#and will always change better if you focus on the good

[voguesabnxrmal]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓, 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

Pairing ᯓ Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings ᯓ smut, nsfw themes, I mean it’s an NSFW alphabet what else could it mean

Authors note ᯓ Comment down below, or inbox me if you want on my taglist!

a- aftercare (what they’re like after the act). ᯓ Joe Burrow, no matter what it is or what the circumstances are, will always be attentive to you after sex. He’s the type to do whatever you want him to do after you get done. Want to take a bath? He’s gonna run it for you. Want a cold glass of water? He’s going downstairs to get it for you (with extra ice). You just want to sleep? He will gladly go get you your favorite pajamas out of the drawer and change you himself into them and then cuddle you after. He’s also the type to want to take every precaution necessary, making sure you do the right steps after to prevent anything.

b-body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers). ᯓ Joe just gives he’s a tit guy vibes. Although, he loves your beauty and your facial features and all of you, he can never turn up an opportunity to do anything with your tits. Anytime you guys go to sleep at night, or just nap or lay down in general, Joe is going to put his head in the groove of your tits. Anything to do with your tits sexually too. Your tits are his favorite things to tend to during sex.

ᯓ His favorite body parts of his own has to be his muscles on anywhere of him, not necessarily a body part but that has to be his main focus (and yours too). He thrives off of getting stronger and better mostly for football, but he also knows you love to grip on his muscles during when you’re getting down and dirty. So, he also does it in favor of you (wink wink)

c-cum (anything that has to do with it). ᯓ Joe will do anything he can to paint you white. If you have sex with Joe 9/10 he’s going to creampie you. More specifically he loves giving you a facial. He’s always wanting you to suck his dick so he can see your pretty face covered in his cum. He loves to cum in you too, as many times as he can until you’re full and his cum is just gushing out of you.

d-dirty secret (pretty self explanatory). ᯓ Not really a dirty secret for your behalf, but definitely for others. Joe definitely keeps a naughty picture in his wallet, and in his locker at the Bengals facility. If anyone found it he knows his dirty little secret of that naughty polaroid picture with your dick in his mouth and his cum leaking out the corner of your mouth, would come out.

e-experience (do they know what they’re doing). ᯓ I feel like Joe doesn’t have too many bodies (although I feel like he had a little hoe phase during LSU), But he definitely knows how to please a girl. He knows the sweet spots on a girl, where the clit is, what he’s trying to reach during sex, knows the difference between “faster” & “slower”. Overall, he definitely knows how to get the job done.

f-favorite position. ᯓ Joes favorite position really just depends on his mood. If he wants to make love to you he will put you in missionary where he can see your pretty little face as he pleases you and just loves on you. But if he’s fucking you he will put you face down ass up arched into him with no shame making sure you can’t run from him and just be a good girl and take it.

g-goofy (how serious are they). ᯓ Joe is definitely a serious person during sex. He wants to get down to business and make you feel good and do whatever you want him to do that gets you to cum, but I also feel like if something funny happens like someone gets a cramp, or it’s just a moment of opportunity, Joe will crack a joke and laugh with you.

h-hair (grooming habits). ᯓ Joe is the type of person to keep himself clean. He doesn’t like a bush, but he doesn’t like it bald. He keeps it very well trimmed and cleaned up to where it doesn’t bother him.

i-intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty). ᯓ Joe is a very romantic guy in the bed I feel like. He mostly just wants to focus on you and making you feel good, making sure you know how much he loves you and adores you. But also, if Joe loses a game, or is just having a bad night, he won’t hesitate to push your limits and do what he says and take it how he wants you to take it.

j-jack off (do they masturbate and how often). ᯓ joe isn’t one to typically masturbate. He has a girl why should he have to? But being A professional Football Player there is times where you might not go with him to games, or events depending on circumstances. So, for those specific moments Joe definitely has videos and pictures of you safely hidden in his phone to where he can get off to you if he needs to while he doesn’t have access to you. If you’re lucky too, you will be getting a phone call at night with a horny Joe with his cock in his hand just waiting for you to reciprocate his actions on a FaceTime call with him.

k-kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual). ᯓ Joe in bed is mostly a soft lovey guy. Although, there’s a side of Joe where he will ask you to slap him while you ride him. Joe also loves to make you beg and cry and overstimulate you to a point where you’re trying to run from his cock tell him you can’t take it anymore. He’s also a slut for facefucking, he loves to see pretty tears run down your cheeks while he abuses the back of your throat with his thick long cock.

l-location (where they like to get it on). ᯓ Joes a classic guy. If he has to take you anywhere his first choice would be your guys bed. Don’t let that fool you though. Joe is a little mischievous guy sometimes, possibly in the parking lot of paycor stadium has seen a lot of stuff that parking lot shouldn’t have saw!

m-motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons). ᯓ Joe loves a good kiss. Anywhere. His neck? He’s going to want to snatch you up if you kiss all over his neck and suck on his adam’s apple. He gets tingly and starts to get needy if you kiss down his body too, if you kiss from the cheek all the way down to the waist band of his pants, more than likely that night for you in going to end up with joes cock down your throat.

n-no (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do). ᯓ Simple enough, Joe won’t do anything that could hurt you. Before he even tries anything new with you he will get the okay with you. He wants to make sure you are okay with anything that he wants to do, and will ask you multiple times if you’re sure you want to do that in bed if you propose an idea. Joe is mostly down for anything, but one thing he draws the line for is anything that will cause you any sort of pain.

o-oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are). ᯓ Honestly, I feel like Joe isn’t much of a munch. He will eat if you want him to and for foreplay, but he’s mostly a receiver. He loves getting head from you after a long day, he loves feeling your warm mouth wrapped around his cock.

ᯓ But when Joe does munch, He definitely knows how to use his tongue. He knows how to work your clit with just the right pressure and speed, making you finish all over his tongue.

p-pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed). ᯓ Joe isn’t a very fast paced guy during sex, he likes to take his time with you and focus on your pleasure and the build up of it rather then get straight to the point.

ᯓ He’s also the type of person to edge himself and stop to where he doesn’t finish immediately. So he doesn’t last super long, but he also doesn’t finish super early. He’s rather build up his orgasm and rather make you finish first or finish at the same time.

q-quickie (do they prefer fast and hard). ᯓ Joe likes to go fast and hard sometimes, especially if he’s rushing to be somewhere, or if you want to give him some good luck little something something before a game, but mostly he’s a “I want to fuck you for hours and make love to you” type of guy.

r-risk (do they like to try new things). ᯓ Joe DEFINITELY like to try new things. He doesn’t want your sex life to be boring. So you both have a mutual agreement if you think of something to tell the other and see if they’d be down, and 9/10 it’s usually agreed upon. In fact, Joe even discovered one of his favorite things ever upon trying out something new…like sliding his dick between your tits and getting his dick jerked from your tits while the head of his cock is getting slapped against your tongue every time he thrust between the cleavage of your tits.

s-stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts). ᯓ Joe is a football player. He has GODLY stamina. Joe can go till the point he puts you to sleep. He will keep going until you’re begging no more and you can’t take it you’re so tired. One thing about this man he will never pass up the opportunity to get down and dirty with you. And best believe when you’re having sex with joe, you know it’s going to last atleast half an hour a round no matter how many times he makes you cum.

t-toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers). ᯓ Joe isn’t really team sex toys. You have him why else would you need a sex toy? He understands though that he’s a professional football player and he’s gone sometimes. So he knows you have a vibrator in your draw if you even need it (you usually don’t). So unless he’s there there isn’t any reason for you to have to use a lame toy, he has a dick, tongue, fingers, abs, thighs? What else could you possibly need?

u-unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves). ᯓ Joe isn’t really much of a teaser. Intentionally atleast. He knows the pictures the Bengals media pages post are more than enough to get you hot and bothered waiting from him to come home from wherever he’s at to take care of that needy pussy. Although, He doesn’t mind you teasing him though. He loves to see you in a tight little skirt or top with nothing else than being able to imagine about taking it off of you. He loves seeing you tease him by walking around the house half naked in only one of his shirts or jerseys and one of his favorite thongs on underneath. He loves for you to back up into him or give him suggestive touches and then act like you don’t know what you’re doing, just so he can take care of you later with all the built up suspense.

v-volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk). ᯓ Joe isn’t the loudest in the bedroom, that’s you. But he does make grunting sounds and breathy moans. He also is the biggest dirty talker known to man, whispering the dirtiest stuff in your ear about how good you feel, and what he’s going to do to you.

w-wild card (random headcannon of any sort). ᯓ Joe unironically probably has the biggest breeding kink ever. During sex he’ll be all like; “You’ll look so good all swollen with my baby in you.”, “Cmon mama let me make a mini bengal for you to get all swollen and big with.”, “one baby won’t hurt.”, “can’t wait to fill you full of my cum and give you a baby mama, you want a baby from me? huh?”. Joe wouldn’t mind seeing you walking around all big and pregnant because he knows you got that from him. Only him.

x-x-ray (what’s in the pants). ᯓ Joe is definitely not small, I mean look at him. He probably is walking around with about a 6 or 6.5 in his pants. Which is big, but he also is girthy. He’s more wide around and thick than he is long. All I have to say is poor you.

y-yearning (sexdrive level). ᯓ Joe has about an average sex drive. He gets tired out from doing such hard work during football season mostly all around, so sometimes he isn’t up for sex. But he will make time for it throughout the week. I’d say on an average about 3-4 times a week you guys have sex, minus the occasional handies or oral sex you two have.

z-zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after). ᯓ Joe is definitely one to go to sleep after sex. Because most of the time he’s already sleepy before hand, and two because that’s mostly the activity he finishes to go to bed. He doesn’t go to sleep immediately, but pretty soon after he will, making sure you’re tended and cared for before he drifts off to sleep.

[soleilapproves]

Can I make a request for a pregnant y/n? Like jjk men and y/n get to the hospital when she goes into labor and they’re only expecting one baby but she ends up having twins? I’d love to know their reactions 😭🩷

Girl, realistically, I don’t think that’s possible with ultrasounds and stuff.

BUT, for the sake of the fic, let’s just say that you’re in a time period where ultrasounds don’t exist and physicians rely on taking your pulse or something to see if you’re pregnant or not.

cw: pregnancy, small descriptions of birth

Nanami is always a level headed and cool man. So when you popped out two kids instead of one, he had the most calm expression ever, only stroking your cheek and cooing in your ears about how well you did. Unbeknownst to you, he’s trying his best not to rip his own hair out. The house was only ready for one baby—one nursery, one nanny, one chest of clothes. Now he was going to have work just as hard to set up the same for another baby in a very short time. You don’t notice his hand trembling when the midwife tells him that there’s another kid in the equation, his main focus would probably be on making sure you’re feeling better considering that you’re in the most overwhelming phase of being a new mom. All in all, I think he’d be very scared, but he’d face this change head on and would try his best to be a good dad to both his kids (all while freaking out on the inside.)

Gojo would be elated! Double the trouble. While you’re in pain, moaning and crying while pushing out the afterbirth, Gojo is already giggling over his new children, both annoyingly being the spitting images of their father. The nurse would probably yell at him to settle down because he’s being a nuisance and send him out for being annoying, not gonna lie. But who can blame him? He’s just so excited to take both his babies home and shower them with all the love and attention in the world. There’s no doubt that you’re nervous and scared after birthing twins, you aren’t even sure how you’ll nurse them or give them attention at the same time, and seeing this, Gojo vows to make your life easier with the babies. The nannies would often complain that Gojo leaves them no work because he’s always enthusiastic to look after his little ones.

Out of all the JJK men, I think Toji would have the worst reaction. He would be freaking the fuck out and would not be shy about it. He’d be clutching on to your hand to prevent himself from fainting after the midwife yells that there’s another one coming. It’s not that he exhibits weaponized incompetency, he’s just genuinely scared of messing up twice the amount now. He’d definitely be insecure throughout the first month though, wondering if he’s even blessed enough to deserve two little angels and a lovely wife. But that doesn’t stop him from trying his best. He makes a LOT of mistakes, but he’s always ready to learn, albeit, he’s a sloppy student, but he tries and that’s what matters. The kids also say dad first so he feels like he did something right after all.

Geto is a certified twin dad. It was on his resume when he started dating you. He is not scared, and is in dad mode the second you both find that you’re carrying. So imagine his delight when there’s two babies instead of one in the cradle, both looking like they’re the most precious things on Earth. Very overprotective, especially two times as much since his babies are so beautiful, he would not let anyone in a three feet radius of his children during the first month and it took a lot of convincing to let him loose and decrease the requirement to two feet. They’re the apples of his eye and so are you. He’s surprisingly good at dividing his attention well so nobody feels excluded. He made you feel safe and secure since the beginning, constantly reassuring you that raising twins is light work. You wouldn’t know if you’d still have your sanity if he was not the father of your children.

Sukuna makes you want to smack his face while giving birth. While you’re there, having the most uncomfortable and painful time, Sukuna is laughing to himself while holding both his babies to his chest, all four arms supporting them. He begins to yell about how he has two heirs now and the midwife smacks the back of his head so he’ll quiet down. Too bad he can’t kill her because she helped deliver his tiny demons. He had already started imagining what he’d teach the kid when he found out that you were pregnant, but now that there’s two kids there’s going to be twice the fun. He imagines teaching both his kiddos how to fight, maybe if they have too much energy and are annoying him then he’ll make them spar with each other. He laughs to himself menacingly and you try not to worry about what the man is planning. He also does not clean dirty diapers and does not make you do any of that either. Will probably force you away from the kids if he has to because the poor servants can handle it. He just wants to you to remember the fun parts of parenthood.

[moonlitstoriess]

I have a request if it's possible. Could you write a fanfic or a oneshot about Azriel and the reader being a ballerina and also a shadow singer

When Shadows Waltz- Azriel x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a ballerina and Shadowsinger, has spent her life balancing grace and darkness. But when whispers of doubt and cruel words make her question her place, she hides her insecurities from Azriel, not wanting to burden him. Yet, he sees everything—and he won’t let her fall. With patience, love, and a bit of humor, he helps her realize that her shadows don’t ruin her dance—they make it unforgettable.

See masterlist

Warnings: angst, fluff in the end, protective az🤭, mentions of insecurities, some bullying

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn’t know if you wanted angst or fluff so I incorporated both, hope you enjoy it🥰

The mirrors in the studio reflected everything. Every movement, every misstep. Every flaw.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, her pointe shoes silent against the polished floor. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows, and hers twisted unnaturally, curling and flickering like smoke. No matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they never truly left her alone.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back. Focus.

With practiced precision, she lifted onto pointe, extending her arms in a graceful arc. The motion should have felt effortless, but something was off. Her balance wavered, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin. Not good enough. Not perfect.

Her foot barely faltered, but the mistake rang loud in her mind.

She could still hear the whispers from earlier that day.

“A Shadowsinger dancing ballet? It looks unnatural.”

“She doesn’t belong in a world of elegance.”

“No wonder they only talk about her being Azriel’s mate—what else is she known for?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her practice dress. She hated how easily those words found cracks in her armor, how they settled like poison in the back of her mind.

They didn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter.

But they did.

A quiet knock at the door startled her, and before she could gather herself, the very person she didn’t want to see her like this stepped inside.

Azriel.

His shadows slithered in behind him, merging with hers so seamlessly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His piercing hazel eyes took her in—her stiff posture, the tension in her hands, the exhaustion she hadn’t even realized was etched into her face.

She tried to smile. “Hey.”

Azriel didn’t return it. He simply tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, all-seeing gaze. Then, softly—so softly it made her chest ache—he asked,

“What’s wrong?”

Y/N forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to make him drop the subject. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His stare remained steady, unreadable—but she knew better.

He always saw through her.

A slow tilt of his head. “Try again.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “How can you even tell something’s wrong? You just got here.”

His lips quirked slightly, but the look he gave her was pure come on now. “You’ve been my mate for nearly a year, love. You really think I don’t notice?”

The warmth in his voice curled around her like a soft ribbon, and despite herself, her heart gave a little flutter. Cauldron save me.

It was so stupid—the way he could unravel her with just a few words, how easily his presence melted through her walls. Even now, with his scarred hands tucked into his pockets and his wings resting at his back, he radiated quiet strength. Calm. Steady. Hers.

And yet—

She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

So she smiled a little wider, making sure it reached her eyes this time. “I’m fine, really.”

Azriel didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his shadows curled around his boots, restless. But she wasn’t giving him the chance to push further.

Before he could open his mouth again, she smoothly changed the subject. “I have my audition tomorrow.”

That worked. His head straightened slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “For the seasonal performance?”

She nodded, feeling something close to excitement creep past her unease. “It’s a huge opportunity, Az. If I get the role, I’ll be one of the principal dancers for the entire winter season. The main performance is the biggest of the year—leaders from all over the place will come to watch. I need to represent our court in the best way possible.” She hesitated, then admitted, “Your family will be there.”

Azriel’s expression softened. “And you want to impress them.”

“I need to impress them.”

His brows pulled together slightly, but before he could argue, she rushed on. “Feyre is an artist, Nesta trained with Cassian and is basically a Valkyrie now—everyone in your family has accomplished something incredible. I want to prove I belong.”

Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. His touch was featherlight, reverent. “You already impress them, Y/N.”

Her breath caught as he leaned in, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. “You’re more than enough.”

The words should have settled in her chest like a soothing balm. But instead, the weight of her insecurities pressed heavier.

She managed a small smile, even as she whispered, “I still want to get the role.”

Azriel exhaled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You will.” His voice was quiet, certain. “Trust me, you will.”

And for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe him.

Y/N let herself sink into the warmth of Azriel’s touch for just a moment before pulling away, forcing herself to focus. “I just need everything to go right,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “It will.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You sound so sure.”

His lips curved, but his eyes held nothing but certainty. “Because I am.”

Cauldron, how was it so easy for him? To have that unwavering belief in her, even when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself?

Azriel reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers, his grip firm yet gentle. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the small bench by the wall. “Sit with me for a bit.”

She sighed but followed, letting him tug her down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran his thumb in slow circles over her knuckles. The silence was comfortable, but she knew he was waiting—for her to speak, to confess what was really on her mind.

And she wanted to. She really did.

But the words refused to form, stuck somewhere between pride and fear. If she said them out loud, if she told him about the whispers, the doubt clawing at her chest, then it would make it real.

So instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, his shadows curling around them both like a protective cocoon. “You won’t.”

She sighed, not bothering to argue. He’d just contradict her again with that quiet, unshakable confidence.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Do you want me to come watch?”

The question made her heart lurch. “You—you’d come to the audition?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Of course.”

Something in her chest squeezed painfully, caught between joy and hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “I want to.” Then, as if sensing her uncertainty, he added, “But only if you want me there.”

She did. She really did. But—

Y/N swallowed. “I think I’ll be too nervous if you watch.”

Azriel didn’t seem offended. If anything, amusement flickered across his face. “You dance in front of hundreds of fae, but I make you nervous?”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “Don’t say it like that.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Fine. I won’t watch. But I’ll be waiting outside.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “Really?”

Azriel nodded. “Really.” Then, smirking, he added, “Unless you change your mind and want me front and center.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I think I’ll survive without that pressure, thanks.”

Azriel just hummed, clearly unconvinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek, his voice a murmur against her skin. “You’re going to be incredible.”

Y/N closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the quiet reassurance in his touch.

She wanted to believe him.

But deep down, that familiar doubt still lingered, whispering that maybe, just maybe—

She wasn’t enough.

The sun had barely risen, but Y/N had been awake for hours.

The studio floor had long since warmed beneath her relentless movements. Every turn, every extension, every landing had been drilled into perfection—had to be perfect. She refused to stop.

Azriel had been the one to come and go, appearing like clockwork with food in hand, a quiet reminder in his eyes. “Eat,” he’d say. “Sit for a moment.”

She’d obey, just for a second. Just long enough to take a sip of water, a bite of fruit. But her feet would pull her back onto the floor before she even realized it. Again and again.

At first, Azriel had tried. Tried to coax her into resting, tried to make her breathe. He’d leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as she pushed herself past exhaustion. A few times, he’d even taken her hand, pulled her to him, murmured against her ear, “Enough for now.”

She never listened.

Eventually, he had sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in front of her. She barely had a moment to react before his lips found hers—a slow, lingering kiss, warm and full of something dangerous. Something that made her knees weaken more than all the training ever could.

When he pulled back, his eyes were softer, but his voice was firm. “Food is packed for you to take in.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have some things to take care of, but I’ll be there when you come out of the audition.”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught between nerves and something unbearably sweet. “Promise?”

Azriel exhaled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “You think anything could keep me away?”

Her heart stuttered, warmth spreading in her chest.

Then, with one last glance—one that said please, don’t run yourself into the ground—he left.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by her own breath.

Two hours later, she was sitting on the floor, hair damp and body strained as she stared into her reflection.

An hour later, the auditions would begin.

That realization sent a fresh wave of nerves crashing over her. With a deep inhale, she shook it off, forcing herself to move.

She needed to clean up, get dressed. She needed to leave.

She grabbed the food Azriel had packed, tucked it under her arm, and stepped out the door.

It was time.

Velaris was bathed in afternoon light, the streets alive with warmth and chatter. But Y/N barely noticed any of it.

Her steps were steady, precise, each movement measured like a dancer counting beats in her head. But inside? Her heart pounded, a nervous rhythm she couldn’t quite shake.

She had walked these streets a thousand times before, had spent her life weaving through Velaris’ twisting paths, but today, everything felt off.

Maybe it was the way her shadows curled around her ankles, clinging like wisps of smoke. Normally, they stayed quiet, hidden. But today? Today, they coiled and flickered in the late afternoon light, shifting uneasily as if they could sense her nerves.

She forced herself to breathe, to smooth her expression into something neutral. Calm. Steady. No one else could hear the thoughts racing through her head.

But they could see her.

She felt the stares before she even registered them. Passing merchants, nobles, fae of all kinds—glancing, double-taking, murmuring behind their hands. Some were subtle about it, a flick of the eyes before looking away. Others… not so much.

She supposed she must’ve made quite the sight.

A ballerina dressed in soft pastels—pink tights, a flowy white wrap skirt, a delicate shrug over her leotard—strolling through the streets, framed by shadows as dark as night.

It was almost comical.

She had heard the whispers before, of course. Had caught snippets of conversation when people thought she wasn’t listening.

A Shadowsinger, really? In ballet?

Shouldn’t she be in Illyrian camps instead?

Those shadows make her look unnatural.

She doesn’t belong on that stage.

She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

Azriel would have torn them apart if he’d been here to hear it. He’d spent months convincing her that none of it mattered, that she belonged just as much as any other dancer.

She wanted to believe him. But with every lingering stare, with every quiet murmur as she passed, doubt curled around her ribs like a vice.

By the time she reached the towering glass doors of the audition hall, her chest was tight, her palms clammy despite the cool breeze.

She exhaled sharply, shook out her hands.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

She pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The waiting room was already full.

Dancers lined the benches, stretching, warming up, adjusting their satin slippers. The air buzzed with quiet tension—whispers of last-minute corrections, murmured prayers, soft hums of concentration.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed everything in golden light, making the polished wooden floors gleam. At the far end of the room, a set of doors led to the main audition space, where the judges were already seated, watching the first few candidates perform.

Y/N barely had time to take it all in before she felt it—the stares.

It was subtle at first, the way conversation dipped when she walked past, the way dancers exchanged looks, eyes flicking from her delicate pastel ensemble to the dark tendrils of shadow trailing at her feet.

She swallowed, lifting her chin.

Just get to the changing rooms.

She weaved through the crowd, passing the line of dancers already dressed in pristine costumes. A few were adjusting their hair into perfect buns, fixing smudged makeup, stretching out their limbs. Others were simply watching her.

She could feel their judgment.

It’s funny, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.

A girl like her—draped in pinks and creams, with ribbons laced up her ankles—moving with the grace of a trained ballerina, while shadows slithered at her feet like something out of a nightmare.

Like she was some contradiction that shouldn’t exist.

She tried to act indifferent. She forced herself to walk like she wasn’t being scrutinized, like the weight of their judgment wasn’t pressing into her spine. But inside, her stomach twisted.

She barely let out a breath when she finally reached the changing rooms, slipping inside.

Alone at last.

She pressed her hands against the counter, staring at her reflection in the large mirror.

Her face was composed, expression calm. But her hands—her fingers trembled against the polished marble.

Her shadows curled tighter around her, as if sensing her unease.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

Just a few more minutes.

Then it would be time.

Y/N sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight despite the way her stomach twisted in knots.

Dancers came and went, each vanishing through the grand doors at the end of the waiting room before reappearing minutes later—some with relieved smiles, others fighting back tears.

Her turn was coming. Soon.

She tried to focus on steadying her breathing, on keeping her shadows from shifting too visibly around her. They were curling tight at her ankles, slithering up her arms like they, too, could sense her nerves.

And then—

“Are you lost?”

The voice was sweet. Mocking.

Y/N turned, already knowing what she’d find.

A group of three female dancers, all in the same pristine white audition attire, stood together near the mirrored wall. Their leader—a tall, elegant blonde—tilted her head, expression full of exaggerated pity.

Y/N forced a calm smile. “No.”

A few of the other dancers nearby had already started whispering.

The blonde raised a brow, looking her over slowly—lingering on her darkened shadows. “You? Ballet?” She let out a high, amused laugh. “I think you might have the wrong building, sweetheart.”

The other two girls behind her giggled.

Y/N kept her shoulders relaxed, her face carefully neutral. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

The blonde blinked, as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. Then she let out another sharp laugh. “Oh, darling. No, no—you can’t be.”

Y/N clenched her jaw.

“Oh, don’t look so serious.” The girl smirked. “It’s just… well.” She gestured to Y/N’s shadows, which had curled tight at her feet like wary animals. “You don’t exactly fit, do you?”

A sick feeling churned in Y/N’s gut.

The girl leaned in slightly, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hit your head? Or do you just have some kind of delusional sickness?”

More laughter. More murmurs from the surrounding dancers.

Y/N’s throat felt tight. Don’t react. Don’t let them see it.

She tried to respond, tried to form a retort—but her mind was suddenly blank.

Her shadows flickered uneasily. The blonde just smiled wider. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, like she was so concerned. “It’s not your fault, really. You just weren’t made for this world.”

Y/N felt her hands clench in her lap, her thoughts growing darker, heavier.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Her head snapped up.

A staff member stood by the grand doors, scanning the room with a clipboard in hand. “You’re up next.”

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she was frozen in place.

Then—slowly, unsurely—she stood.

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the doors. Could hear the hushed snickers, the barely concealed whispers.

Just as she passed, another girl murmured under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear—

“Maybe she’ll trip and vanish in those shadows.”

Her stomach clenched.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She stepped through the doors.

The audition stage was massive.

Golden chandeliers hung high above, their light casting a soft glow over the polished wooden floors. The room stretched wide, with sweeping archways and tall, pristine windows that overlooked Velaris.

And at the very front—seated behind a long, curved table—sat the panel of judges.

Five in total.

Their expressions were unreadable as they observed her, hands folded, quills poised.

Y/N swallowed hard.

The reality of it all hit her at once.

This was it.

Her entire career—her dream—was hinging on the next few minutes.

She forced herself to stand tall, to ignore the way her nerves coiled deep in her stomach.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the judges said, voice clipped and professional.

She nodded.

The music began.

For the first few moments, everything was fine.

Her muscles knew the movements. She had drilled them into her body a thousand times over. Her limbs extended with precision, her turns were smooth, her leaps controlled.

But then—

The whispers came back.

Not real, but in her head—echoing, clawing.

You don’t belong here.

Those ugly shadows—

Maybe she’ll trip and vanish—

You just weren’t made for this world.

Her rhythm faltered.

Her mind spiraled.

No, no—focus, keep going—

But the doubts were crushing her, strangling her.

And then—

Her foot landed wrong.

A sharp twist of her ankle.

A gasp.

And she was falling.

Hard.

The music cut out instantly.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Y/N stayed where she was—knees against the polished floor, hands shaking, breath ragged.

She didn’t dare look up.

Didn’t dare face the judges.

But then—

“That will be all.”

The cold, detached voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “No—please—”

One of the judges, an older fae male, raised a hand. “There’s no need,” he said, his voice edged with boredom. “We’ve seen what we need to see.”

Her chest tightened. “I—please, I’ve been training for five years—”

Another judge, a stern-looking female, scoffed. “And?”

Y/N’s throat burned.

The older fae leaned forward slightly. “Just because you are the Spymaster’s mate,” he said coolly, “and the High Lord’s sister-in-law, does not mean you own this place.”

The words hit her like a slap.

“No, I—” She swallowed, scrambling to find the right words, to fix this—“I don’t think that, I just—”

“You are not fit for this stage,” another judge interrupted, eyes cold. “You have neither the discipline nor the grace required to perform at this level.”

Her heart shattered.

“We will not be moving you forward.” The older judge’s voice was final.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

“Thank you for your time,” the female judge added, already looking away. “You may go.”

She had no choice.

Numbly, she stood.

She turned.

And she walked.

The moment she stepped back into the waiting room, the whispers started again.

A few of the dancers gave her long, smug looks.

She kept her head down.

She ignored the snickers, the cruel, whispered comments.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her bag.

Then she turned and all but ran to the changing rooms.

The second the door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath.

Her mind was spinning. Her heart ached.

What have I done?

Her fingers curled into fists.

She had ruined everything.

She had humiliated herself in front of the most prestigious judges in the city. She had proven every cruel whisper, every doubting stare right.

Her own hatred curled deep inside her, sharp and suffocating.

And then, a single thought struck her.

Azriel.

He was waiting outside.

Waiting for her with that quiet, steady patience. Waiting for her to walk out with a hopeful smile. And she—she had nothing to give him but failure.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then another.

She had exactly five seconds to fix her face before she walked out of this building.

One. She straightened her spine.

Two. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

Three. She pulled her shoulders back, forcing her body to relax despite the tremors running through her veins.

Four. She curled her lips into the most dazzling, effortless smile she could manage.

Five. She stepped outside.

The cool evening air brushed against her skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

And there he was.

Azriel stood by the entrance, his wings tucked neatly behind him, his scarred hands loose at his sides—but his entire body radiated the quiet, lethal stillness of a male always waiting, always watching.

The moment his eyes landed on her, something in them shifted.

His shadows stirred.

She knew he felt it. Knew he sensed something was wrong.

She forced herself to smile wider. “Hey, you.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered over her, his expression betraying nothing—except his shadows, which curled tight around his shoulders like wary sentries.

Then, his voice, low and steady: “Why did you close your side of the bond?”

Her breath hitched.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected him to catch onto that so fast.

She let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, that? I just didn’t want to worry you with my constant overthinking.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

She pressed on, slipping seamlessly into her usual teasing tone. “You know how my mind gets—I was obsessing over little things before the audition, and I figured you didn’t need to deal with that.”

Azriel didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he watched her.

Watched her too closely.

For a second, she thought he might call her out on it—might push past the weak excuse and demand to know the truth.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for her bag. “Nonsense,” he murmured, effortlessly taking it from her grasp.

She let him, knowing better than to argue.

Then, before she could react, his arms were around her—one hand pressing against her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head as he tucked her into him.

Y/N nearly broke.

The warmth of him, the quiet strength in the way he held her—it nearly shattered her.

But she couldn’t let it.

She wouldn’t let it.

So instead, she melted into him, resting her cheek against his chest and breathing in the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

His grip on her tightened. “Close your side of the bond like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“I was ready to break in just to make sure you were safe,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Don’t do that to me again, love.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He can’t know. He can’t know.

When she finally spoke, her voice was light. Playful. “Az, you’re being dramatic.”

His arms didn’t loosen.

She tipped her head back just enough to meet his gaze, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m fine. See? Perfectly fine.”

Azriel studied her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled through his nose and finally, finally released her—though his hand lingered on the small of her back as they started walking.

They moved in comfortable silence for a bit, the cool night air wrapping around them.

And then—

“So,” Azriel said, his tone light, casual. “How did it go?”

Y/N froze.

Only for a fraction of a second.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her body to remain loose, her expression to remain bright.

Then she laughed, shaking her head as if amused. “Oh, it went great.”

Azriel glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see the results. They said the decisions will be out in two weeks, so…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Now it’s just a waiting game.”

Azriel was still watching her.

She felt his eyes on her, felt the way his shadows curled subtly closer.

She knew what he was doing—trying to read her body, her breathing, her heartbeat.

So she made sure they all remained steady.

She had years of training in deception. She could fake confidence, fake nonchalance—hell, she could fake a damn performance if needed.

And right now, she needed Azriel to believe her.

Because if he didn’t—if he so much as suspected—

Az hummed. “So they didn’t give any immediate feedback?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just the usual ‘thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch.’”

His brows furrowed slightly. “That’s standard?”

“Very,” she assured him.

Another hum. “And you feel good about it?”

She beamed. “I do.”

Azriel didn’t speak for a long moment.

Y/N’s stomach clenched.

Please let this work. Please believe me.

Finally—

“Well,” he said, his voice softer now. “Then I guess we wait.”

She let out a small breath of relief, nodding.

Azriel gave her a sidelong glance. “But just so you know…”

She raised a brow. “Hmm?”

His free hand reached for hers, fingers threading together effortlessly.

“I don’t need to hear the results to already be proud of you.”

Her throat tightened.

Her nails dug into her palm.

She forced herself to smile. “You’re sweet.”

Azriel only squeezed her hand. “You’re mine.”

For a split second, the weight in her chest almost lifted.

But then she remembered—

The failure.

The fall.

The cold, dismissive words of the judges.

You are not fit for this stage.

And just like that, the crushing guilt came surging back.

So Y/N just held onto his hand a little tighter.

And she kept smiling.

Azriel insisted on making dinner, saying she should relax after the audition.

And so here he was, moving around the kitchen like it was his second home, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables mingling with the sizzle of something cooking in the pan. Y/N sat at the table, silently watching him, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want him to see through the mask she was wearing, didn’t want him to know how much she was falling apart on the inside.

“You’re being quiet,” Azriel said, not looking up from his work.

Y/N smiled tightly. “Just tired.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to her from over his shoulder. She caught the way his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything—just went back to what he was doing, humming softly as he worked.

Azriel was always calm, always steady, and she found it both soothing and maddening. He could sense things—things she wasn’t always ready to confront—and she hated how well he knew her. But tonight, she wouldn’t let him see. She couldn’t.

She reached for her glass of water, her hand trembling just slightly. She was sure he’d notice. But he didn’t. He was focused on the dinner, and for a moment, she let herself relax into the normalcy of the moment, the small relief of not having to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else.

When he finally brought dinner to the table, Y/N forced herself to smile and thank him. She even complimented him on the food, but she could feel him watching her, his eyes scanning her every move, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Azriel didn’t ask any questions yet, but Y/N could sense the storm brewing behind his calm façade. He always knew when she wasn’t okay.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them. Her mind was elsewhere, far from the meal in front of her, as the words from her audition echoed through her thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” Azriel said again, this time his voice much softer.

Y/N blinked and met his gaze. He was studying her, his brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He was worried—she could feel it, even if he didn’t say the words out loud.

“I’m just thinking,” she replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“About the audition?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of concern.

Y/N hesitated. Should she lie? Pretend that everything was fine? Or should she admit it—admit how awful it had gone?

But before she could answer, he reached across the table, his hand covering hers. His thumb brushed along her skin, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The warmth of his hand almost made her break, almost made her say it all, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I’m fine, Azriel,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Really.”

He didn’t believe her, she could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

He nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “If you say so.”

But there was an edge in his tone—one that made her heart sink a little further.

Dinner passed quietly after that. They talked about trivial things, Azriel asking her about her plans for the next few days, but it all felt distant to her. As if the words were just background noise, and her mind was somewhere else, drowning in everything she was trying to bury.

Finally, when the meal was over, Azriel cleared the table, his movements sharp, precise. Y/N stayed seated, her fingers picking at the edge of her napkin, twisting it nervously.

“You know,” he said, his back still to her as he loaded dishes into the sink, “you don’t have to keep things from me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She looked down at her hands, trying to keep her face composed.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” she said, her voice a little too high.

Azriel paused, his back still turned, but his posture was stiff now. “You’re lying.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given her everything—his trust, his heart. She couldn’t disappoint him.

“Azriel,” she started, her voice trembling just slightly. “Please, just… don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I swear.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they were full of that quiet, relentless concern that always seemed to follow her.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Y/N.” His voice was almost a whisper, like he was afraid to push her too far. “Not with me.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, the space between them charged with unsaid words.

Finally, Y/N forced a smile—one that she hoped was convincing enough to fool him. “I know,” she said softly. “But right now, I just need a little time, okay?”

Azriel didn’t respond at first. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he should press her further. But then, with a soft sigh, he nodded.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled again, though this time it felt more like a mask than anything real.

“I know.”

But inside, the walls she’d spent so long building were crumbling, piece by piece, and no matter how hard she tried to hold them up, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they all came down.

She just hoped Azriel wouldn’t be the one to see it happen.

Not yet.

Not while she was still pretending.

The next evening, when Azriel came home, he was expecting nothing more than the usual quiet, the calm of his home and his bondmate waiting for him. What he hadn’t expected was to find Y/N sitting on the couch, her posture rigid, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

His heart immediately sank at the sight. Something was off—he could feel it in his chest, that strange, unsettling tightness that always came when Y/N was hurting. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N?” His voice was tentative, but there was an underlying current of concern.

She didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them like a fragile thread. He walked closer, his eyes scanning her face. She looked… exhausted, drained, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. He crouched beside her, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

“Love, are you okay?” he asked softly.

Y/N blinked and finally turned her gaze to him. There was something in her eyes—something that made him take an instinctive step back.

“I’m fine,” she said, the words too quick, too rehearsed.

Azriel studied her for a moment longer before sitting down next to her, his tone shifting, more serious. “You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

She didn’t meet his eyes again, her gaze dropping to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. The stillness in her was unnatural, and the shadows around them seemed to pulse with tension. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he let out a quiet sigh, his instincts kicking in.

He didn’t press her at first—he’d learned by now to give her space—but the questions came slowly, each one a little heavier than the last. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly.

“Did you think about the results?”

“Not really, as I said the audition went well” she answered too quickly, her voice tight.

Azriel paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. She was hiding something, and the silence between them was thick with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got the truth. “Really?”

She nodded, but her breath hitched ever so slightly, the only sign that something was wrong.

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his suspicion grew, and it was in that moment, when the quiet stretched on just a little too long, that the final thread snapped. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He had to know. He had to confront whatever this was.

He leaned in slightly, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “That’s why you tripped and fell during your audition yesterday?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening, her body stiffening. The breath in her lungs caught. She hadn’t expected him to know that. Hadn’t expected him to have seen through the lies she’d told herself, the façade she’d built to protect herself.

“How do you know that?” Her voice was small, trembling with the weight of the question.

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his anger simmering just below the surface. He didn’t let her answer before he spoke again. “I knew something was up the moment you stepped out of those doors. I couldn’t just sit around pondering what was wrong with you. My shadows did their job well and brought me all I needed to know.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “From the… the start?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening in barely contained rage. “Yes. From the moment those bastards bullied you.” His words were venomous, and Y/N could see the raw anger in his eyes. “I know exactly what they said. The venom they spilled at you…” His voice trailed off, trembling with rage.

Y/N stood up abruptly, her hands shaking. “You had no right!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in anger and desperation.

Azriel stood, his body tense with rage, his eyes dark as shadows swirled around him. “No right?” He took a step forward, his voice rising with every word, a dangerous edge creeping in. “NO RIGHT?! Those bastards were bullying you, Y/N, and you didn’t say a thing?! You didn’t tell me what they said, didn’t let me help you—didn’t let me protect you?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her shoulders shaking. Her voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out in a flood of hurt and frustration. “I couldn’t, Azriel! I couldn’t—don’t you get it? I couldn’t bring myself to tell you! I’ve been… I’ve been hiding this from you because I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to show you how broken I am. How useless I am…”

She stumbled backward, shaking her head in a frantic movement, her chest tight as she gasped for breath. “I’m just… I’m just not good enough! I’m not strong enough! I fail, every time. I failed at the audition, Azriel! I’m never going to be good enough for this world, for you! Don't you see the stares? Hear the whispers? No one thinks I'm worthy enough, no one..."

Her words came in a rush, all the broken pieces of herself spilling out in one chaotic moment. “The shadows—the way they looked at me, the way they whispered behind my back. They were right, Azriel. They were right about me. I’m nothing, I’m just…” She choked on her words, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto the couch again, her face buried in her hands.

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stepped forward, his anger now replaced with an aching sadness. His voice was gentle but firm as he knelt beside her, reaching out to take her trembling hands in his. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that again.”

Y/N shook her head violently, her tears pouring freely now. “I’ve failed so many times, Azriel. Every time I try, I trip, I fall, I let everyone down. The shadows—they don’t even care about me. They—”

Azriel grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen before. His voice was a low, raw growl. “They were wrong. Every damn thing they said was wrong. You are good enough. You are strong enough. And I’ll be damned if I let you talk about yourself like this again.”

Y/N gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze searching hers, desperation in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

She pulled away from him, her hands shaking as she wiped at her tears. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me like this. Of you seeing how weak I am. I thought I could handle it, that I could be enough on my own, but I’m not. I’m not…”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the tear tracks on her cheeks. His voice was soft but unwavering. “You are enough, Y/N. Don’t ever believe otherwise. You are stronger than anyone I know, and I’m so damn proud of you. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Her sobs subsided, but the rawness of her insecurities still lingered between them, like an invisible barrier. Azriel leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Names.”

Y/N shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Azriel. Don’t do this.”

“I already know who they are,” he replied, his voice calm but insistent. “But I need to hear you say it. Confirm it. Please.”

She hesitated, then, with great reluctance, she whispered the names of some of those she knew of who had bullied her previously, each one a dagger to her heart.

Azriel nodded, his face unreadable as he absorbed the information. When she finished, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms once more. She let herself sink into him, her heart breaking, her trust growing just a little bit stronger with each passing moment.

“I won’t let them get away with this,” he whispered fiercely into her hair, his voice promising more than words could say. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” she whispered back, barely able to speak through the tears.

He pulled back, cupping her face, his expression firm. “Swear to me that you won’t hide anything from me again. No more lies, no more keeping things from me. Keep the bond open, always. Promise me, Y/N.”

Her eyes met his, a flicker of hesitation passing through her, but in the end, she nodded. “I promise.”

Azriel’s face softened, but the resolve in his eyes remained. “And don’t you ever doubt yourself again,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re worth everything, Y/N. Don’t you ever forget that.”

As the two of them stood there, lost in their embrace, something shifted between them. The pain, the secrets, the walls—they weren’t gone, but they were no longer insurmountable. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was enough.

The days that followed the confrontation were quieter, more contemplative, but no less intense. Y/N struggled with her shadows, each day finding new cracks in her confidence, but each day, Azriel stood by her, watching in the background, patiently waiting for her to let him in.

It started with the small moments, those subtle acts of care that made her feel seen without being smothered. She had always been strong, had always prided herself on standing on her own, but now, after everything, the thought of dancing again seemed like an insurmountable mountain. The audition failure had knocked her harder than she’d let on. And the cruel words, the judgment she’d faced, were still echoing in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she could go back to the barre, could go back to the thing that had once been her escape.

But Azriel wouldn’t let her hide from it.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” he’d say quietly, stepping into the room when he sensed she was lost in the shadows of her mind, the world outside muted in her silence. “Take it slow. But don’t quit. Don’t let them win.”

Y/N would look at him with that guarded expression, not wanting to admit how much she wanted to run. Not wanting to show him how weak she felt.

But he was patient. He’d never push too hard, never rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. Instead, he’d talk to her about anything else—about the weather, about his training, about the little things that made her smile—until, gradually, the conversation would shift, and the quiet moments would fill the space between them.

Then one day, when she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t aching, he sat across from her as she wrapped her shoes.

“You still want to do this,” Azriel said quietly, watching her with a gaze that spoke volumes. “Don’t hide from it.”

Y/N didn’t look up. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

Azriel stood, moving closer without a word. He didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her space, but his presence was soothing, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. His shadows, ever loyal to him, surrounded her, their warmth seeping into her own. “You can,” he replied simply, his voice carrying that deep, unwavering certainty that made her chest tighten.

His words weren’t demanding, weren’t pressuring. It was more of an invitation.

Slowly, Y/N laced her shoes, her hands trembling just slightly, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with him standing there, not with the strength in his eyes watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Let me help you,” Azriel said, his tone low, intimate. “Let me help you heal, one step at a time.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but she didn’t need to. His quiet persistence was enough, and it settled into her bones, wrapping around her like a familiar cloak.

And so, the days passed. Each one a little easier than the last. Azriel’s presence was constant—he didn’t force her, didn’t push her, but his quiet admiration, his praise when she succeeded, built her back up in ways words alone couldn’t. Every small improvement, every hesitant movement, was a victory in his eyes.

Whenever she danced, whenever she felt the weight of doubt try to settle in, she’d sense his presence in the room. He was always there, hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting. His shadows moved with hers, always in sync, always intertwined in a dance of their own, a silent exchange of trust and understanding.

His admiration for her wasn’t in loud declarations or grand gestures. It was in the little things. In the way his shadows would curl around her when she hesitated, steadying her when she almost fell. In the way his eyes softened every time she let herself lose control, the way he made sure she always felt seen, even when she thought no one was watching.

One evening, after another failed attempt at perfecting a pirouette, Y/N huffed in frustration, stepping back from the barre. Her muscles ached, her body exhausted from the constant battle to get back to where she once was.

Azriel didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked up to her, his gaze unwavering. He was always watching, always noticing.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, teasing just slightly, “your shadows were in perfect sync with mine tonight.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “It’s almost like they know what you’re capable of, even if you don’t.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath caught in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued, his voice softer now, more earnest. “You have something no one else does, Y/N. Your strength—your heart—it’s what makes you beautiful, and it’s what makes you powerful. And every time you step back into that studio, you show me a little more of who you are.”

His words were simple, but they struck her in ways she couldn’t explain. She felt her heart pound in her chest, the raw emotion of his praise and support slowly melting away the remnants of the fear and doubt that had clouded her for so long.

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, her gaze meeting his, no longer afraid to hold it. “I’ll try again,” she said softly.

Azriel’s smile was small but full of pride. He stepped back, his shadows still lingering around her. “I know you will. And when you do, I’ll be here.”

Every step she took, every movement she made, she could feel his presence at her side, not as a crutch but as the support she didn’t know she needed. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the dance.

The healing was slow, but it was real. Each moment, each word, each look from Azriel was a step toward rebuilding the confidence she had lost. She wasn’t just getting back to where she was—she was becoming something more. Something stronger. Something she didn’t think was possible. And with Azriel by her side, she knew that, no matter what came next, she wasn’t going to give up. Not anymore.

Azriel paced through the streets of Velaris, each step heavy with anger. His thoughts churned, his mind unwilling to leave the image of Y/N from earlier that morning. She had smiled, but it hadn't reached her eyes. She was trying to hide it again, pretending like everything was fine when it was anything but.

His shadows swirled around him, agitated by his own tension. They could feel his fury, his frustration, and his desperate need to protect her, even if she didn't fully understand it herself.

She had tried to hide it from him. She thought he didn't know about the insults— the cruel words those judges had spat at her.

She thought he couldn't see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself, the way she moved now as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And it made him seethe with rage.

The anger that had been simmering inside him ever since she had confided in him about what happened during the audition was reaching a boiling point. He had promised her. He had sworn not to act. But how the hell was he supposed to keep that promise when the world-these people-had done this to her?

He clenched his fists, feeling the ache in his bones, the frustration gnawing at him. The female he cared about, the one he loved, the one he wanted to see succeed, was broken in ways that no one could understand. No one except him.

And all he wanted to do was rip apart the world that had done this to her.

He felt the weight of his own limitations pressing down on him. He was a warrior, a spymaster-he was trained to eliminate threats, to take down anyone who stood in his way. But this... this was different. This wasn't some battle he could fight on a battlefield. It was a war waged on the heart, and it made him feel helpless, more than he had ever felt before.

He was so fucking angry. Angry at them for humiliating her. Angry at himself for not noticing sooner. Angry that she thought she could bear this burden alone, hiding it from him.

But that was going to change. He couldn't keep his promise. Not when he knew what they had done. Not when he knew the damage they'd caused. He could feel it in every fiber of his being-this deep, primal need to protect her from everything that wanted to break her down. He was done standing by.

Done pretending that he didn't see the cracks in her.

Done watching her hide from the truth.

He was going to make them pay. Every last one of them.

The judges' gathering was held in the home of one of the higher-ranking members, a large, lavish place that screamed of power and authority. As soon as Azriel winnowed himself in, the room fell silent. His presence was enough to make everyone freeze. He could feel their eyes on him, the shock radiating from their faces. They weren't expecting him, weren't prepared for someone like him to walk in.

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

eyes cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't say a word, his silence hanging heavy in the room, suffocating. He could feel his shadows coiling tighter around him, his anger leaking into the atmosphere like a dangerous storm.

"Spymaster," one of them said, his voice barely a whisper, fear seeping through.

Azriel didn't respond. He took a step forward, the air growing colder with every inch he moved. "You know why I'm here," he said, his voice low, dangerous, a growl rumbling in his chest.

The head judge, a man whose face Azriel recognized all too well from the reports, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't-"

"You don't?" Azriel interrupted, his voice laced with venom. "You don't remember insulting her? Belittling her? Telling her she wasn't good enough?”

The room went silent, the judges exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to speak. They all knew exactly who he was talking about. They all knew exactly who he meant.

"Y/N," Azriel spat the name like it was poison, but the force of it sent a shiver down their spines. "You remember her, don't you?"

They swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if trying to find an escape. But there was no escape. Not from him.

"You made her feel like she wasn't worthy.

Like she wasn't good enough to be there," Azriel continued, his voice rising with each word. "You made her doubt herself. And I swear to the gods, if I hear any more of that bullshit from you, you won't live to regret it. If you ever so much as think about doing that to her again, I will make sure you regret it with every breath you take."

The judges were visibly shaken now, the threat clear in Azriel’s voice, but still, they tried to deny it. “We— We were just doing our job,” one of them stammered.

Azriel’s cold smile made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “Your job? Your job was to make her feel small? Your job was to crush her spirit? Tell me, what part of that is ‘just doing your job’?”

One of the judges tried to stand up, but Azriel was faster. In a heartbeat, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “You’re going to listen to me very carefully, and you’re going to do exactly what I say,” Azriel growled, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re going to redo the audition. Only for her. You’re going to send a letter, and you’re going to call her back here. And when she walks through that door, you’re going to praise her performance. You’re going to tell her she has what it takes. You’re going to give her the chance she deserves.”

The man was gasping for breath, his eyes wide with panic as he choked on his words. “Y-yes… yes, we’ll do it,” he croaked, but Azriel wasn’t done yet.

“You better,” Azriel hissed, tightening his grip just enough to send the message. “And if you don’t… I will come for every one of you. I’ll start with your families. Your children. Your wives. I’ll make sure every single person in this room knows exactly what it means to cross me.”

The man whimpered, his hands clawing at Azriel’s wrist in a futile attempt to break free. “We… we’ll do it. Just let me go…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his expression chilling. He released the man, letting him crumple to the floor, gasping for air. He turned to the others. “Do you all understand?”

They nodded, fear and desperation written across their faces.

Azriel’s gaze swept over them one last time, making sure they understood just how close they had come to losing everything. “If any of you try to play this off as something else, if you try to twist the truth, I will come back. And next time, I won’t be as merciful.”

He turned, leaving them in the silence of his threat. As he stepped out of the house, his shadows coiled around him, a dark presence that was both comforting and deadly.

He had kept his promise to Y/N. For now. But Azriel knew there was no stopping the fury that had been unleashed. He would protect her. He would always protect her. And anyone who tried to hurt her would regret it—deeply.

Feyre’s studio—her space in Velaris—was warm, filled with the scent of fresh paint and the faintest trace of lavender from the candles she had lit. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, casting a golden glow over the half-finished paintings scattered across the room. It was peaceful. A quiet retreat from the weight of the world.

Y/N ran her fingers over the rim of a cup of tea, listening as Feyre hummed while mixing colors on her palette. They had been talking about nothing in particular—just idle chatter about a new piece Feyre was working on, how the city had been lately, and Y/N’s attempts to distract herself from the gnawing disappointment still lingering in her chest.

She had been getting better. She had been trying to move on from the humiliation of that audition. Feyre, as always, had been patient and kind, giving her space to talk but never pressing when she didn’t want to.

Y/N was about to respond to something Feyre said when the door swung open, and a familiar, commanding presence filled the room.

Azriel.

Her heart skipped, a warmth blooming in her chest the second their eyes met.

“High Lady,” he greeted Feyre smoothly, giving a respectful nod.

And, Cauldron boil her, Y/N knew she was hopelessly in love with this male the moment his expression shifted. The moment that cold, unreadable mask softened as his gaze found hers.

She went all mushy, as Feyre had put it before, whenever he did that. She hated how accurate it was.

“Az,” she breathed, already moving toward him before she could think twice about it.

He caught her the second she was within reach, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Y/N melted into him, pressing her face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Home.

She felt his lips press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes warm with something unreadable. “I missed you.”

A smile curled on her lips. “Where were you all day?”

Azriel hummed, running a hand down her back as he gave a nonchalant answer. “Handling some things.”

“Secret spymaster things?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You didn’t need to miss me. I’m always here.”

Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, enjoying the quiet moment of just them. “Sap.”

He chuckled, pressing another lingering kiss against her temple. “Only for you.”

Feyre, being the saint that she was, took that as her cue to excuse herself. “I’ll just—give you two a moment,” she muttered, already heading toward the back of the room.

Y/N barely acknowledged her leaving. She was too busy soaking in the rare gentleness of the male before her.

But then—

A hesitant voice called out from the hallway. “Uh…Az?”

Feyre had just returned, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them, toward the entrance of the studio, her brows raised in confusion. “Did you bring… all those females into my hallway?”

Y/N blinked, pulling away slightly from Azriel’s hold.

Feyre continued, looking increasingly concerned. “I mean, I don’t want to sound judgy, but they’re bound in your shadows. And there are like… fifteen of them.”

Y/N froze.

She turned fully, stepping out of Azriel’s embrace to look at him properly. “What?”

Azriel sighed. Not in regret. Not in guilt. But in the sort of way that said, I knew this was coming.

And then, he turned to her with a small, knowing smile. “Yes.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Azriel took her hands, his thumbs running over her knuckles. “And they will all apologize.” His voice lowered, his lips brushing against her forehead. “They will beg on their knees for your forgiveness.”

Feyre choked. “Forgiveness? What—what the hell is going on?”

Azriel, ever so casually, replied, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. “Az,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, shaking her head. “No. Please.”

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tilting her chin up as he leaned in, pressing another soft, deliberate kiss against her lips. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was firm. Resolute.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes burned with unwavering determination. “No,” he murmured against her lips. “You need this.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Azriel turned to Feyre, his voice returning to its usual icy calm. “Stay here.”

Then, without another word, he led Y/N to the hallway.

And there they were.

Fifteen females, all bound by thick, writhing shadows, their wrists locked together, their ankles bound. Some of them were trembling, silent tears streaking their faces. Others looked frozen in fear, their lips parted, as if they wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Y/N could barely breathe.

Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows curled tighter around the females as he spoke, his voice dark, merciless.

“Now,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Get in line.”

The shadows obeyed, shifting, forcing them into a single row.

Azriel stepped forward, his wings partially flaring as a cruel smirk played at his lips.

“One by one,” he drawled, “each of you will take turns begging for my mate’s forgiveness.”

Y/N stared at him, shock rippling through her entire body.

And she had no idea what to say.

The air was suffocating.

Y/N stood frozen as the first female, the moment Azriel’s shadows slithered away from her wrists, collapsed to her knees in front of her.

The thud of her body hitting the marble floor echoed through the hallway.

“I—I’m sorry,” the female gasped, tears streaming down her face, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please—please, I take it back. I take it all back.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her gut instinct screaming at her to take a step back, to shake her head, to tell her that it was fine—

Azriel’s hand came to rest on her forearm, a quiet, grounding touch.

She turned to him, her wide eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his wings tucked behind him like a warrior standing guard. A silent message passed between them.

Do not give in. Do not let them escape the weight of what they did.

And maybe—maybe he was right.

Maybe these people, these females who had mocked her, who had shamed her, who had torn apart something she had poured her entire soul into—maybe they should feel this. Maybe they should know what it was like to have the world force you onto your knees, to feel helpless, to feel humiliated.

So she swallowed hard, ignored the burn in her throat, and slowly, slowly, she gave the smallest nod.

And then the next female fell.

Then the next.

And the next.

One by one, they dropped before her, sobbing, stammering out apologies that all blurred together.

We didn’t mean it. We were just talking. Please, please, I swear, we didn’t think— Forgive me, I was wrong, I was wrong!

Y/N watched, her fingers trembling, as they all crumbled. As they begged.

The last one, the one who had humiliated her the worst, remained standing.

Azriel’s shadows didn’t let her go.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders shaking as she forced herself to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unlike the others, she wasn’t crying.

But she was afraid.

And Azriel?

He smirked.

His voice was low, a whisper of lethal amusement. “Oh? Nothing to say?”

The female’s jaw clenched. She was shaking, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the war raging behind her eyes—her pride battling with the absolute terror of what he would do to her if she didn’t submit.

Azriel stepped forward. His movements were slow, calculated, the air around them darkening as his shadows curled along the floor like ink spreading through water.

“I remember you,” he murmured, tilting his head as if studying prey caught in a snare. “You had so much to say that day. So many things to mock, so many insults to throw.”

His smirk sharpened.

“Say them now.”

The female visibly swallowed. “I—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Azriel was suddenly inches from her, his hand gripping her chin with a deceptively gentle hold. His wings flared slightly, his breath a ghost of a whisper against her skin.

“No?” he purred, mock surprise lacing his tone. “Why not? Where is that sharp tongue of yours now?”

The female’s body trembled, her knees visibly weakening, but she remained standing.

Azriel’s fingers pressed in just a fraction tighter, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know what happens to people who insult what belongs to me?”

Y/N shivered at the quiet, lethal promise in his voice.

The female finally cracked. A soft whimper escaped her lips.

And then—Azriel’s shadows dropped her.

She hit the floor with a painful gasp, and before Y/N could react, she was crawling forward, her hands gripping the fabric of Y/N’s dress as she bowed before her.

“I—I was wrong,” the female choked out. “I was so wrong. Please. Please, forgive me.”

Y/N could only stare.

Azriel stood behind her, looming like a shadowed god. His voice was pure ice as he spoke.

“Beg louder.”

The female’s body trembled violently as she clutched Y/N’s dress, her fingers digging into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Please,” she choked out, her voice raw. “I—I was wrong, I—”

Azriel’s cold, deadly voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Louder."

The female flinched, her breath hitching. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared down at the woman who had torn her apart just days ago, who had laughed at her, who had made her feel like she was nothing.

Now, that same woman was crawling at her feet.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. This—this was too much. This wasn’t her. She didn’t need this.

But hadn’t she dreamed of this moment?

Hadn’t she imagined looking into their faces, imagined hearing them admit what they had done? That they had crushedher? Hadn’t she wanted this?

A twisted part of her, buried deep inside, relished it.

Not for the power.

Not for revenge.

But because for once—for once—she wasn’t the one who had to bend.

She wasn’t the one forced to apologize for simply existing.

Azriel moved beside her, his warmth grounding her in the storm of emotions raging inside her. His wings cast a shadow over them both as he crouched, his voice nothing but a whisper laced with deadly amusement.

"I told you to beg louder."

The female sobbed. “Please! I was wrong! I—” Her voice cracked as she practically collapsed lower, pressing her forehead to the floor at Y/N’s feet. “I was cruel. I am the worthless one, not you! I take it back! I take all my words back! I—I didn’t mean it. I swear. I swear, I didn’t mean it—”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Didn’t mean it?

No. That was a lie.

They meant it.

They had enjoyed it.

They had looked her in the eye and mocked the thing she loved most, had seen her hurt and laughed.

And now?

Now they were just scared.

They weren’t sorry for what they did.

They were sorry that Azriel had made them face it.

The realization hit her like a crashing wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She turned to him, her fingers instinctively reaching for his.

He was already watching her.

His hazel eyes softened—not with pity, but with understanding.

And that was when she realized—

This wasn’t just about making them beg. This was about giving her the choice. The power had always been in their hands.

Now, it was in hers.

Her gaze flickered back down to the female, still crying at her feet.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Y/N took a slow step back, pulling herself from the woman’s grasp.

The female’s sobs quieted.

Y/N straightened her spine, letting the tension bleed from her limbs. Then, with a voice steady and calm—her voice, not Azriel’s, not anyone else’s—she spoke.

"Get up."

The female’s breath hitched.

Y/N arched a brow. "I said, get up."

Slowly, hesitantly, the woman obeyed, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she stood.

Y/N met her gaze, unwavering. “You’re not sorry for what you did.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re sorry for what happened because of it.”

The woman opened her mouth—probably to protest, probably to claim she was sorry—but one look from Azriel had her shutting it immediately.

Y/N exhaled.

“I don’t need your apologies,” she continued. “They don’t change what you did. They don’t change how you made me feel.”

Her nails curled into her palms.

“I don’t forgive you.”

A flicker of something crossed the woman’s face—humiliation, maybe. But Y/N didn’t care.

“You can leave now,” Y/N said simply.

She saw Azriel’s shadows twitch—as if they didn’t want to let them go—but at her command, they loosened.

One by one, the females scrambled out of the hallway, their heads bowed, their faces still streaked with tears.

Y/N didn’t watch them go.

Instead, she turned to Azriel.

He was already looking at her.

And gods—gods, that look.

Like she had just become something entirely new before his eyes. Like she was something fierce, something untouchable.

His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed.

She didn’t answer.

She just closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly—

“Az?”

He hummed in response.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A slow smirk curled his lips. “Not even a little?”

She glared.

He chuckled, but his fingers gently tilted her chin up. “Alright,” he murmured. “No more shadows dragging terrified females through the streets.”

A pause.

“Unless they deserve it.”

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest again. Azriel just laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden light over the small breakfast she was preparing. The scent of fresh bread and honey filled the air as Y/N moved around, her mind still heavy from yesterday’s events.

Even after all that happened, even after them begging for her forgiveness, a part of her still felt like it was over. That she had lost her dream.

She let out a quiet sigh as she plated the food, determined not to dwell on it. Az would be awake soon, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed—

A sudden whoosh of magic broke through the quiet morning.

She gasped, stumbling back as a parchment appeared before her, floating midair before it landed softly on the counter.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. With hesitant fingers, she reached for it, breaking the wax seal and unfolding the letter.

Her breath caught the second she read the words.

Miss Y/N,

After reviewing our previous judgment, we have come to realize that we misjudged your performance. We deeply regret our oversight and would like to offer you another opportunity to showcase your talents. If you are still interested, we invite you to perform again today in the afternoon at the Grand Theatre. We sincerely hope you will accept.

Her heart stopped.

Her hands trembled as she reread it again. And again.

She clutched the letter to her chest.

This—this can’t be real.

She had lost her chance. They had crushed it, torn it from her hands.

And now… they were offering it back?

She was so caught up in the storm of emotions that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, didn’t notice the warmth approaching until two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a broad, familiar chest.

Azriel buried his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a lazy, sleepy kiss there as he murmured, “What is it?”

She felt the smile on his lips.

The knowing smile.

And something clicked in her mind.

She stiffened slightly, turning in his arms as she held the letter up between them. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Azriel blinked at her. His expression was a perfect mask of confusion, of innocent curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

His voice was so smooth, so convincing—too convincing.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the perfect Azriel-has-no-clue-what’s-going-on way.

And gods help her—she believed it.

Y/N’s breath came out in a shaky exhale, her body relaxing as she turned back to the letter. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her lips parting in disbelief. “They really want me to perform again. They really—”

Her voice broke off. A choked laugh escaped her as her hands clutched the parchment tighter.

She had a second chance.

She had a second chance.

A delighted laugh bubbled up her throat as she turned back to Azriel, practically launching herself into his arms.

Az chuckled as he caught her with ease, spinning her slightly before settling her against him, his wings curling around them both.

“I knew it,” she beamed, her voice breathless. “I knew they’d see their mistake. Oh my gods, Az, I get to try again—I get to prove myself.”

Azriel cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks as he gazed at her, devoured her with pride shining in his hazel eyes.

“I told you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I told you that you deserved this.”

Her heart swelled at his words, at the warmth of his touch, at the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

She pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “What would I do without you?”

His lips curled. “You’d be just fine,” he said, nudging her nose with his. “But lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He met her eagerly, his hands gripping her waist as he deepened it, as he poured every ounce of pride and love into her.

When they finally pulled apart, he whispered, “You’re going to blow them away.”

Her smile was radiant. “You really think so?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened with something fierce, something possessive. “I know so.”

Y/N laughed again, burying her face in his chest as excitement and nerves thrummed in her veins.

She had another chance.

And this time, she wouldn’t waste it.

Y/N had been preparing for hours.

The moment the letter came, she had thrown herself into practice. Every movement, every turn, every step—she perfected them over and over again, determined to be flawless today. Azriel had been with her every second, his unwavering support wrapping around her like a second skin.

He had sat on the floor of their room, watching as she practiced in front of the mirror. His eyes followed every movement, sharp and analyzing, but also filled with something softer, something adoring. Whenever she faltered, his deep voice was there, murmuring reassurances, guiding her back into focus.

And when the nerves crept in, when she doubted herself for even a second, he pulled her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—reminding her exactly why she was meant for this.

Now, standing outside the grand doors of the theatre, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

The streets were quieter today, the usual rush of dancers missing from the entrance. It felt eerie, so different from the weeks before when the halls had been filled with hopefuls, all vying for the lead role.

Now, it was just her.

Azriel stood beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly, as if he could sense the battle raging within her.

"You’re ready," he murmured, his voice steady, unwavering.

She turned to him, searching his hazel eyes, seeking the same reassurance he had given her all morning. And she found it—found that unshakable belief in her, the absolute certainty that she could do this.

Her fingers tightened around his. “Stay here?”

He huffed a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have to force me to leave your side, love.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She exhaled, stepping closer, pressing her forehead against his. His hands found her waist, his touch grounding.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“I know.” He tilted her chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “But you are going to be breathtaking.”

She let out a shaky laugh, letting herself melt into him for just a moment longer before she whispered, “I love you.”

Azriel smiled, and it was the kind of smile that turned her bones to honey. “I love you more.”

With one final breath, she slipped from his arms and stepped inside.

The theatre was silent.

It was so empty, so wrong compared to the chaotic energy of before. Her footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floors as she ascended the stairs, pushing open the doors to the main audition room.

The five judges were already seated, waiting for her.

The moment she entered, their expressions changed.

Not cold, not disinterested like before. But polite. Respectful.

It was… weird.

She took a seat, smoothing her hands over her skirts, and studied them carefully.

The older woman who had scoffed at her before now gave her a small, almost nervous smile. Another judge—one of the males—could barely hold her gaze.

Her eyes flickered to the last judge, and she nearly snorted.

A large, deep bruise curled around the side of his neck, just barely peeking out from the collar of his jacket.

What in the world did he do to deserve that?

She shook the thought away. Focus.

“Miss Y/N,” the eldest judge said, clearing his throat. “We want to thank you for coming today. We deeply regret our misjudgment the last time and hope you will give us the honor of seeing you perform again.”

She tilted her head. Weirdly nice.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it, merely nodded and made her way to the center of the room.

The music started.

She closed her eyes, inhaled.

And then—

She moved.

The first few steps were careful, precise. But with each turn, each shift, she let herself go, let herself become the movement, let herself lose everything but the rhythm thrumming in her veins.

The room faded away.

There was no theatre, no judges, no pressure—just her and the music.

Her shadows twined around her, blending into her movements, wrapping around her like an extension of herself. They curled at her fingertips, twirled with her in perfect synchronization.

Her fears melted away.

Every insult, every rejection, every ounce of doubt—gone.

She was light, she was free.

And as she reached the final note, she landed in a perfect, graceful finish—chest heaving, heart pounding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling.

The judges were staring.

Wide-eyed. Mouths slightly open.

Then—

“You… gods above,” one of the females breathed.

The eldest judge straightened in his chair. “That was phenomenal.”

Another nodded. “Extraordinary.”

“The way you move,” a female judge added, “it’s like the dance was made for you.”

She blinked at them, overwhelmed.

They kept talking—throwing praise after praise, compliments she had never expected to hear from them.

She could barely process it.

She had done it.

She had done it.

Azriel was waiting outside.

The moment she stepped through the doors, his shadows curled around her, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe.

His jaw tightened. “Did they say anything—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She launched herself at him.

He barely had time to react before she was in his arms, gripping his shoulders tightly as happy tears streamed down her face.

Az caught her with ease, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“I got it,” she choked out.

He froze. Pulled back slightly. “What?”

A watery laugh bubbled past her lips. “I got it, Az.” She beamed up at him, breathless. “They said—there’s no need to wait. They’ve already reviewed everyone, and none came close to me. They said I was meant for this role, that I will represent Velaris and its art beautifully.”

Azriel’s chest rose sharply. His grip on her tightened.

Then—

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

Not soft, not hesitant—fierce, hungry, filled with pride and love and something utterly consuming.

She melted into him, smiling against his lips as his hands cradled her face, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“I knew you would do it,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always believing in me.”

Azriel let out a soft chuckle, pressing another kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Forever.”

With fingers intertwined, hearts still racing, they turned toward home—toward the future she had fought for.

[buddiebeginz]

There's been a lot of discussion lately about when will Eddie come out and when Buddie canon will happen. I think a lot more people are feeling optimistic that it actually will happen now so the conversation has shifted into people being worried how this is all going to play out. I've seen people saying that if Eddie comes out and Buddie is fully confirmed this season (i.e. they confess their feelings/ there's a kiss) that would be way too fast. I have some issues with that line of thinking though.

For starters after Buck came out in season 7 we had a lot of new people join fandom (even more join during the summer hiatus), which I'm glad for all the new people who have found 911 particularly because the majority are now rooting for Buddie. Still I feel like a lot of the newer fan's opinions (on this topic) are being heard over some of us who have been in fandom for years.

I'm not saying if you're a newbie that your opinions on the show don't matter but I do think you should take the time to listen to those of us who have been around longer. The fact is if us long time Buddie fans hadn't been rooting for this ship for years we wouldn't even be as close to them becoming canon as we are. Buck likely wouldn't have had his bi awakening if not for us either. We've supported the show and pushed them for years to give these characters the storylines they deserve. That should matter when you're talking about something like how and when Buddie canon will happen.

I understand that people want Buddie to get together in just the right way but I think we all need to realize there is no one right way this will happen. We need to make peace now before it happens that there will be things about them coming together we won't expect even things we may not exactly like. All that matters is they finally get to take their relationship to that next level. That both Buck and Eddie get to realize their person their soulmate has always been right beside them. The other mains have had their person for years it's beyond time for Buck and Eddie to (consciously fully) have that too.

-----

I've seen people say that Eddie deserves a long journey to figuring out his sexuality and he needs to work on his mental health before being with Buck. And while I do think Eddie deserves more focus and screen time I don't see 911 doing a long drawn out thing with him. 911 typically does smaller 1-3 ep arcs for their characters. There's also the fact that they've been dropping hints for Eddie's coming out these past two seasons. Ones I'm positive they will connect back to other things throughout the series, like why it never worked out with him in his relationships with women.

I'm also personally not a fan of the logic that someone needs to do all these things to change themselves to be ready for love. Buck and Eddie have seen each other through their best and their worst. The show has literally made it a point to tell you that's what love is on numerous occasions. They said that love is about stepping into someone's mess with them. Why is it that Bobby didn't need to be a perfect person before he was worthy of Athena's love? Go back and watch season 1 Bobby was not in a good place when they got together. He was getting better but he was still struggling and up until the end of the season was still thinking about ending his life. But we see Athena "step into the mess" with him. She starts by going to church with him and we see them in s2 (early on in their relationship) talk about his past at different times.

I just feel like this fandom sometimes holds Eddie to unfair standards. He's been struggling for the past couple of seasons but I honestly think we're going to find out in 8b that it's connected to him having not felt able to live his truth. We saw in 806 that Eddie is starting to embrace joy and taking steps to fully be himself. That he's starting even in small ways to take ownership of what he wants and doing things for himself not because he feels obligated to.

I think him going back to Texas is not just to get Chris but the shows way of giving him a rebirth of sorts. They're bringing him back to where he's from and it's where I think Eddie is going to realize who he is and what he wants (Buck) and that him and Chris don't belong in Texas they belong in LA with Buck and the rest of their found family. And this time Eddie will get to make the decision to leave not based on fear or desperation or running away from his life but based on knowing where he truly belongs.

I know there's also a worry that if Eddie comes out in 8b it will feel rushed but the length of the story being told shouldn't be the main concern it should be how well the show tells it.

They could have him realize his feelings for Buck (because I do think him figuring out his sexuality is going to be tied to that) while he's still in Texas. That could be one whole episode just Eddie (like they did for Bobby in s7) or have it play out over a few eps. Then Eddie comes home and Buddie canon happens by the end of s8. I also feel like people are forgetting we have quite a few eps for 8b left to go so it's not like Eddie coming out and Buddie canon are both going to happen in 1 or 2 eps right after the other. It's very likely Eddie realizing his feelings will happen earlier and Buddie canon will happen in one of the last eps of the season.

Also even if they have Eddie come out in one ep that doesn't mean it's the end of him ever talking about his sexuality or facing any struggles with it. We haven't seen Buck facing much struggle when it comes to his sexuality but I think it will be different with Eddie. Even if Buddie officially get together in s8 in s9 we could still see things like Eddie having mixed feelings over being out especially when it comes to stuff like pda. Maybe we could even see Eddie talking to the priest again. Eddie coming out and Buddie canon happening doesn't mean it's the end of Eddie's sexuality journey it's just the beginning.

Like I said before we need to make peace that every part of these stories isn't going to make everyone happy but I think the last thing we should be doing when Eddie comes out and Buddie canon happens is look for reasons to criticize the show for how it happens. They will inevitably receive hate from bummys and people who will accuse them of making the show too gay. We can't add to that by complaining that a storyline didn't happen in a perfect way. If they actually finally go there with these characters we need to celebrate the show and be louder with our praise than any bs they'll get.

-----

On the subject of Buddie I've seen people say that if they confess their feelings for one another by the end of 8b it will feel rushed that the general audience won't get what's happening because the show hasn't set the groundwork for their relationship. I feel like I'm seeing this argument more from newer fans which I guess makes sense because to you it probably does seem like everything is moving fast. But for those of us who have watched Buck and Eddie's relationship develop over years and years this has all been a long long time coming in fact it's beyond overdue.

Some of you need to remember that Buck was supposed to come out in s4 (the shooting was likely to be the catalyst to him realizing his feelings for Eddie) and Eddie in s5 which means Buddie canon was likely to happen that same season. How can s8 be too soon when they were supposed to get together three seasons ago? They have literally been through almost everything Madney and Bathena have been through or some variation thereof. If Buck and Eddie were a straight couple they would have been married already. Buck and Eddie have spent 7 years building their relationship. Building a life and family together. Them finally admitting they're in love with each other is simply the natural progression their relationship should be taking from best friends (that have always been more than friends) to lovers. I think another reason people question if it's too fast for this to happen in s8 is because a queer couple like this has never happened on a show like 911 before. There's been plenty of slow burn straight couples. Which is why I'm positive if Buck and Eddie were a guy and a girl there wouldn't be this big debate over if it should happen now, people would be saying what the hell is this show even doing? Why haven't they kissed already?

-----

A big point about all of this that I feel like is being left out of the discussions is that 911 is made in the US and is first and foremost made for US audiences. I bring this up because as someone who is from the states it's very apparent there's a huge uprising of anti lgbtq rhetoric and legislation here right now. I know it probably seems unfathomable to some people that the US government could do something like ban lgbtq people from TV but there's already been pushes to ban things like lgbtq books on a state level so it could happen. But what is more likely is networks and companies have already started to capitulate to trump to protect themselves and their money. We have no way of knowing how bad things will continue to get with trump and how a network like ABC will behave in the future. We don't have the luxury to sit back and say let's wait until s9 or 10 for Buddie to officially get together when there's no certainty of what will even be happening in the US by the time those seasons are made.

Connected to that same topic of what's going on not just in the US but in other countries too. This attack on lgbtq rights means it's more important than ever for Buddie to finally be together. I know that 911 has always had queer characters and ships and they should always be respected for the important representation they've given on the show since day one (particularly characters like Henren and their family) but Buck and Eddie are ground breaking in a way we really haven't seen on TV before. Two men who are best friends and who have come out later in life. Who have fallen for each other over years of building their relationship. Who have spent years raising their son together. Who are an interracial couple. Buck and Eddie in a loving relationship together as a family with Chris is vital representation the world needs to see right now. That lgbtq people need to see. We need to see more depictions of queer joy in the face of all of this hate.

-----

I see people keep pushing back the time frame of when Buddie should officially get together when we were in s7 people were saying s8 now I've seen them say s9, I've even seen some people recently say s10. I need some of you to realize 911 is a network TV show and that this isn't the golden age of TV anymore. TV shows get canceled left and right sometimes for no reason at all. 911 itself was canceled from Fox after s6 not because no one was watching it but because Fox felt it was too expensive to make. 911 is a super successful show one that will likely go on to it's 9th season and that's an amazing thing when a lot of shows now barely even make it past like two seasons. But because 911 is so many seasons in and is so costly not just to make but also for the cast that means there's always a risk that it could get canceled again. I hope that 911 goes on for at least 10 more seasons but we can't guarantee that at all. The more we push Buddie back the more we run the risk of them not happening at all.

The other thing is I don't want Buddie canon happening at the end of their last season. I want to see how Buck and Eddie's relationship develops and changes once they're officially together. I want to see all the good and bad stuff they go through like moving in together and telling everyone (especially Chris). I want to see how their parents react. How that changes things for them at work. They deserve to have an epic love story just as grand as any of the other main couples have had.

To add to the point of us not knowing how long the show may go on for we also have no idea how long all of the actors plan to stay with the show. I'm not sure how long the contracts they've all signed are for at this point but they've all been with the show a very long time. It's clear they all love working together and I can't see any of them giving that up right now but that could change. We're lucky that Oliver and Ryan have continued to stay with the show after this many years but we can't guarantee they will stay forever. Eventually they could want to go off and work on something else or just get tired of playing the same character. The fact is everything is in the right place at the right time for Buddie canon to happen now. It has to happen now or it may not happen at all.

Also as much as some of you want them to drag out Buck and Eddie getting together I think you underestimate how long the fanbase is willing to hang on for. Like I said some of us have been waiting for Buddie to happen for years we're tired. I almost stopped watching the show after s6 I was that fed up with how they handled things. I'm positive if something doesn't change by the end of s8 that there are people who will stop watching.

I know some have said they want to see Buck and Eddie realizing their feelings and going into s9 pinning. I don't think the show needs to drag out their will they/won't they any longer. I've seen some people say well Buddie hasn't really had a will they/won't they because it wasn't explicit in the show. Buck and Eddie have never been written as just friends. Go compare them to Chim and Hen's friendship. There has always been more there between them always. Again if this was a straight couple people would be complaining constantly wondering why they weren't together yet. They don't have to be kissing for it to be a slow burn. They've done everything but though. I mean what do you call that scene in the kitchen in 3x09? Eddie literally put Buck in his will. He told Buck he trusts him above anyone else with Chris. Buck sobbed when he knew Eddie was going to be okay after he was shot (he's never reacted that way over anyone else on the show getting hurt). Eddie counted the seconds when Buck wasn't breathing. These two men love one another they just haven't admitted it yet.

We don't need more time to tell this story. 911 hasn't always gotten it right (see the weird Vertigo story) but when it's good it can be fcking amazing. The shooting eps are some of my fav eps of tv ever and not just of 911. I have faith in Tim and the show. Tim has wanted to put Buck and Eddie together for a long time and I know he knows he only has one chance to tell this story and get it right. I have faith that him and the actors and writers will do the story justice however it gets told. I know they know it means a lot to so many people. And you know the truth is we're lucky that our ship is even at this point. That we can all debate about how Buddie canon should happen because we're all so sure now that it is in fact happening. Cause the show was very close to ending on a finale that had Buck and Eddie ending up with other partners. Buddie would have only been able to continue to live on in fanon. Instead I truly believe we are months away from the show making history.

[dulcescorderitas]

05

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader (+ sam)

synopsis: cooking

the kitchen was already a disaster. flour dusted the countertops like a crime scene outline, and a bottle of olive oil had tipped over, creating a slick, shimmering puddle on the wooden surface. the smell of garlic and onions filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of burnt something—probably whatever dean had been in charge of.

"i told you, babe, this is why takeout exists," dean grumbled, flicking a piece of raw chicken at you. it hit your arm with a cold, wet slap.

"jesus, dean!" you yelped, shoving him in the chest. he barely budged, just grinning like an idiot, dimples and all.

"you two are impossible," sam muttered, rolling his eyes as he expertly diced an onion. his knife skills were alarmingly precise, which only made dean more suspicious.

"yeah, okay, gordon ramsey, we get it, you know how to cut shit. but can you do this?" dean attempted to twirl a knife between his fingers, only for it to slip and clatter onto the floor. you sighed. sam sighed louder.

"real smooth," you muttered, picking up the knife before dean could impale himself. "if we actually wanna eat tonight, maybe we should focus."

"focus is for nerds," dean declared, leaning over to steal a sip from your beer. you smacked his hand away.

"you have your own, dumbass."

"yeah, but yours always tastes better. kinda like how you always steal my fries."

sam ignored the both of you, setting the chopped onions into a sizzling pan. the butter hissed, and for a moment, it actually smelled promising. that moment passed quickly.

dean, having been left in charge of seasoning the chicken, had apparently gone feral with the spice rack. the second the pieces hit the heat, an acrid, eye-watering cloud of burnt paprika and chili powder filled the room.

"oh, hell no," you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. "dean, what did you put in there?"

"i dunno, some of that red shit," he answered, barely concerned, peering into the pan as if offended that his creation wasn’t behaving properly. "it looked right."

"you just threw in spices like you were summoning a demon, didn’t you?" sam accused.

"hey, if i was summoning anything, it’d be a pizza delivery guy, ‘cause this ain’t workin’." dean grabbed the pan handle, but immediately hissed and dropped it back onto the stove. "son of a—who the hell made this pan lava-proof?"

"it's called heat, dumbass," you snorted, but the joke was cut short when the smoke alarm started blaring.

"aw, come on!" dean groaned, grabbing a towel to fan the smoke away. "we got this under control!"

"do we?" sam asked dryly, as you rushed to open a window. the sound was piercing, and it was only a matter of time before someone (probably a very annoyed neighbor) complained.

"alright, screw this," you said, tossing the ruined pan into the sink with a dramatic clatter. "i'm calling it—pizza and beer."

"now we're talkin’," dean grinned, already reaching for his phone. "see, this is why i married you. you get me."

"yeah, yeah, just order before i change my mind and make you eat the chicken."

sam just shook his head, stepping around the mess as if it personally offended him. "i swear, cooking with you two is like watching a disaster movie in slow motion."

"yeah, but we make it look good, right?" dean winked at you, still smug despite the failure.

"you know what else looks good?" dean leaned in, voice dropping into a husky murmur. "you, bent over this counter, covered in flour, with me showing you how to properly handle raw meat."

"oh my god," sam groaned, throwing down the spatula. "can we go ten minutes without you turning everything into a porno?"

"hey, i'm just saying, cooking’s a very sensual activity. lotta kneading, lotta poundin—"

"i will stab you," you deadpanned, brandishing a fork. "not in the fun way."

sam rubbed his temples like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here. "i don't get paid enough for this."

"you don't get paid at all," dean shot back. "you just hang around, all tall and judgy, pretending you don’t enjoy our company."

"it's not pretending if it's true," sam muttered.

"see, babe?" dean turned back to you, grinning. "this is why you gotta appreciate me more. i'm the fun brother."

"you're something, alright," you muttered, shaking your head.

finally, after much more unnecessary bickering, the pizza arrived. beers were popped open, and the three of you collapsed onto the couch, the kitchen a war zone of spices, flour, and regret.

"y'know," dean said around a mouthful of pizza, "we should do this again sometime."

"we absolutely should not," sam and you answered in perfect unison.

and that, of course, just made dean laugh harder.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

june 3, 2022 2:00 p.m. newcrest counseling

"i'm really happy to hear you think you worried too much, but what makes you say that? did you feel differently than you expected?"

"i did, actually. as i've figured out over the last week, doing the work to become a healthier person means i know how to better manage negative emotions. i often still default to seeing myself as the person who just falls apart as soon as i feel any emotion less pleasant than neutral. at first, when i was on the plane and then in my hotel room alone, i was battling negative thoughts, but i turned it around pretty quickly. to be honest, that was weird. i'm so used to having to completely lose it before i can recover. recovering at the first very tiny peak in severity is almost a miracle.

finding the good things, however small, to focus on last weekend was what helped me revert my mood and stop feeling icky before icky became horrendous. the negative thoughts on my mind, i redirected to the best of my ability. like, for example, okay, if i never fly an airplane again before i die, i'll just be thrilled i could do it for a few years. a few wonderful years is better than zero years. little kid grant never thought he'd survive past 18, let alone follow his dreams. if time travel were possible and i could go back and tell grant kid he flew an airplane one day, he'd never fucking believe it. so, i already won. nothing can take that away.

on that note, i'm historically not the best at being open to good things or experiences. i'm at least prone closing myself off to relishing them once they're over. i spent so long being lashed by the world with no end in sight that i don't trust goodness, you know? i expect people to get fed up with me or to hurt me. i expect the universe to screw me over. i also believe i don't deserve goodness, and i've thrown away good things myself for that reason alone. i think i'll struggle with those specific thoughts for a very long time, but i do know that i am learning move past them. i'm learning to believe i deserve better and to appreciate things more and to extract what i can from my experiences.

i realized i was moving past those thoughts for the first time after dealing with my ex and then cutting off my dad for the second time, but especially after my dad, and now i'm confirming the changes. i felt like hot garbage for weeks after that final conversation with him because i just did. reminding myself of how truly horrible he was as a father hurt, but after a while, i was glad i told him the truth, and suddenly, i had much more appreciation for the male figures in my life who were or are kind to me. a burden was legitimately lifted off my shoulders, and old me would have never managed to find anything positive in that situation, so the fact that current me did says a lot. if i can find something positive there, i can find something positive anywhere.

but hey, i'm not even getting to the most fulfilling part of why i felt differently than i expected. the wedding was genuinely great, and i ended up wasting no substantial amount of time absorbed in my own feelings, so i got to be present with my friends. even when i was pretending my trauma didn't exist years ago, i spent so much time stuck in my own head or my own body, always filtering every personal conversation through that lens, and you don't get how much energy and attention that soaks up until you can be fully present with people. of course, it helps that i knew all these people and knew i could relax and trust them, but still. it felt good to be able to devote my entire attention to celebrating them and their lives and not have split it between them and my own exhausting thoughts."

[ivoyzzz]

heyy i was wondering if you Could do Sae byeok x reader Where Sae byeok is super clingy to reader. Like this Girl is CLINGY. So like she is hugging her sooo much whether it is hugging her at the neck, waist, hip, lifting her off the Ground and grabbing her ass 🫢, back hugging her, you name it and she is already in the position with you, Sae byeok is pulling her into her lap every second she gets, Sae byeoks kissing her non stop whether its on the lips, cheek, nose, jaw, neck or even readers top chest and back, and TRUST me this Girl loves to be behind reader and spoon her While she is watching some crap TV show (the two of you Fall asleep with the TV show playing in the back) but there is just one problem, gi hun is your older brother and he is not Happy seeing sae byeok All over you. Trust me he likes the fact that you two love each other but he is also over protective of you and doesnt want you to get hurt. And Sae byeok knows this but continues. And i am tell you that gi hun is not Happy seeing Sae byeok have her hands on your chest and ass meanwhile you are doing your makeup (you are standing infront of Sae byeok because the mirror is right behind her While she is sitting on a chair and has you in between her legs While her head and one of her hands are resting on your chest While her other Hand is resting on your ass.)

Thank you and have a Good Day or Night and you Can change anything if you would like!!

a/n: this is adorable stop. saebyeok is the clingiest girlfriend ever, you cannot change my mind.

warnings: just fluffy

clingy sae who follows right behind you (like walking on your heels) and her trying to act like she’s “just seeing what your doing”

walking in the cold, she just grabs your hand shoving it in her pocket. couldn’t have her girl freeze to death, could she?

eating dinner with her and gi-hun and him just watching the two of you with a careful glare. (maybe he’s a tiny bit jealous that your love life is better then is, so what).

saebyeok sitting on the couch with you between her legs, sprinkling soft kisses on your soft hair. her murmuring that you were gone so long. and all you did was go to get coffee.

always making excuses to be touchy without seeming clingy, “your hair was all over you face, i was fixing it.” “your necklace isn’t showing.” and her careful fingertips linger on your skin.

even though her face seems as if she’s doing the most boring thing ever, it’s just her being in denial. she actually likes being around you, and even if there is no talking she likes your presence and that scares her.

waking up next to her and sae just buries her face in your neck, lips dancing across you. one of her hand’s is lazily behind you and the other is thrown across your waist. whispering a small “i like you.” she has a hard time saying what she feels but she’s good at showing it. even though these words may seem small, they mean everything.

watching you try a new food or drink and watching for your reaction. “good?” she mumbles so quietly. when you nod your head, she gives you one of those small uncertain smiles. then tucking a loose strand of hair behind your head, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

when your on the phone with a friend, saebyeok's just sat beside you hand on your waist rubbing small circles in your hip. can’t really focus anymore, ending the call to put your head on her shoulder. which of course she pretends to be indifferent to, but she’s in just as much bliss as you.

when your upset her wiping your tears with the pad of her thumb. whispering, “just breathe baby.” “i got you.” her face softening, she hates seeing you upset.

when she’s reading a book and you put your head in her lap, her rolling her eyes. she’s not annoyed, sae would choose this over some stupid book any-day.

you sitting in her lap while you do your makeup, hand sprawled on your thigh. even if the two of you aren’t doing anything she just loves being with you. watches you with those sharp eyes while you do your makeup.

when you come to sit on the couch and leave room between the two of you, not thinking anything of it, she thinks about it. are you mad at her? did she do something? when you finally look over at her (it’s been 3 minutes) she looks like a sad kicked puppy. but she’s fine after she pulls you into her arms. “i’m not clingy” she mutters kissing along your neck. “seem pretty clingy to me sae.” you tease back.

gives the best hugs. her arms around your waist while yours are around her linked around her neck.

when walking in public, her arm around your waist fingers in your belt-loop. the world is a dangerous place, it’s just to keep you safe. totally not because she just likes holding you.

she just wants to hold you, that’s not clingy, right?

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Back Forty View (On Our Piece Of Ground)

10 - I Will Always Return

Pairings: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: Just a whole lotta angst and sad, but a smidgen of happy at the end. More babies???

A/N: I was soooo stuck on this one so it's a little short but I think it rounds out this part of the plot nicely so that we can get both pairs back by themselves for a bit. Don't worry though this won't be the last chapter of this story, just the last one for a little bit while Tyler and Gee and Jake and Sam focus on each other again. As always I am ecstatic that y'all continue to read, comment, reblog, and so on. Knowing you enjoy this story as much as I do fuels me to write more! Gifs by @kaizsche Pics from Pinterest and a little collage by me in the middle. And there's a wee surpprise at the end, a little banner/collage thingy since so many of you seemed to enjoy that. Please enjoy!

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03 @coloraturadiva @kmc1989 @khouse712

“Jacob Seresin. What do you have to say for yourself?” Officer Mullins said, glancing at the school superintendent. 

“I’m real sorry. I won’t do it again.” Jake murmured, his gaze flicking from his father to the cop, then down. He’d folded his hands behind his back and his heart was pounding.

“No you won’t. Because if you do, you’ll go to jail. Now I hope that maybe you find God, or perhaps some sort of structure to keep you in line. Maybe the Military, like your stepfather.” The superintendent said, making it a point to emphasize the word ‘stepfather’ which made Jake ball his fists behind his back. Kenny noticed that and clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder, rubbing firmly to ease the tension. 

“Yessir.” Jake agreed softly, not daring to look anyone in the eyes.

“You're dismissed.” The superintendent waved a hand and sat at his desk. Jake had nearly gotten expelled. He wasn’t going to take anyone talking shit about his brother, especially not some dumb football jock who’s dad is rich and gets everything handed to him. Jake wouldn’t fucking have it. He was just sorry that Tyler didn’t see him knock the kid senseless. He’d be proud of him for five seconds and then once Tyler heard what his punishment was, he’d be pissed. Jake started praying in the truck on the way home, because it was going to be rough on an out of school suspension just before graduation.

“Jake. I swear to god, boy, you better figure somethin’ out.” Kenny’s voice was rough, and stern as he drove out of the school parking lot. 

“I’m sorry, Kenny...dad...I’m sorry...” Jake said, twiddling with his thumbs and watching as they passed some of the Emory Family’s wheatfields. 

“I know you are Jake but damn it, why’d you have to do it? You couldn’t just let it go. You need to get that temper under control.” Kenny said, sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry...” Jake said, again, his tone apologetic and coming out almost flustered. He didn’t know how to not defend his family. He didn’t know how to not stand up for them.

“Y’know, maybe the Navy would be good for you. Give you somethin’ to expel all that pent up bullshit on.” Kenny looked pointedly at Jake, taking a left instead of a right toward their house. They headed to the Navy Recruitment office to see what Jake could do from there. 

Later that day, the green pickup rumbled along, the engine louder than ever. Jake knew it needed an oil change when it did that, and he would get around to it eventually, but he was trying to make sure he got top marks in class and stayed in tip top shape. Once he graduated, he was off to the Navy. And Tyler, well, Tyler was off to start his rodeo career. 

Jake popped a CD in and a twangy country song began to play as he glanced over at his brother, who was mouthing the words with a huge smile on his face and his arm slung out the window. Tyler shot him a look, full of pride but also concern. Tyler was ecstatic that Jake was joining the Navy, but he was also worried. What if he got deployed and got killed? But he knew it was what Jake needed to rein him in. Tyler had to push those thoughts out of his mind for now and enjoy being with his brother instead.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Jake sat on the couch at his parent’s house, feeling the depression creep in and slowly consume him. Samantha and Jeanie had gone to the store and he was glad of that, knowing that his mother approved of his fiance. Kenny was out mowing the lawn, having had Tyler fix the tractor for him. 

Ballast, Jake’s dog through and through, sat with his head on Jake’s lap, his ever deepening amber eyes continually checking in on his owner. He would whine every once in a while and then poke Jake if he stopped petting him. Jake sighed heavily and then began to speak to the young dog.

“I don’t wanna go back to California bud. I wanna fly again...but I wanna stay here. I didn’t know how much I missed it here until I came back. I don’t know if I can say goodbye so soon.” He murmured, his fingers scratching behind Ballast’s ears. The dog shifted, his brows furrowing. Jake couldn't get over how expressive the dog was sometimes. “And...I’m freakin’ out about Sam...like, how can she not be pregnant already? It’s me, right? I’ve gotta be shootin’ blanks because there’s no way such a perfect, gorgeous, beautiful fucking woman could have anything wrong with her... fuck . I know I’m the problem...I’m always the problem.”

Ballast raised his head, staring straight into Jake’s eyes, amber burning through green steadily like a forest fire. Jake smiled weakly, his hand running down the dog’s back. Ballast stretched up and licked Jake’s cheek, then went to nibble on his ear. Jake laughed and rubbed the dog’s head, then pulled him into a hug. Ballast put a paw over Jake’s shoulder. In that moment, Jake felt like he was eighteen again, a fucking delinquent helpless to do anything else but hug the damn family dog because she’d been the only one not disappointed in him. 

As Jake wallowed in his sadness, Ballast sat quietly, across his lap, offering the same support that the dog’s dad had that first time he’d met Ryker. In so many ways, Ballast had become so much like Maddox, and Jake was thankful for that. There were things that dog had opened up in him, scars that he’d scratched at that Jake couldn’t put away. Jake’s anger, which always manifested because he was being protective, was the biggest one, and the harshest. 

“You get mad at him, he’s gonna come at you, Jake. He’s gonna take you down a peg. Control your anger.”

Jake’s gaze settled on Ballast. He took a deep, shuddering breath, which the dog noticed and again, he curled closer to his human. Ballast didn’t give a fuck about the other two dogs. Not one single fuck. He only cared for Jake. He’d been particularly sticky with Sam lately though and Jake didn’t know if that was an indication of anything. Jake was snapped from his introspection then by the front door opening. Rocco and Muster barked once each, and then went back to laying down together in a warm ball.

“Hey.” Sam said, as she helped Jeanie bring in the groceries that she’d gotten. Jake snapped his fingers at Ballast, who moved off his lap and heeled to Jake as he helped grab more bags. Jeanie wanted to get a lot while she had the help, knowing that Tyler and Georgia wouldn’t be along to visit for a little while with Jaycen. They’d have to go up toward Stillwater to see their grandson, which wasn’t a problem, but they knew Tyler and Georgia were also busy with work too. 

“Hi.” Jake kissed her on the cheek as he took some of the bags, placing them on the counter. Sam began putting food away as Jake went out to get more bags. Jeanie sighed as she met him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Momma. You go sit. I’ll grab the bags.” He said softly, taking them gently from her. She smiled as she patted his arm and used him to help her up the stairs. 

“You’re always a good boy, Jake. Thank you. I’ll rest my feet and then start on dinner. You should eat before you head out.” She said and Jake nodded. He grabbed the rest of the groceries, and helped Sam put them away. All three of the dogs had risen and Jake decided to take them for a short walk to the end of the driveway and back. Sam elected to go with him.

“You seem off today. What’s wrong?” She asked, wrapping her arm around his waist. He placed his around her shoulders and they matched steps as they walked. 

“Don’t wanna leave...” He murmured and Sam nodded.

“I know you don’t but we have to go home at some point.” She said, pulling him closer. He let out a deep sigh again, feeling his anxiety bubble. Why was he anxious?

“This is my home.” His brows furrowed and Sam drew back slightly. He knew he shouldn’t have said it.

“What about my home, Jake?” She asked, stopping. He came to a halt too and she stepped away from him. He shook his head, reaching for her.

“I know...I’m sorry. I’m just...I don’t know...” He couldn’t express his thoughts to words that would be what she wanted to hear at that moment. Sam wanted to go home. The only thing tethering Jake to Miramar was her. Of course there was his promotion and all that, but he could be a Lieutenant Commander anywhere in the world. He didn’t have to stay specifically in Miramar to do that. He could be stationed in Oklahoma City at Tinker Air Force Base, or he could be even closer in Enid, at Vance Air Force Base, which employed an active flying academy. If he wanted to teach, he could be closer to home instead of being stationed in Miramar. But he also understood that it was where Sam felt the most comfortable. And Jake would be uncomfortable so that she could be okay. He’d promised her that much.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

This was the fucking worst. 

Jake said goodbye to Jeanie and Kenny and he held it together. He was okay with that because he’d left a hundred times before, but this, this was fucking heartbreaking. 

He hugged his brother tightly, too tight. So tight that Tyler had to pry him away. When his brother looked into his eyes, the matching sage green meeting, his brow furrowed and he sighed.

“It’ll be okay, Jakey. You’ll be back soon enough.” Tyler’s voice was low, at a whisper, because he knew Jake didn’t want to leave. He knew Jake wanted to stay here, but he couldn’t. Sam was tugging his heartstrings so fucking hard to go back to California, that it was overriding everything in Jake that made him want to stay. Tyler's voice was quiet because he knew Jake didn’t want Sam to hear what he had to say next. “If somethin’...anythin’...doesn’t work out, you will always have a place here, with me and Gee.”

Jake pulled away then, Tyler’s words stinging. He knew what Tyler meant though. He knew if things got rough and he had to retreat somewhere for a while again, that he could come here. Tyler was well aware that Jake never wanted to leave Samantha, but he also knew that if Jake needed to get away, this home would be open to him for that.

“And you call me more than ya have been the past couple years. Text me as much as you want. I don’t mind.” Tyler’s words were comforting then. 

“I know. Thank you.” Jake said, taking a hold of his brother’s shoulders then, his grip like heavy stone. He backed away from Tyler, only about a foot or so, allowing Georgia to step in smoothly with baby Jaycen. Jake’s eyes grew misty as he gently let his fingers brush over the little boy’s head. He had nearly a full head of hair now, short and sandy brown like his father’s. The boy reached for him, and Jake offered a single finger, which Jaycen wrapped a chubby hand around and giggled as he did so. Georgia watched her husband’s brother’s expression dissolve into one of anguish. Jake could only weakly smile at Georgia, whom he then kissed on the cheek softly before he reached for Sam. 

“Thank you for everything. We’ll be back soon.” Sam said softly to Tyler as she drew back from his warm embrace. She’d already said her goodbyes to Georgia and Jaycen, but as she took Jake’s hand, she carefully hugged the other woman once more. 

Ballast and Grits were just like the brothers, getting in one last play session before they parted ways. It was like the dogs knew. Muster had become fast friends with Waffles, and Pancake had taken a liking to Rocco, but the four quieter dogs all sat in a line near the truck, waiting for a signal. Tyler snapped his fingers for the cattle dogs and Jake opened the back seat for his. He lifted Rocco in and then shut the door. Grits glanced up and whined softly to Tyler, who reached down and patted the red dog’s head.

Georgia saw longing in Samantha’s eyes as she took one last look at little Jaycen as her and Jake piled into the already packed truck with the dogs, their Christmas gifts, packed bags, and some food for along the way in a giant cooler. Georgia would miss that truck, but most of all she would miss her husband’s brother and the wonderful women he’d found. She would miss the dogs and how well they fit in with theirs. 

“Drive safe! Let us know when you get home!” Tyler exclaimed, and as Jake backed out of the space in the driveway and turned around, he waved. Sam did too, and Tyler and Georgia waved back and then they both glanced down at their son and the dogs, who had gathered at their feet. 

The Owens household would be a little too quiet for a little while after that.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Jake and Sam drove in silence, the dogs all comfortably napping in the back seat. Their journey home would be around twenty hours of driving and making some pit stops along the way to the Texas Air and Space Museum, the New Mexico Route 66 Museum, the Japanese Garden of Friendship in Phoenix, Arizona, and a short detour to Joshua Tree National Park before finally reaching Miramar.

Jake elected to do the first part of the drive, as he felt like he just needed to. He'd put on a spotify playlist that Tyler had made and shared with him, plenty of country music to keep his thoughts on the road and just a little distracted. Sam was scrolling on her phone and at some point, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, she stopped and placed it on the center console, her gaze settling on the landscape and fading light out the window. 

“Hey.” Jake's voice startled her slightly, but he reached across the console and she intertwined her fingers with his. It was an action he'd done a million times before but this time it had a certain weight to it. There was an uneasy tension between them, and they could both feel it. It was suffocating.

“It's my turn now because I know you're not okay.” Sam said softly, as she squeezed his hand firmly. Jake's eyes left the road for a second and then focused back.

“What's that mean?” He asked, tone flat. She shifted beside him. 

“I know you don't want to go home...to California. I'm forcing you to. I know that.” She admitted and he glanced at her again, but didn't reply, so she continued. “I'm sorry. I just can't leave for good yet.”

Jake's brows knitted and he felt like he should pull over, but he wanted to get to their hotel. His voice came out slightly shaky and it made Sam tear up.

“I told you when I first came home...that I would shatter myself to pieces for you. That I would take all of your pain and get rid of it. I can still do that...but you then need to be patient with me because I need space after everything is put on me. It's why I don't hang out with my detachment sometimes. It's why I like being at home with you and just sitting doin’ fuck all.”

“I’m not asking you to take it all...” She murmured.

“Aren’t you? I told you. I am comfortable in Oklahoma. In Arkansas.” Jake’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. Sam noticed this and she placed her other hand on his forearm, rubbing up and down, trying to quell the frustration she could feel building within him.

“We have to go home though. Your job is there. My mother is there. She just lost her husband. I just lost my...” Sam’s words came out choked and she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. Jake’s jaw worked as he felt tears sting his eyes knowing that he was upsetting her. 

“I’m sorry...I don’t wanna fight, Samantha. We’re both tired, we’re both upset, and I don’t think we should keep talking about this while I’m driving. When we get to the hotel...can we pick this up again? Please?” Jake asked, sage green flicking nervously over to her. She nodded and went to take her hand from his but he wouldn’t let her and instead lifted it and touched his lips to the back, leaving them there for a few moments before resting their entwined hands on the console. “Don’t pull away, please. Don’t lea...leave me...” He stuttered.

“I’m not going to leave you, Jake.  I love you...I’m just...having a hard time with this too...you probably don’t realize it but i was happy there too...but I feel obligated to go home. My home is not your home, I know that. But I wish I was your home .”

“Fuck...Sam...Samantha...you...you are my home. But sometimes I just don’t feel like I belong there, and I hate that...”

“Why...why would you ever feel that way? Am I not enough for you?”

“You are. You will always be. But I feel like I’ve been failing you. I feel like I came back damaged and it’s just been a fucking downhill slope that I keep sliding down and I can’t get back up...and then we came here and I don’t know, I suddenly didn’t feel like that. I felt like I brought you down here and that you were finally safe. We were finally safe.”

“Do you not want to fly again? Is that what this is about?”

“No I do...but I don’t know that I want to be deployed again. I am fucking terrified that I won’t come home...I’ve lost enough pilots, enough friends...when do I not come home, huh? And then what...I leave you and a kid without a husband and father? I can’t even bear the thought of that. It makes my chest hurt like hell, holy shit.”

“How do you become an Admiral then? Do you even still want that?”

“Yes. I do. And I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.” Jake’s voice trembled with his last words and then Sam’s free hand made it’s way to his chest, as she leaned slightly over the center of the truck.

“Jake. I love you more than anything. But you need to talk to me. You need to meet me halfway. You cannot keep these feelings you’re having from me. You can’t keep going to therapy and not talking there either. You need to let me all the way in. No matter how ugly the bottom of your soul is...you need to let me meet that part of you .” Sam’s voice trailed off and then she rubbed over the front of his chest, feeling his heart pounding like it was trying to jump right out of it. They let the silence fall over them, Jake trying to figure out exactly how to accomplish that without scaring her away. He couldn’t ever be without her again.

🌪️ 🛩️🛻⚓

Tyler sat quietly on the couch, Grits on the back as usual, and Jaycen sleeping soundly in his arms. He glanced down at Georgia, her head against his shoulder, her breath coming out leisurely. Pancake was laid across her lap, her arm over the dog’s back, and Waffles was on the arm next to Tyler, her snout as close as she could get to the little boy without disturbing him. 

“I already miss them.” Tyler murmured, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly, shakily.

“Me too. But we have this wonderful little boy to help keep us busy. Until the next time that they come back.” She said softly, rubbing Pancake’s shoulders. The dog sighed and furrowed her brows at Georgia, which made her smile. 

“Yeah. You’re right. And some other stuff to keep us busy too. Found a truck for Kate. We just gotta go look at it, make sure it’s okay.” He said, tilting his head as Jaycen shifted in his arms but did not wake.

“That’s good. She can stop trying to crash yours and Boone’s.” She said, which made a chuckle rumble up from Tyler’s chest.

“Yeah exactly. And we’ll plan a day to go look at a truck for you. I promise. I’m glad you got rid of the Denali though. I was afraid of you towing with it.” 

“When am I gonna be towing?” She asked, shifting against him so that she was slightly closer and Pancake did the same.

“Don’t know. Figured you might wanna take Tulsa to a couple places while you’re not pregnant.”

“Well...you mean before my belly gets big again.” She smirked.

“What?” Tyler shot a sly smile at her.

“I took a test this morning. I’m pregnant again, Ty.” Her lips turned up into a wide grin and Tyler carefully turned so that he could kiss her.

“Oh fuck. I’m gonna cry, darlin’.” His voice became a whisper.

“Well you had a hand in it, silly.”

“I know but you’re the one who’s doing all the work. I’m just the...well...y’know.”

“The very handsome stud?” Georgia raised a brow and smirked. Tyler's lips turned up again, his mouth dropping open.

“Well, darlin’, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. You’re quite the specimen.” She mused, making him chuckle and shake his head. His chest filled with warmth as he gazed at his beautiful wife and then down at his adorable son. He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped, wanting to enjoy the happiness that was overflowing in the air, within their little family of two legged and four legged creatures.

[nodutra19]

This might be my favorite episode in the whole series. Though I don't play "favorites" for the most part and just look at things as a whole, rather than through rankings.

By critiquing patriarchy and gender, RGU necessarily critiques hero worship. Now, I haven't actually studied up on hero worship just yet. It's an idea I became familiar with after reading The Pike by Lucy Hughes-Hallett. After BHM, I'm gonna read three of her other books, starting with Heroes: Traitors, Saviors, and Superman: A History of Hero Worship. Maybe I'll write about RGU and hero worship by the middle of next month.

In particular with this episode, and as has been built over time, is the idea of "special people." A few episodes ago, Akio waxes poetic over how "special" Utena is, and how special people don't know they're special. There's a few layers to that, but here I wanna focus on the hero worship aspect in terms of Souji/Nemuro.

I've loved this episode for a very long time. It truly feels like a wrinkle in time and space. It gives me nostalgia for a where and when I never laid personal witness to. Last year around this time I read American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin. The very first chapter has the quote:

Around the globe, scientists were soon to be celebrated as a new kind of hero, promising to usher in a renaissance of rationality, prosperity and social meritocracy. In America, reform movements were challenging the old order. Theodore Roosevelt was using the bully pulpit of the White House to argue that good government in alliance with science and applied technology could forge an enlightened new Progressive Era.

For some reason I never drew this connection to RGU until today. It did tickle me on my rewatch last year but still.

"Genius." What a loaded word! I've read about geniuses, from Marx to Oppie to Tolstoy to Nabokov and now to W.E.B Du Bois, and they were all just as foolish as they were intelligent! I think we see here a sort of prefigurement to Akio and his relationship to Prince Dios. Literally they are the same, but Prince Dios lives on as a separate image to which Akio aspires because 1.) He wants to regain lost time and 2.) These are the demands of patriarchy.

But that's all it really is: an image. An idea. A rotten ideal in white. "But is that what she really wants?"

In this case, Professor Nemuro somewhat does fit the mold of a "genius." A genius is an odd person, a disconcerting changeling. A Byronic solitary figure who "doesn't fit in," who "stands out," who "comes into your life like a hurricane." They're a little beyond human ken. They are a "god among men." They are often "hard to work with." And the worship is just as cultic and religious as all these romantic phrases imply.

Of course, most of their contemporaries think lesser of them than what subsequent myth making would imply. In the case of Marx, he could be a bit grumpy (and was a D1 bum in the funniest sense. An iconic debt shuffler) and had terrible handwriting. You'll often hear people say "Smart people think so fast they can seem rude" or "Have bad handwriting." Behaviors and traits that would otherwise be pathologized are at least excused if not embellished if someone is a "genius."

I think there are other layers to this stuff, especially, I imagine, for those who are ace and aro, but I dunno enough about that to get into the weeds about it.

To bring things real close to RGU, I remember some years ago getting into a conversation with some several years older than me. They were an immigrant, and so I helped them with dealing with the culture shock they were facing. Eventually we got to talking about generations, and they said "I think this generation [referring to mine, Gen Z], will change the world. If more people were like you, things would be better." I was obviously flattered, especially the second bit, but the first bit had always bothered me. As I'm reading through David Levering Lewis's biography on W.E.B Du Bois for BHM, I'm reminded of how Du Bois came up with the idea of the "Talented Tenth." They were essentially the Black Vanguard who would lift the Black race up. Later on, however, he revised it to the "Guiding Hundredth," which attempted to democratize the idea and expand racial lines to something more intersectional. Having gained this knowledge after that conversation, I realize why I was bothered by what that person said: it seemed another form of idolatry. Changing the world isn't the work of a chosen few predetermined by a secular mandate of heaven (In Oppie's time, it was scientists. Nowadays, the "heroes" are entrepreneurs and venture capitalists), it will involve all of us, of all walks of life.

My thoughts are very soupy on this subject, so pardon if I seemed rambly and unfocused.

I'll at least leave a few quotes:

I've become convinced that genius is a vastly overrated commodity. I think this country is full of geniuses, guys and gals so bright they make your average card carrying MENSA member look like Fucko the Clown. And I think that most of them are teachers, living and working in small town obscurity because that's the way they like it. —Stephen King Insomnia

To hell with the philosophy of the great men of this world! All great wise men are as despotic as generals and as rude and insensitive as generals, because they are confident of their impunity. —Anton Chekhov, after souring a bit on a late controversial play by Tolstoy. As translated by Rosamund Bartlett

Genius…means little more than the faculty of perceiving in an unhabitual way. —William James The Principle of Psychology

That last quote is part of the epigraph of the Du Bois biography I'm reading. So rn I got a lot on my head about geniuses, professors, heroism, hero worship, masculinity, etc.

For Marx and Tolstoy, I recommend the biographies Love and Capital: Karl and Jenny Marx and the Birth of a Revolution by Mary Gabriel and Tolstoy: A Russian Life by Rosamund Bartlett (along with her excellent translation of Anna Karenina)

Fansub release + translation notes for Utena ep 22!

さすがに何でもよく知ってるわね。でもそれだけの情報網があるなら、早く奴らの正体も突き止めて欲しいわ。

You know everything, don’t you Juri? With such a vast intelligence network, I wish you’d hurry up and find out these people’s true identities. (literal translation)

You know everything, don’t you Juri? I wish you'd put your little birdies to work finding out just who is behind this. (final translation)

情報網 (jouhoumou) is an interesting word to use here! It literally means “intelligence network”, so Nanami is implying that Juri has a bunch of spies feeding her everytthing that happens at the school. To actually use the word “intelligence network” sounds a little but out of place in English though, so I rephrased the line a little to sound more conversational and accusatory.

Boy: しばらく消えないでしょうね、根室教授。 Nemuro: ん？なんだい？ Boy: 雪の事ですよ、教授。

Boy: Won't disappear for a while still, eh, Professor Nemuro? Nemuro: I beg your pardon? Boy: I was talking about the snow, Professor.

There’s a double meaning in the first line here — the boy could reasonably be talking about the Professor himself not clearing out for a while. That was actually my original phrasing: “Won’t clear out for a while” but Anya suggested “disappear�� which is actually much closer to the original Japanese phrasing so I changed it to that. I think this exchange preserves that passive aggressive dig at the Professor pretty well!

あの人は花が散るのを見たくないんですよ。こうすれば短い命の花も少しは長持ちさせることができる。でも、こうまでして永らえても花自身は嬉しいんでしょうか？

She hates it when the petals begin to fall. This way even a short-lived flower can be made to last a little longer. But… I wonder how the flowers feel about their existence being prolonged like this.

This is one of my favourite exchanges in the show! I think this really emphasises how Japanese sentence structure and general way of phrasing things differs drastically from English. A literal translation of the first sentence would be something like “That person does not want to see flowers scatter”. Each part of the sentence sounds weird if translated individually:

あの人 - “that person” being used because Japanese prefers that phrasing to third person pronoun “she”.

花が散る - “flowers scatter” is the most natural way to say “petals fall/die” in Japanese but sounds very odd in English

見たくないんですよ - “does not want to see X” also sounds very funny when translated directly to English, but simply conveys the idea that she doesn’t like seeing something happen.

When taken as a whole, complete idea though, the sentence can easily be translated into something that sounds natural in English: “She hates it when the petals begin to fall.”

The hardest part of this to translate was the last sentence. I originally had translated it like this: “So much work to make them last, and yet I wonder if the flowers themselves are happy.”

こうまでして - to go this far/to put in this much effort/to put in this much work. However, this is more of a tone setting phrase than a meaning carrying phrase, so it’s okay not to translate it directly.

永らえる - to prolong something’s lifespan. This is hard to translate because while the phrasing works in Japanese, the preserved flowers are actually dead. So you can’t translate it as “I wonder how the flowers feel about being made to live so long” or something of that ilk. My original translation of “make them last” works, but I prefer the final translation of “existence being prolonged”. It sounds more applicable to Mamiya’s situation, and this exchange is all about that metaphor.

永遠に憧れる心が美しく思えたりするだけだ。

(lit.) We just think of a heart that longs for eternity as beautiful. (??)

We just romanticise the idea of eternity.

Another great example of Japanese phrasing that sounds super weird when translated directly, but can sound very natural when the core idea behind the words is translated properly. “Romanticise” is such a succinct one-word translation of the several word phrase 「憧れる心が美しく思えたり」!

Thank you to my amazing editor @dontbe-lasanya for their help with the episode as always!

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Rose divider taken from this post.

[fadelbison]

do you guys remember marvels civil war and it was called civil war when they meant this

Like max 10 superheroes just ripping up an empty airport runway … anyhow that’s what the twitter kbl vs tbl debate is to me thus far I’ve counted 3 racist trolls and somehow everyone and their mother aka freaking Jojo is involved in this 😭😭😭😭😭😭

my friends my guys let me introduce you to colorism in Asia - yes not an insignificant number of people think South East Asia is inferior to East Asia. Let’s not even talk about those dirty dirty South Asians. Too dark to even think for themselves those poor fools. Most common in East Asia itself, I’ve legit just stopped going to Hong Kong because of how racist it is. Japanese girls were flirting with a guy whose hand I was holding because they don’t believe/can’t believe that a white guy would prefer to date me over them lol.

But legit SouthEast Asians and South Asians will also follow this hierarchy. Can’t find an aunty in my vicinity that can talk about Japan without mentioning how beautiful their skin is. White supremacy eurocentric ideals of beauty blah blah blah

And now that Thailand is capturing Chinese market ahead of South Korea in the BL field Thailand will be constantly under racist fire. I know only a little about South Korean entertainment industry because I never had or will have a KPOP phase (thank god). But they’re not above playing dirty. I unfortunately know more about Chinese ent then I ever wanted to and they are definitely not above playing dirty. Where money is involved trolls are planted.

Enjoy your TV gays you’re not going to solve this problem by feeding trolls and trying to prove how great Thailand BL is by responding to them one by one on Twitter. GMMTV already proved Thai BL is ahead of every curve back in 2016 with SOTUS and idolfactory did it again in 2023 with The Sign.

If you want so badly to prove that Thai BL is amazing: Show up with whatever money you have when they sell tix and merch. Otherwise, block trolls and have fun.

[weirfq1]

with all these gaston crackships/rarepairs that are coming out lately it would be so fucking funny if he had a flig with all the main characters (ambar, nina, simon... hell luna too if you want) and they all know it except matteo

[godblooded]

the truest tragedy of wicked is that elphaba picks fiyero for the lion cub thing and it makes zero fucking sense except heteronormativity so pervasive it exists in OZ???

[taeyungie]

hi ♡ i guess i'm back? 🥹

here's a little life update! i think you guys deserve it after my absence that lasted longer than even i expected it to last ;( i am very sorry about that. i miss everyone here and bangtan so much, you have no idea. the reason for all that is that for the past months i have been going through a lot of things and changes in my life. there were good and bad things happening, time flies extra fast, days melt into one and i didn't even notice the past half a year pass. although i think my absence was unavoidable in these circumstances i just thought that you guys deserve to know what's been up with me for the past months haha i have received a lot messages and reminders that people remember about me and that they miss me and i just want to send all of you my biggest apologies for leaving you for so long with no response, as well as all my love and gratitude! 🥺 i think i've been always fairly transparent on here so if anyone wanted to know more I'll leave some more details in the tags but basically I just hope that soon i will be able to become more active again and respond to messages ❤️❤️❤️ i hope everyone is doing great 🥰

[scientia-rex]

A lot of younger people have no idea what aging actually looks and feels like, and the reasons behind it. That ignorance is so dangerous. If you don’t want to “be old,” you aren’t talking about a number of years. I have patients in their late 80s who could still handily beat me in a race—one couple still runs marathons together, in their late 80s—and I lost someone who was in her early 60s to COPD last year. What you want is not youth, it is health.

If you want to still be able to enjoy doing things in your 60s and 70s and 80s and even 90s, what you want to do, right now, is quit smoking, get some activity on a regular basis (a couple of walks a week is WAY better for you than nothing; increasing from 1 hour a day of cardio to 1.5 will buy you very little), and eat some plants. That’s it. No magic to it. No secret weird tricks. Don’t poison yourself, move around so your body doesn’t forget how, and eat plants.

If you have trouble moving around now because of mobility limitations, bad news: you still need to move around, not because it’s immoral not to, but because that’s still the best advice we have. I highly recommend looking up the Sit and Be Fit series; it is freely available and has exercises that can be done in a chair, which are suitable for people with limited mobility or poor balance. POTS sufferers, I’m looking at you.

If you have trouble eating plants because of dietary issues (they cause gas, etc.) or just because they’re bitter (super taster with texture issues here!), bad news. You still want to find a way to get some plants into your body on a regular basis. I know. It sucks. The only way I can do it is restaurants—they can make salads taste like food. I can also tolerate some bagged salads. On bad weeks, the OCD with contamination focus gets so bad I just can’t. However, canned beans always seem “safe,” and they taste a bit like candy, so they’re a good fallback.

If you smoke and you have tried quitting a million times and you’re just not ready to, bad news. You still need to quit. Your body needs you to try and keep trying. Your brain needs it, too. Damaging small blood vessels racks up cumulative damage over time that your body can start trying to reverse as soon as you quit. I know it’s insanely, absurdly addictive. You still need to.

You cannot rules lawyer your way past your body’s basic needs. It needs food, sleep, activity, and the absence of poison. Those are both small things and big asks. You cannot sustain a routine based on punishment, so don’t punish your body. Find ways to include these things that are enjoyable and rewarding instead. Experiment. There is no reason not to experiment—you don’t have to know instantly what’s going to work for you and what won’t, you just need to be willing to try things and make changes when things aren’t working for you.

You will still age. Your body will stop making collagen and elastin. Tissues you can see and tissues you can’t see will both sag. Cushioning tissues under your skin will get thinner. You’ll bruise more easily. Skin will tear more easily. Accumulated sun damage will start to show more and more. Joints will begin to show arthritis. Tendons and ligaments will get weaker and get injured more easily, as will muscles. Bones will lose mass and get easier to break. You’ll get tired more easily.

But you know what makes the difference between being dead, or as good as, in your 60s vs your 90s? Activity, plants, and quitting smoking. And don’t do meth. Saw a 58-year-old guy this week who is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t quit whatever stimulant he’s on. I pretended to believe it was just the cigarettes, and maybe it is, but meth and cocaine will kill you quicker. Stop poisoning yourself.

Baby steps; take it one step at a time; you don’t need to have everything figured out right now. But you do need to be working on figuring things out.

[nonsensechemicals]

Sometimes facing the truth and reflecting on our actions is better for us in the long run than thinking it's everyone else who's wrong. Please know I'm telling you this out of care as a friend and I have no malicious intentions.

*scratches head* right so im gonna be very frank i don't know what post you're referring to but if you're someone from the "group of people i ditched" i specifically ditched TO work on myself + for another Very Specific reason that nobody knows about (also if you're the person i think you are that means you've been checking my blog on at LEAST more than one occasion. i think i've made it at least a little clear that i do not want to interact with you. also i'm sure you have better things to do, no offense?? like nothing against you i'm not trying to twist onto you for doing that, i'm just like. huh. why.) like . i'm assuming you got the impression that i thought everyone else was Being Bad from how i worded it. i don't think that. i just like being angry for no reason. i am VERY much aware that i'm in the wrong. if this wasn't about that post/was about the "why do i have to do everything right the first time" post that was entirely about like. art. and writing. if you're not someone i know personally and if this was about another post that i'm not sure of then like i am a bit puzzled at this but uh sure yeah thanks i'll??? note that down ???

[highdefhoetry]

in his hands.

cw: nsfw!! female reader, hand kink, cnc-ish, fingering, G-spot stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, verbal teasing, praise, use of term "babygirl", aftercare, some mild possessiveness, caleb is a meaniehead

word count: 1760

Caleb sits across the table from you, completely oblivious to your stolen glances as he twirls the pen between his fingers. He follows a strange pattern where he spins it once, twice, then lays the tip back onto the blank sheet of paper in front of him. His fingers tap, tap, tap on the edge, clicking the pen open and closed. The black beads on his bracelet clink against each other with every movement, the perfect accessory to the thick ring on his index finger. You find yourself unable to look away, despite knowing what would happen if you were noticed.

You’ve always liked his hands. To you they were perfect, lovely to look at and even better to hold. The length of his fingers. The large size of his palm. The chapped skin on his knuckles. The warmth you felt whenever thw two of you held hands. They were a comforting familiarity, one part of him that remained unchanged yet had grown with him as he matured.

You understood why he still called you pipsqueak. With palms pressed against one another, yours still looked tiny compared to his.

While you're busy daydreaming, he plays with his pen a few more times, seemingly lost in thought, before he suddenly looks up and meets your eyes. When he notices you staring back, a little smirk creeps up his face, one you know will be followed by playful teasing. You quickly turn your head away.

You’ve been caught. And when you glance back at him and see the cocky look in his eye, you know that he’s not going to let it go until he’s teased you to hell and back.

“What’s up, pipsqueak?” he teases. “See somethin’ you like?”

You shake your head and bury your face back into your work, trying to ignore his quiet chuckles. 

“Don’t get all shy now,” he cocks his head to one side to better see your face, seeking out the flustered expression you’re trying so desperately to hide. “Fess up. Why were you starin’ at me?”

You stay silent, mumbling some half-assed excuse about not being able to focus. He laughs at your poor attempt to change the subject. A sudden warmth covers your hand, followed by soft strokes from calloused fingertips. When you turn your face away to hide the heat rising in your cheeks, he takes your hand and holds it gently.

“Come on, now. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

He rubs his thumb across your knuckles, slipping it in the spaces between each finger. You eventually succumb to his gentle touch, intertwining your fingers in his. You toy with the ring on his index finger, poke at the black beads on his bracelet, trace the patches of flushed red on his knuckles that contrasts the paleness of his skin. You stroke each one with your thumb and index finger, feeling the dry, cracked skin beneath your hands.

A good deal of time passes before you finally snap out of it. When you meet Caleb’s gaze once again, you find him grinning victoriously, as if he’s just won some unspoken contest you never agreed to enter.

“You…!” is all you manage to stutter out.

“Me?” he smiles innocently. “What did I do?”

“...”

He lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a small peck in an attempt to softly coax you out of your shell. It makes you melt from the inside out, but still, you refuse to admit defeat. He watches you carefully for a few more seconds, giving you one last chance to come clean. When you don’t, he gets up from his seat across the table and circles around to your side. Before you can get a word of protest out, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the soft comforter, trapping you in place with both hands at either side of your body. You try struggling, but he simply pins you down by straddling your waist, making it so that all you can do is wriggle slightly beneath him. He leers down at you with a wild, uncouth grin, like a wild beast about to consume its prey. 

The sweet, honey-eyed Caleb is gone. You realize a little too late that you are totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

“I won’t let you run away, from this” he growls, with one hand on your thigh and the other gripping your arm, holding you firmly in place.

“Caleb…!”

“I saw you staring at my hands,” he gives your thigh a squeeze, smirking when he hears your muted squeal. “What do you want me to do with them? Hmm?”

You put up a half-assed fight, pretending to hate how he’s cornered you despite your growing wetness. He quickly picks up on this after slipping his hand under your panties. His fingertips brush against the entrance of your hole, circling it for a moment before sliding towards your swollen bud. He smiles when you let out a small moan.

“Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

His voice is gentle and low, but his touch is firm. He rubs your clit in a slow, deliberate motion, with just enough pressure to build you up but not enough to push you over. You arch your back and press your mound further into his palm, begging him without words. 

“Say it,” he leans forward, mumbling in your ear. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

You start to whine, unable to handle the way he’s teasing you. He’s being extra mean tonight, barely flicking your throbbing bud and ignoring the attempts you’re making to guide his fingers into your hole. You know he won’t comply until you give him what he wants. Which is the last thing you want to do.

“Mmm… Caleb…” you whimper cutely, hoping to appeal to his sense of mercy. He chuckles darkly, his once friendly eyes filled with sadistic glee.

“What are the magic words?”

“Nghhh… Caleb, please!”

“Please, what? I’m pleasing you right now, aren’t I?” 

He sticks one finger into your pussy, just for a moment. When he pulls it out, he slaps your mound hard just to throw you off. The tiny, surprised shriek you let out is met with a mean-spirited laugh. 

“Okay!!” You cry out, unable to hold back any longer. “Finger me, please!”

“Yeah? You want my hands inside you?”

“Yes! I want them inside me, please…”

A wicked grin stretches across his face as he savors his victory. Satisfied with your pathetic pleas, he finally yanks down your panties and gives you what you want.

First one finger pushes itself into your hole. He pumps it in and out, making sure to caress that sweet, sweet spot inside of your walls. You’re singing like a bird within seconds. Another finger is added, easing in gently so as not to hurt you. He finds his rhythm and uses your moans as his guide, focusing on your G-spot to build you up to the biggest orgasm possible. He presses his thumb against your clit, massaging it in tandem with his rapid fingering, and soon you’re squirting all over his hand. He pulls out momentarily to lick his fingers, savoring the taste of you on his skin. His amethyst eyes lock onto yours, feasting on the desperation permeating your gaze. Distracted, you cry out when he shoves his fingers back inside.

This time, he’s a bit more forceful. That first little orgasm was just a warm up. When he gets like this, one is never enough, and he won’t stop until he’s brought you to tears. With his swift fingers curled inside you, he pumps in and out at such a fast pace that you begin to see stars. That one little spot inside of you becomes his target, a button he presses over and over again until you reach climax once again. The second time is much more intense than the first; you can feel the soaking wet bed sheets underneath you, along with the slick fluid covering his fingers. 

Still not enough. He wants more.

He fingerfucks you again and again, forcing out countless orgasms that shoot through your body like hot lightning bolts. Your voice starts to feel hoarse from the screaming and shrieking, sounds that only seem to spur him on. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, having given up on keeping track long after the third or fourth. And Caleb shows no signs of stopping. 

He whispers his affection into your ear while he plays with your pussy, telling you how beautiful you look as he makes a mess of you and how lovely your voice sounds when you make those cute noises for him. He fills your head with sweet praise, his words worshipping your form and beauty, weakening you with every syllable.

“That’s it,” he coos while coaxing the last orgasm from you. “That look on your face… that’s mine. Only make that face for me.”

You mumble something in agreement, barely able to form coherent words as you cum one more time. Inexplicable pleasure ripples through your body, setting ablaze every last nerve ending from head to toe. You go limp, covered in sweat and completely worn out from his torment. Caleb pulls out his fingers, licks your fluids off his skin one last time before he switches gears. He grabs a towel from the dresser and gently pats your face dry, pushing some of your tangled hair away from your face. That crazed look in his eyes is now gone, and once again he admires you with utmost affection. He asks if you need water, if you want a warm blanket, if you wanted to be held or left alone. You say yes to the first two, and cling to him when he asks the third. 

After you finish drinking a full glass of water, he wraps you up in the warmest blanket on the bed and cuddles up next to you, playing with your hair in a soothing, gentle manner.

“Soooo,” the teasing tone returns to his voice. “When were you gonna tell me you had a thing for my hands?"

You pout at him, feigning annoyance, but he just laughs and hugs you tighter. 

“I’m definitely going to use this against you, by the way.”

You don’t have the energy to argue back. Exhausted, your heavy eyelids shutter closed, and soon you drift into a peaceful slumber, which Caleb’s arms still wrapped snugly around you.