tertiary education and grad school #fighting for internships and scholarships and grants and publications and collaborations #kjldsjsldfjkdksljf i'm obsessed

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luckloveandwaterfalls · 10 months

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heloooo! hows life? and also, what jobs do you think the aouv crew would have?

Hello!! I'm so so sorry it took me this long to get around to answering, I started it and then promptly forgot it in my drafts for a really long time :/ This is a fun question to think about!

Alistair - I've seen people on here talking about how Alistair would be a writer post-canon, and I agree wholeheartedly. He's a natural storyteller and I think he would love the chance to channel that creativity without terrifying himself in the process. Also, the relative anonymity and privacy would be good for him in the aftermath of the tournament.

Isobel - Let my girl follow her dreams of going to fashion school! I think she'd be incredible at it and the deviation from the Macaslan "jobs" and spellmaking she's expected to follow would be good for her. Many years in the future, her designs become famous, which is perhaps the biggest fuck-you to Cormac (ppl hear Macaslan and they don't think of the "family business" anymore)

Gavin - He goes through a series of temporary jobs until Fergus is an adult so he can keep a roof above their heads, then once Fergus leaves Ilvernath for university he kind of flounders a bit. Eventually Gavin ends up leaving the city as well and gets a good job in land surveying—something with a physical, hands-on element that still requires a lot of intelligence and precision.

Briony - Everyone expects her to pursue politics or some other profession with a lot of publicity, but Briony surprises everyone by becoming an attorney. She'll never let go of her desire to help and save people, but she doesn't want to be associated with the Thorburns (minus Innes) anymore, and she's become less obsessed with the idea of being a hero. She gains a reputation for being a fierce advocate for her clients against injustice.

Finley - ???? Part of the reason why it took me so long to get to this ask was because I have no fucking clue what job Finley would have. This may be partially due to the fact that I am 100% convinced this poor boy will have the worst case of burnout post-canon that leads to several breakdowns. I also think he'll feel very aimless, because so much of his life has been about living up to expectations. Please chime in if anyone has ideas about what Finley would end up doing with his life, because I'm getting very hung up on the inevitable mental health issues in his immediate future.

Elionor - She becomes an engineer and specializes in integrating magick with otherwise mechanical designs. She barely makes it through her internship because of her attitude, but she becomes known for her creative and innovative work.

Carbry - Carbry becomes a professor. What better way to make a life out of learning, and bestowing it upon others? He does a lot of hands on research focusing on the history of curses and other magickal occurrences.

Hendry - For a while, Hendry isn't sure what he wants to do with his life, especially since he's never had any of the normal experiences that he's heard about up until this point. He encourages Alistair to pursue writing and tries out a few different paths before opening up a small indie bakery. He gets a few opportunities to expand but never takes them because he wants to keep it a warm, homelike setting where you can taste the love that went into every pastry.

Reid - Reid never writes another book. He keeps the MacTavish shop running, but years down the line, he moves more into the research aspect of cursemaking and develops some theories that he handles more responsibly than his previous experiments. Some of them get studied academically and developed into modern cursemaking/breaking advancements.

Diya - Of course I had to include her :) Diya rightfully tells the spellmaking society to fuck off and starts to do her own thing. Ten years down the line and she's known throughout Kendalle for being one of the best magickal fixers.

Thanks for the ask :) Please don't let the excruciating amount of time it took me to respond dissuade you from sending me more lmao, I love to talk about this series and my schedule seems to be a bit less hectic for the time being!

#all of us villains #all of our demise #aouv #aood #amanda foody #c. l. herman #alistair lowe #isobel macaslan #gavin grieve #briony thorburn #finley blair #elionor payne #carbry darrow #hendry lowe #reid mactavish #diya attwater-sharma #ask #i’m ignoring canon and pretending they all survive

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mbti-notes · 6 months

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Anon wrote: Hello mbti-notes! I'm 25 & INFJ. I currently feel directionless, lost and stagnant. Due to this I've isolated myself for a long time up until recently when I realized it's making me more anxious. I've been trying not to isolate myself by taking daily walks, practicing mindfulness, interacting a little with people, learning soft skills and learning from your blog.

Many setbacks have occurred in the past few years. I feel after covid I've just had hardship after hardship without break. I've lost my drive and goals. So I started I've started rethinking my goals. I always knew that I wanted to do a career involving history, travel and in service to others so I worked towards that. In my final year of uni my friend suggested going into teaching because I could do history + teach abroad. I thought it was a good idea. I've taught for one year in my own country.

Since I've entered the teaching field I've had a very difficult time and experienced burnout in no time. I don't feel supported or guidance to overcome challenges that I have. I'm lacking strong classroom management in a class of 40 students (public schools). Senior teachers have told me that I should consider switching to kindergarten or that I would be viewed as incompetent and lose my job. I was also told I'm going to struggle in this field because I struggle to socialize with colleagues. I'm very introverted and lack social skills due to being socially isolated during my middle childhood to teenage years. I'm working on this and try to socialize with colleagues.

It feels discouraging to constantly be criticized. I was told twice by two teachers I worked with closely I work diligently and they'd love to work with me again. First teachers usually struggle with classroom management the difference is how slow or fast one gets a grip on it. For some it's months, just a year or many years. I'm not given the time or space to practice my classroom management. During my entire first year I believed myself to be incompetent because of the comments from experienced, high rank teachers. Which caused me stress and unhealthy perfectionism because I internalized those comments due to my low self worth & external validation. I'm working on changing this belief and learning about myself. I know I can do it with experience, guidance and support. I believe that I'm capable of doing any job or career if I have proper guidance or mentoring.

Unfortunately, only teachers with good classroom management are employed. Unless a school is interested in taking on new teachers and mentoring them which isn't frequent. So far I haven't been able to find stability in this career either. I've just gotten accepted for contract posts which are only for a few months. I'm currently taking a break from being a school teacher and I've started volunteering work by tutoring children. I'm at crossroads with what to choose. Especially because I'm doubting whether I'm suitable to be a teacher considering my classroom management which is very important. I'm considering exploring other jobs than teaching or continuing in that field but as a tutor, online teaching or private schools (20 in a class and my classroom management is good with 20). My question is how do I know if I'm on the right path? How do I find healthy direction? Thank you for your time.

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

1) Trying to learn on the job can be very challenging because of the greater sense of responsibility and the pressure it generates to succeed quickly.

To my ears, the amount of help you need actually sounds a bit unreasonable. There is one point about your situation that is unclear. Did you get a teaching degree that included a proper internship or practicum? (If you entered into a position without the right qualifications or training, then you shouldn't be surprised about struggling.) It's not the job of the employer or your colleagues to educate you once you've already graduated from school, though they may choose to be supportive as part of their mission or as resources allow. Technically speaking, the training should've already happened in your practicum, so it is assumed you already have enough classroom experience to get a grip on things quickly on your own.

If you haven't had enough practical classroom training, it might benefit you to spend time working as a teaching assistant in order to learn from experienced teachers in a more appropriate way, rather than expecting your colleagues to add teaching you to their already full plates of teaching 40 students.

Factors such as student demographics and school funding also influence the workplace environment for teachers, so it might be a good idea to try out many different schools to ensure that the problem doesn't lie solely with you. It could be that the workplace culture in specific schools isn't a good fit for you. It's not something to cast blame about but to accept; simply move on and look for a better fit.

There are many different forms of teaching, so just because you can't manage a class of 40+ doesn't mean you have to give up teaching entirely. Yes, private schools and sometimes schools in more rural areas generally have smaller classes. Also, there are companies that provide after school tutoring programs, so you could actually work as a tutor if one-on-one teaching appeals to you. Private tutoring can be lucrative if you produce good results and the right parents spread the word about your services.

2) The idea of "the right path" is somewhat misleading because it doesn't exist in any absolute sense. And believing there is only one right path for you isn't the healthiest mindset because it makes you less open to possibility and then less adaptable to change. That said, there are some very general indicators you can use to determine whether life is going well, for example:

- Emotional Well-Being: Do you generally feel good? When life is going well, your mood should be relatively stable, your attitude positive, and your outlook optimistic. Remember, pain is a warning that something is wrong. Similar to problems with physical health, if there are any aspects of your life that produce pain and suffering for you, it's better to address them sooner rather than later.

- Healthy Self-Esteem: Are you proud of who you are? Healthy pride comes from things like: taking responsibility for yourself and what you put out; making wise judgments and decisions; speaking constructively; working productively; nurturing and appreciating individuality; building good moral character. It's important to pay attention to feelings of guilt, shame, inadequacy, or self-loathing because they shine a light on opportunities for personal growth.

- Being of Value: Do you feel that you matter? To "matter" basically means your existence is better than your nonexistence. To feel as though you matter in the world, you need to offer something of value and also have your offerings valued by others. If you feel as though you have little or nothing of value to offer, then you might have an underlying issue of low self-worth to address. If you feel as though others don't value you, then you need to examine what is causing the problematic disconnect in your interpersonal life.

- Sense of Purpose: Do you have good reasons to get up every morning? People with a strong sense of purpose generally: strive to use their time and energy in meaningful ways; undertake work that produces tangible benefits; look for opportunities to make a positive contribution; make a commitment to higher goals and ideals. Feeling unmotivated, stuck, lost or adrift often points to lack of purpose in life. Purpose doesn't magically appear. You have to make purposeful choices in accordance with the value you see in yourself and want to express out into the world.

It's not my place to tell people how to make life decisions. You have to reflect on whether this is the career you want and then explore your options and find the position of best fit. This difficulty you are facing in your career could mean any number of things. It could be the challenge you need to learn the skills that you've neglected up until now. It could be a wake up call for realizing that a change of direction is necessary. To be a healthy INFJ means being able to use Ni to connect with the whole truth of the matter. Who else can tell you what is right for you? You have to reflect on it with as much self-honesty as you can muster.

#infj #career #emotional intelligence #self esteem #self worth #purpose #life direction #meaning of life #ask

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