#and i DID it . i was actually Successful in that

[salemlunaa]

ᥫ᭡∘˚That extra push for pure consciousness ᥫ᭡∘˚

The secret to being victorious like those with the success stories…

∘˚ᥫ᭡PART I | THE VICTORIOUS

Now that it’s 2025 a lot of you have had enough, although time is a concept you’re a little mad at the fact that you didn’t induce pure consciousness last year and you’re NOT taking no for an answer this time around.

Now when we look at this community. Amidst the complaining and some negativity, there are so many success stories, those who were victorious.

Those who went to bed with a body they hated and woke up with their desired look. Those who went to bed in a one bedroom apartment and woke up in a mansion. Those who went to bed hating their family and friends and woke up with their desired relationships with their desired people. Those who went to bed with nothing to their name and woke up with a fat ass bank account.

Those who with their backs against the wall and their outer man experiencing the most treacherous of circumstances made it out of the trenches with one induction of pure consciousness.

You wanna know how to get there. Spoiler alert: you ARE there

∘˚ᥫ᭡ PART II | THE LINK BETWEEN THEM ALL

Before you will ever follow the path of being successful, you must realise what they all had in common.

They realise they that all this complaining was doing nothing for them. They decided that in that moment they had their dream life, no matter what they saw, they were a master at inducing pure consciousness. No matter what the 3D showed their outer man, their inner man was victorious.

No more reaffirming failures, no more revelling in the fact that they fell asleep while trying a few times. No more doomscrolling. No more looking at others success stories wondering when it was gonna be them when it could be them NOW.

They realised it was time for them to adopt a new mindset: That the state of pure consciousness is just first nature to them. That they are gods no matter what. That as god, the 3D and time doesn’t exist to them, nope! not real anymore. That circumstances weren’t a thing anymore. That the void state is the easiest thing a person can induce. That pressuring themselves for a timecrunch is pointless because their inner man doesn’t experience time and they get everything they want instantly. That pure consciousness is just a state consciousness that is something as effortless as being in the state of awake and the state of asleep.

It doesn’t take long to flip your thoughts. So many people with success stories have said so many times that if they knew how easy it all was, they would’ve done it sooner. Challenges are nice but you don’t need to spend weeks on them, never did never will.

∘˚ᥫ᭡ PART III | THE APPLICATION

Another thing they did was fucking apply. You’re tired of hearing that? great! because bloggers are SO tired of repeating it.

Yes failure and procrastination can be comforting. This is a great community, but don't stay here longer than you need to. And yes memes about how you "woke up in your cr again 🙄" and how little time you actually spend trying to shift awareness can be funny and relatable. But those who have success stories under their belts had to choose between comfort, relatability + aesthetically pleasing scripts and actually living their dream life. And to be victorious you must make that choice too.

So go do it, stop this dumbass belief that you are exempt from the success of inducing pure consciousness. Yes, you are the operant power and your reality relies on you and you alone, HOWEVER, if so many can do it, it's evidence that you can too. No more looking at those success stories for motivation or looking at them in jealousy when that can be you now.

To be victorious you must think like them. Believe you are successful and you will be. No you’re not “faking it till you make it” YOU ARE SUCCESSFUL. you ARE one of them.

Believe and assume like a victor and you will be one, the 3D will always conform. That’s law.

🍦🩰 To be victorious like the others, you must believe it now.

[beloveds-embrace]

(part two of here comes the sun: poly 141 x medic reader where you might as well be the sun to them)

Soap wasn’t subtle about it.

The moment he was cleared to leave the med tent, he started pushing. Hard, even if he knew there wouldn’t be much, actual opposition.

“Price,” he said, leaning against the captain’s desk like he wasn’t still healing. “John. We need her.”

Price didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “You need to sit down before you tear that wound open again.”

“I’m serious,” Soap insisted, gesturing wildly. “You saw her. She’s sharp, steady. Quick hands. Disnae panic under pressure. And-”

“And she’s not ours,” Price cut him off, finally looking up. “She’s stationed with another unit.”

“She could be ours,” Soap shot back, undeterred. “We need a medic. She’s the best one I’ve seen.”

Price gave him a long, measured look, and Soap could tell the captain was already considering it even before Soap burst into his office.

“She’s bright.” Price said after a beat, tone flat but amused, and sat back in his chair.

Soap grinned. “Aye. Easy ta spot.” What you, yourself, had said to him when he’d woken up in that tent. He kept going through that day again and again.

Price exhaled through his nose and reached for his phone, and Soap left feeling quite satisfied.

You arrived two weeks later.

The announcement was casual- just another personnel transfer- but the 141 treated it like the sun itself had walked into their orbit.

You stepped into the briefing room with the ease of someone who had faced fire and walked out the other side. Your bright gear stood out starkly against the muted greens and browns of the others, like a flare shot across a starless sky, and it reminded them so much of the day they had met you on that battlefield.

Gaz was the first to speak, offering a low whistle as he leaned back in his chair, offering you an easy smile. “Looks like it’s true. They really did send us the sun.”

You smiled at that, shoulders straight but relaxed, clearly used to the nickname by now. “I’ll try not to blind you, Sargeant.”

Soap’s eyes never left you. His grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and before he could think better of it, the words slipped out- low and rough like an ember still burning.

“Doubtful.”

You blinked, turning to him, but he quickly looked away and scratched at the back of his neck like it hadn’t meant anything. It did, though, and he knew everyone in the room had caught it.

“Well,” Price finally said, breaking the moment. “Welcome to the task force, medic. Let’s hope you live up to your reputation.”

You raised an eyebrow, that sharpness returning to your gaze as you stood a little straighter. “I don’t plan on letting you down, sir.”

Soap’s heart stumbled. That steady confidence- it was the same tone you’d used when you’d saved his life, the same fire he’d seen in your eyes as you’d pulled him back from the edge.

Here comes the sun, he thought again, and this time it didn’t feel like an omen.

It felt like a promise.

And now, you fit into the 141 like you’d always been there.

It didn’t happen all at once- trust like theirs was hard-earned, built in layers of sweat, blood, and battlefield grit. But it started quickly enough.

Price made it clear from day one. He didn’t just treat you as part of the team; he expected it. No fanfare, no hesitation. “You’re one of us now,” he said after your first successful op, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

Gaz took to you next, easy and natural. He lingered near you during drills, cracking jokes and testing your reflexes like it was a game. “Just making sure the sun doesn’t burn out,” he’d tease with a grin. But the way he always had your back in the field- never too far, always watching- spoke louder than words.

Soap made it impossible to keep your guard up, of course. He pulled you into conversations before you even realized it, throwing compliments and nicknames around like confetti with an easy grin. “The sun’s shining bright today,” he’d say whenever you joined a room, all charm and laughter. It was easy to laugh with him, easier still to trust him when things got serious.

Ghost was different. Quiet. Watchful. You never caught him outright staring, but you felt his presence. He didn’t say much at first- just short nods and simple instructions during missions. But then there were the small things. The way he passed you ammo without being asked. The way he moved closer during tense moments, his silence as steadying as any words.

And when he finally spoke up, it was never casual. “Good work,” he told you after a long, brutal mission. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

You learned to move with them like clockwork. They learned to rely on you the same way. Missions came and went, and somewhere in between the chaos and quiet, you stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like home.

It wasn’t the colors of your gear that made you stand out anymore. It was the way you fit beside them- bright and steady, a fixed point in their orbit.

Soap caught himself watching you more often than he should’ve.

It wasn’t just the colors, though they still hit him first- those impossible reds and oranges that stood out like fire on a battlefield. They reminded him of sunrise after too many nights spent in the dark, of flames warding off the cold, and he didn’t think there’d come a day where the colors don’t surprise him. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way you moved.

Steady. Deliberate. Like hesitation wasn’t in your vocabulary. You worked with purpose, not a single wasted motion, and it drew his eye every damn time. You stood out in ways that had nothing to do with the bright gear- like light breaking through fog, cutting through smoke and haze to reveal solid ground.

And he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Price started calling you their beacon during briefings. At first, it had sounded like a joke, a casual nod to the nickname you’d earned, but it simply stuck.

“We follow the sun,” Price said once, tone half-serious, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “And if we lose track of her, we’re done for.”

Soap had laughed along with the others, but the words lingered.

Gaz, for his part, never made any effort to hide how much he liked having you around. He hovered close more often than not, easy-going and quick with compliments.

“It’s just the colors,” he’d insist whenever someone called him out for it. “You’re hard to miss.”

But Soap caught the way Gaz’s tone softened when he said it, like maybe it wasn’t just the colors after all.

Ghost… Ghost was different.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t tease- not like the others. But Soap had spent enough time with him to notice the shift. The slight tilt of his head whenever you spoke. The way his shoulders relaxed when you were in the room. The rare moments he let you touch him, patching up a wound or tightening a bandage, as if he trusted you without question.

Soap had nearly choked when he’d caught Ghost staring once, lingering too long while you tied off a suture on his arm. For all his jokes about Ghost being unflappable, even Soap couldn’t ignore the look he’d seen- the way Ghost had leaned just slightly into your touch, like he’d never wanted to leave it.

And Soap?

Soap was a mess.

Because no matter how much the others admired you- how much they trusted you, relied on you- he’d seen you first.

He’d been the one bleeding out in the dirt, thinking his time was up. He’d been the one who saw you cut through the smoke and fire like something out of a dream. And that fact burned in his chest like an ember that refused to go out.

Sometimes, he thought about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. If you hadn’t run straight into hell to get to him. But those thoughts never lasted long- because all he had to do was look at you to remind himself that you had been there.

You’d saved him. And now, every time he saw you, with those bright colors and steady hands, it hit him all over again.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

And this time, he didn’t want to look away.

It was late one evening when it happened again.

The mission had gone south- not as badly as last time, but bad enough. They’d made it out, but Gaz had taken a hit, and comms had failed halfway through.

By the time they stumbled back to the evac point, Soap was covered in dirt and sweat, exhaustion weighing heavy in his limbs. But then-

You.

You came running, gear catching the fading light, colors flaring like fire in the dusk.

Soap’s breath hitched.

Here comes the sun.

He couldn’t stop thinking it. It looped through his head like a mantra as you fell to your knees beside Gaz, hands already moving, voice low and steady as you worked. The others lingered nearby, hovering but trying not to get in your way.

Soap stood frozen, watching.

Watching you save another life, same as you’d saved his.

It was Ghost who spoke first, breaking the silence. “Told you,” he murmured. “Sun’s hard to miss.”

Gaz let out a weak chuckle, though his voice was tight with pain. “Yeah… can’t look away, can you?”

Price didn’t say anything, but his expression was clear enough. Relief. Trust.

And Soap- Soap felt it more than ever.

The sun. Warmth in the cold. Fire in the dark.

He knew now, without a doubt, that they’d follow you anywhere.

(You’d never lead them wrong.)

[sunny-knight]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | ten.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 5.1k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, mature language/sexually implied content, the dots are being connected!! soooo many run-ins and slip-ups 😭, alcohol consumption and intoxication, someone gets a lil too aggressive with oc, confrontation, some pushing / getting in each other’s faces lol, someone actually catches san x oc—OOP, namjoon is stressed, jongho too actually lmao, lots of assumptions, sorry if i missed anything!!

"So, how was it?" Jiung asks, walking alongside of you as the two of you slowly walk over to the Gates Biology Building, where Yunho's class was being held. You sip on your cup of coffee, dragging your feet while you look ahead to the building in view.

"What, the conference?" Jiung nods. "It was okay! Nothing too fancy."

"You didn't see any other people there?"

"Not really, no. I think this was a relatively smaller conference compared to the others."

"Did you get to talk to Professor Choi much?" He looks down at his feet, wondering if you'd open up about anything that could potentially give him clues. But, you resort to a simple—

"Nope." Jiung is looking at your necklace now. "Just said hi in passing." You avoid eye contact.

"I see." He tries to read your body language but it isn't giving him anything. He's just not sure why you're keeping it so vague and brief, though. That's unusual. Plus, the fact that you can barely maintain eye contact with him. "That's a nice necklace, by the way. Is it new?" He points at it.

"Mhm. I got it down there." You touch the necklace with a small smile.

"It's cute. It suits you."

"That's what the lady told us—" You catch yourself. "Me, too. I mean." Jiung furrows his brows.

"Us?"

"The other shoppers around." You quickly throw out just as you get to the front of the Gates Biology Building. "Thanks for walking me." You playfully ruffle his hair and he chuckles.

"Mmyeah. See you later for the happy hour event?" You nod.

"Have a good rest of your day." You wave him off as you walk backwards and head into the lobby. He stands there for a second, waiting until you fully disappear into the elevator and off to the classroom, turning on his heel while replaying the conversation in his head.

You don't feel the same to him, and he knows it's because you're hiding something. You weren't always great at lying or keeping up with a façade because that just wasn't you. For you to be doing it means there's something tied to it that means a lot to you, something you're trying to protect, and Jiung is now convinced that something is Professor Choi.

It's only a matter of time until he finds out one way or another, and he's not sure how to feel about it. It could either go badly or end up worse; he's afraid you'll end up hurt at the end of it, and he's afraid everything you've worked for will be taken away from you so, so quickly.

Meanwhile, when you drag yourself into the classroom, you're startled by the sight of Yunho on his laptop, sitting at the table in front of the classroom.

"Oh, hey!" He says, typing away. "Hope you don't mind me joining in for journal club today." You shrug with a small chuckle, setting your things off to the side while Yunho comfortably sits back in the chair. Your eyes quickly skim his get-up for today, which is pretty casual: dark jeans, a long sleeve top and chucks. He doesn't say much while you're getting things ready on the projector, typing away on his phone in between scanning your figure. He's trying to see if anything looks or feels off with you, and so far, it doesn't.

San is careful as can be, he supposes.

"It is your class, Professor Jeong." He smiles a bit and nods.

"So, how was your weekend?" You yawn into your arm and shrug. 

"It was okay. I came back from a trip. Felt too short."

"Mm." Yunho hums. "Where'd you go, if you don't mind me asking?" He's eyeing your features as you sift through your notes.

"Just drove out a few hours with my mom." You avoid eye contact as you go through today's paper and prepare some discussion points for class.

"Oh." Yunho nods. "That sounds nice." His eyes land on your necklace and it looks too familiar— which is probably because he almost bought that same necklace for Iseul on Hiro this past weekend.

Maybe San isn't all that careful cause he swears he sees the faint hickey at the base of your neck from this angle. The longsleeve top you're wearing covers it for the most part, if you're paying attention.

"What about you?" You look at him and see that his eyes have landed on your necklace before they move up to meet your eyes.

"I was actually at Hiro for a couple of things, then went to the BAS conference for a bit." Your heart drops and suddenly, the room feels incredibly hot. You completely avoid eye contact with him now, sifting through your notes to finalize the discussion points for today. "I thought I saw you there with San."

"No?" Is all you manage to say, but it's enough for Yunho to catch onto everything.

"You weren't?" You look at him, and his expression is blank. All you can do is pretend to play it off and shake your head, hoping he'd let it go.

"Not me." Your response is barely above a whisper, and all Yunho can do is let out a breath. He knows.

"Y/N." His expression switches and you can see the concern on his face. "Can I ask—"

"Morning Professor Jeong and Y/N!" A student comes in and plops into his usual seat, followed by another student, and another. 

Thank god.

"Sorry, you were saying?" You look at him cluelessly, making him shake his head in response.

"Nothing. I'll let you take it from here." He gives you a small smile, eyes now glued onto the students ahead. You give them a few minutes, waiting for the stragglers to trickle in and get settled before you call their attention to the front and begin today's journal club paper discussion.

Yunho, for the most part, keeps to himself during class, chiming in when he wants to clarify a point or to encourage the class to bring more discussion to the table. Yunho thinks you're a great TA, and he sees that the students are comfortable with you. He hates that he's so conflicted because of many things: one, he's not sure entirely about the situation. Two, his gut feeling makes him feel sure but he doesn't know how to approach it. Three, he knows you're an incredibly bright and smart person— you'd get along with anyone and truly, he hasn't had any issues with you despite his last minute requests for classes or assignments.

Four, maybe he just needs to let this go and stop meddling.

Five, you would've known what you were getting into right?

But, he's reminded otherwise when class wraps up an hour and 15 minutes later— a brutal reminder otherwise. He sees you packing up and getting your things together, clinging onto your phone just as you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. As you turn on your heel, you almost collide straight into Iseul.

You look at her, and she looks at you.

Her eyes glaze over your features, landing on your neck, that necklace.

"Excuse—" You try to brush past her, but she gives you a small smile and steps in your way.

"Hi Y/N, how's class with Yunho been?" You look at her because you have never spoken a word to her, nor did you have a reason to. But, out of respect [especially on campus], you give her a faint smile before responding.

"Good." You simply respond as she nods.

"And how's your rotation with San? Sure he's been treating you well?" She tilts her head to the side, almost like she's mocking you. Almost like the answer is written all over your face, your neck; her eyes are there again and you can't help but tug up and adjust your top more.

"Very." 

"That's good to hear, I expected as much. He's pretty good about building relationships with his lab members." She gives you a small smirk before stepping aside, slowly making her way to Yunho behind you. He stands there, hand slipped into his pocket while he cocks his brow at her. You don't even take another moment to look at them, instead quickly walking out of the room to text San and make your way over to your next class of the day.

you: san.

san: uh oh. lol what did i do? 😅

you: no it's not that. ☹️

san: what is it, baby? do you wanna come into my office in a bit? i'm wrapping up at the faculty meeting.

you: no, it's okay. i just finished class with yunho and i think he knows. well, him and iseul.

san: what, why do you say that?

san: not like i care about what they have to say or whatever.

you: san, you should. 🫤

san: alright, i'm sorry. you're right. but what did they say, baby? do you wanna wait until i see you later?

you: yunho just said he thought he saw us at the BAS conference, but i know he did. his tone and look said so. he was just trying to get it out of me. and iseul.. i don't know. it was just weird.

san: we'll talk about this later tonight then, okay? it'll be okay. don't worry about them.

you: okay. 🥺 are you going to the happy hour thing?

san: wasn't planning on it but i know namjoon's text is gonna come sooner or later. going with your friends?

you: mhm. i'll see you later tonight if you don't go?

san: soooo long. wanna pop into my office in a bit? 

you: sannie. lol i'm headed to my next class then i'm going to meet up with jiung and them afterwards.

san: for 2 seconds. 😭

You playfully roll your eyes and smile as you text back, already walking over to class.

you: you're still wrapping up at the faculty meeting and i'm headed to class. i don't think we'll have 2 seconds, professor choi.

san: booooooo.

you: see you later. 😙

san: ☹️ mean.

You giggle to yourself, tucking your phone into your pocket as you head to class; forgetting the tense, awkward moments that just occurred between Yunho and Iseul.

"Why'd you have to do that, hm?" Yunho asks her, grabbing his bag from the floor before walking alongside of her.

"Was just trying to see how she'd react. I'm sure she didn't tell you anything about her trip?"

"No. Said she went away with her mom for the weekend, so." Iseul chuckles.

"Of course. Someone I know said they definitely saw San leaving with her at the conference. Kinda makes sense now, doesn't it?" She looks up at him. "Y/N folded when I mentioned him, her body language completely changed."

"Iseul." Yunho looks at her. "What are you trying to do here? All I was gonna do was ask her, not interrogate or attack her."

"I'm trying to get you to do the right thing. They're dating, Yunho. It's obvious. I saw the way she tugged on her top, too. I'm sorry but she's not slick." He sighs.

"I don't know, I don't wanna start this whole thing. What if it isn't even that serious, or what if we're completely wrong—"

"Everything about this is serious regardless of what angle you look at it. It's wrong." She says. "You don't have to talk to San, but I will. They need to know." He sighs heavily, no longer knowing how to respond to her about the whole issue.

You meet up with your friends outside in the middle of the Harvey Center courtyard, where all the activities are set up appropriately for the happy hour event taking place. They've got cornhole competitions set up on the lawn nearby, another station to decorate university tumblers, and another for quick but fun board games. They've got a bunch of pizza boxes sitting out on tables, beer and canned wine next to it. You and your friends help yourself to a few slices before grabbing your drinks of choice for the night. They've got string lights to add to the atmosphere, the evening being clear but chilly.

"Finally! We relax all together again!" Felix says, tapping his can against yours before you all drink and start to indulge in tonight's happy hour festivities. 

"Our baby's finally here, too!" Eunchae squeezes you, hugging you tightly and making you laugh as she clings onto your arm.

"I know, Y/N. You've been so MIA." Felix looks at you with his usual puppy eyes, bottom lip slightly poking out. "What's been going on?"

"I've been busy with the lab, honestly. Trying to put in as much work as I can before the rotation ends."

"It's like you're practically living there." Felix jokes.

"How come you haven't been working with Sunwoo, though? He said you've been on your own schedule and stuff." Jiung asks.

"We're just focusing on different aspects right now. Plus, I've been trying to help Belle out as much as I can, too."

"Okay but, make time for us, too. Live your life!" Eunchae preaches. "You're here with us now, so let's enjoy it." So, you do. You do exactly that with your friends and a bunch of other people who swung by from different departments. Today's happy hour event is the liveliest you've ever seen it— tons of friends and people swarming from different departments and areas just to take a break from everything and mingle.

You and your friends hang out with familiar and new faces, all of you sitting around and drinking while one half played games and the others talked about school, work. Life. San and his friends join eventually, talking to a few students as they hang around amongst themselves. You giggle to yourself seeing San put on a face cause it's obvious he's not entirely in the mood. But, he's here. So, are his friends; Professor Kim being the social butterfly out of them all, per usual.

"So, Y/N. Tell me about the stuff you've been doing in Professor Choi's lab. I heard you've been up to some crazy stuff from Sunwoo and Belle." Hae-jin, a postdoc in another lab, pulls his chair closer to yours and looks you in the eye. At first, the conversation is fun, it's lively. You're in good spirits conversing with the guy, laughing and poking fun at campus life and being a grad student vs. postdoc.

But, Hae-jin keeps drinking.

And he keeps drinking.

Then his true intentions start coming out and you're no longer having a good time talking to the guy.

A few people are drunk enough to start a fun little dance floor in the middle of the courtyard while the speakers blast music, Eunchae, Felix and Jiung also grabbing you to join them as you sing along to the song. You facetime call Jurin while she's away, letting her know much you miss her. The call ends after 5 minutes, Jurin sadly waving while she heads off to dinner with her parents for their anniversary celebration.

"I'm gonna grab some water." You tuck your phone in your pocket, heading straight to the water table nearby.

"I was looking for you, cute stuff!" Hae-jin throws his arm around you and you can smell the alcohol lingering on his breath. "Wanna dance?"

"No, I'm good, Hae-jin." You shrug him off and take another sip of water before tossing your cup. San is already on high alert from where he's standing— his attention nowhere on Namjoon, Jongho or Zara right now even though he's trying his hardest to keep it together.

The fuck was this guy doing?

"What, why? It's just for fun? Let's just go and hang out." He throws his arm around you again, this time bringing you flush to his body. You try to press off his chest, but he's strong and it isn't an easy fight.

"Hae-jin, stop—"

"What's wrong?" Luckily, Eunchae is already on her way over to save you, sensing your distress signal from afar.

"Hey, stop." Eunchae senses the way you stiffen and quickly become uncomfortable. "Leave her alone." Eunchae pushes Hae-jin back roughly. "You're drunk, dude. She said no."

"Aw come on, bestie trying to get in the way? I just thought we could have a dance. We were connecting, Y/N. Were we not?"

"Hae-jin, stop—No." His hand comes to your waist again. But, before Eunchae can even jump in, another familiar voice does:

"She said no." San steps in the middle, hand lightly pressed against his chest to create some distance. "Sure you understand what that means, right?" San's tone is laced with anger, but he's wearing a cocky smirk to cover it up. He's fuming and you know it.

"Professor Choi." You quietly say behind him with Eunchae still next to you, but he doesn't respond to it.

"San." Christopher is trying to hold him back by the shoulder, doing his best to reel him back in. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you. You do understand what no means, right?" San asks again, his voice louder as he shrugs off Chris.

"Wow, relax. I didn't think I was coming off that disrespectful. She seemed interested so I was only playing her game—" San steps forward and your heart drops to your ass because what the fuck does he think he's doing right now?

"Kinda looked like you were forcing yourself on her, though." San cocks his head to the side. "Dunno if that really counts as her being interested." 

"San. Bring it back." Chris repeats. "The hell do you think you're doing right now?" He mutters lowly.

"San." You help by calling for him again, causing Hae-jin to knit his brows in confusion [along with Eunchae and Chris]. His eyes dart from you, to San, back to you, before responding.

"And how does it make any better that you're getting all worked up over her, Professor? Care to fill us in—"Hae-jin smirks a bit, causing San to push him back by the chest aggressively. But, before Hae-jin can even react properly, he's interrupted.

"San!" It's not just your voice calling out for him; it's Jongho's, it's Namjoon's, it's Christopher's. Namjoon is quick to step in between, creating distance between Hae-jin and San, giving San a very, very stern look once he dismisses Hae-jin to the side. You faintly hear Namjoon tell him to leave if he still plans to stir trouble, in which his friend tugs him to the side and apologizes on his behalf before they leave the event all together. You watch as Namjoon, Chris and Jongho move San to the opposite end, San's eyes wandering to you as if Namjoon isn't in front of him trying to get to the bottom of things.

"The hell just happened? Are you guys okay?" Felix asks as him and Jiung come over after playing a competitive game of cornhole with another duo of grad students.

"Bro, Hae-jin was getting all handsy and wouldn't take no for answer." Eunchae rolls her eyes, keeping you by her side and brushing your hair back. "Fucking creep. I wish Professor Choi actually decked his ass."

"I saw him getting in the middle." Felix adds. 

"What's that about?" Jiung looks at you, but you don't really respond. You know he's not asking about Hae-jin. You know he's asking about San in particular.

"He deserved it, that's what. Being a whole dumbass with no boundaries. Learn how to control yourself, asshole!" She yells, hoping Hae-jin hears it even though him and his friends are all further away.

"I'm gonna head to the bathroom."

"Want me to come?" Eunchae asks and you shake your head.

"I'm good. Promise. Just needa break the seal again and take a little breather." Eunchae smiles a bit before squeezing and letting go of your hand. 

On the other hand, Namjoon and Jongho finally find a better spot to speak with San at. Chris is honestly confused about the whole situation, being that he's never seen San outwardly act out that way even throughout his bad days. Jongho, on the other hand, knows exactly why and he knew it from the moment Hae-jin started drinking more and getting close to you.

Maybe he should've helped calm him down. He knew San's attention was on you and no one else.

"San." Namjoon calls him again to bring his attention back to him. "I know damn well— what the hell are you doing putting your hands on a postdoc like that at a campus event?"

"He was getting disrespectful, I know you saw that."

"I did, but you could've handled it with a lot more grace, San. This isn't the time nor place to get worked up like that. You don't get into fights on campus as a professor."

"I'm sorry."

"Was that really all that triggered it? Is there something else going on?" San looks at the floor and shakes his head, jaw ticking as he tries to calm himself down.

"No sir. I shouldn't have reacted that way." Namjoon doesn't believe it one bit, but he won't add more fuel to the fire right now.

"I don't think he'll go crying to the dean so consider yourself lucky. Please don't pull that shit again around these students. Promise me. You've got enough to deal with as is." San sighs heavily and nods.

"You're right, I'm sorry, Joon." Namjoon just gives him a small nod before letting out a breath and walking off to the side.

"Are you okay? I've never seen you that angry." Chris asks, confused about why San reacted the way he did.

"Yeah." 

"Excuse us." Jongho says as he lightly pushes him by the shoulder, a little irritated at how incredibly stupid he's being. "Bro." He adds when he gets him alone. "What did I tell you?"

"He was putting his hands on her! I wasn't gonna let him disrespect her."

"Because she's your girlfriend?" Pause. 

"That's besides the point, Jongho. He wasn't taking no for an answer and was forcing himself onto her."

"You could've just asked him to leave. He would have listened if you had just approached it properly." San doesn't listen, though. Instead, he clicks his teeth and whips out his phone to text you because he doesn't see you anywhere. "San. Don't." Jongho warns him, trying to keep the peace and the suspicion down. "Can't you just talk to her later? Shit will not help your case if someone sees you two. Think about this."

san: baby, where are you? 

you: i'm going to the bathroom.

san: can you meet me behind the building, near the first, back west wing door?

you: is that a good idea?

san: really quickly. please.

you: i'll be there in a sec.

"Be right back." He looks at Jongho before walking into the building and out to the back door near the bathrooms. 

"San." Jongho calls for him again before clicking his teeth. This dude was gonna stress him the fuck out, no doubt.

"Jongho?" Namjoon looks at him and all he can do is shrug. 

"I really don't know what to tell you." Jongho and Namjoon's eyes travel around to see if everyone is still looking at the scene. "Whatever it is, it isn't my story to tell, Joon."

"Is everything okay?" Zara cuts in, concerned about San. She also witnessed the entire thing go down and unfortunately, it's just another reminder, another confirmation, of your relationship with him. It still aches her heart, even though a tiny part of her is selfishly holding onto hope that they'd work out in the end.

Not you two.

"Yeah, should be." Namjoon gives her a small smile. "Don't worry about it. He's just having an off night." Iseul and Yunho are quietly observing from the opposite end of the courtyard, still mid-discussion with other colleagues. They do try to bring their attention back to the discussion and away from San thankfully; however, Yunho knows Iseul definitely won't let it go at this point.

After you head to the bathroom, you wash your hands and fix your hair a bit, hands slightly shaking from the entire encounter. You take a few deep breaths before heading out towards the back door of the west wing, which is only a few steps away from the bathroom area on the first floor. As soon as you step outside, San is there with his hands in his pockets. He immediately pulls you in for a hug, one that you don't reciprocate, especially because you're on campus. You gently push him back and shake your head, bottom lip slightly poking out in a pout.

"Baby—"

"Not here." You softly say. There's a small pause before you let out a sigh and address the elephant in the room. "San, you didn't have to do that."

"Well, the hell was I supposed to do? Let him touch you without your consent? He was making you uncomfortable, Y/N. Over my dead fuckin' body—"

"Can't you think for a second? You're on campus!"

"I don't get why you're upset with me for just trying to protect you."

"There were better ways to do it."

"Angel." He says in defeat. "I'm sorry. I'm not gonna sit back and let someone disrespect you like that. Namjoon will be fine—"

"It's not even that, it's everyone else—"

"So be it! For all I fucking care." 

"San, stop saying that." 

"No, why? Are you really upset with me?" He cuts in and asks, almost caging you in while he looks at you softly. It's taking everything in you to not just kiss him right here, right now. Wrap your arms around him, tell him to forget every little fucking thing because all that matters is you and him; on that us against the world type shit—

"Y/N?" You turn when you hear the door pop open and another figure is in your peripherals. Jiung is there, confused about the two of you being together. 

In the back.

San's face, body, in close proximity to yours.

Both of your expressions are telling.

"What're you doing? I thought you were going to the bathroom?" San steps back, attention shifting towards his feet. 

"I'll talk to you later." Is all he says before brushing past you and Jiung, back to Jongho in the main courtyard.

"Jiung." You come towards him. "You didn't have to come looking for me." You brush past him to head back to the courtyard, and Jiung can't help but keep his eyes on San for a second longer before he's coming after you and grabbing your wrist.

Fuck, San thinks. This whole night is so fucked up. He doesn't even know if you're mad at him or not.

He doesn't know what this means.

"Y/N, don't you think we should talk?"

"About what?"

"Stop." He swings you around to face him. "That's enough. What the hell is going on with you and Professor Choi?"

"Jiung—"

"I know you haven't been telling the truth, so please stop. Be honest with me, that's all I ask." You sigh shakily, bottom lip trembling as you fiddle with your fingers. Jiung knew, and tonight probably solidified everything he had questioned, felt, assumed. There was no getting away from it, not from Jiung. 

"We've been seeing each other." His eyes widen in surprise.

"So, Sunwoo wasn't lying when he said he didn't see you during the NAS conference." You feel the tears pricking at your lids as you shake your head. "You were with him." He lets out a breath. "Who else knows?"

"No one else. Please don't mention it to them cause I'm not ready to do that talk with them yet." He doesn't even answer, but the next question throws you so off-guard you don't even know how to properly react.

"D-did Professor Choi force you into this? Is he making you do stuff in order to secure your spot in his lab? Y/N, if he's—" You step back and look at him disbelief.

"W-what? That's the first thing you thought of?" Now, it's his turn to look at you in disbelief because how is he supposed to know? He sees the surface level of it and obviously, everything about it is wrong.

"He's a professor, Y/N. Not just any, but yours. Your rotation PI."

"I know it seems wrong, but that's not what it is at all."

"Seems wrong? It is." He flatly says. "This could literally fuck up everything for the both of you. Did you not think about that?"

"I'm not stupid, Jiung. I knew what I was getting into." You back up. "And why would you think of him that way? He'd never do that."

"How am I supposed to know? I know him as a professor—"

"Well, he would never do that."

"I'm sorry? I'm just worried and am making sure you're okay as your friend."

"I told you it was fine. It's not like that and we both agreed on this."

"Okay?" Jiung retorts, hurt by the defensive tone you have.

"I'm just gonna say bye to everyone and head back."

"I can walk—"

"It's fine."

"Why are you hella angry with me?" Jiung stops you again. "You can't actually be angry at me for caring about you."

"I don't need you to do that, Jiung. And I don't need you to start assuming all this shit about me and Professor Choi. You don't know him, and you obviously don't know me if you think I'm someone who could be forced around like that."

"That was not even my point, I was just—"

"Whatever." You say, brushing him off as you walk towards your friends and start gathering your things.

"You're leaving!?" Eunchae pouts. "Fucking Hae-jin and his kill-joy ass!"

"I'm just tired, is all. You stay and have fun, okay?"

"You sure? I can walk you—"

"Please. I promise. Have fun." You reassure her before saying your goodbyes to the rest of the group and walking off. 

"Is she okay? Did something happen between her and Professor Choi?" Felix cocks up a brow. "Is there something going on?"

"Nah." Jiung says, plopping down onto a chair. It's easy to see he's defeated, and it's easy to pick up on the mood change. Eunchae and Felix quietly sit around, sipping on the last bits of their drinks before setting the cans aside and scrolling through social media to talk about random things—

Just to let the weirdness pass.

On the other hand, San can see you from where he's standing and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't wanna see you walk alone, he doesn't wanna be this way with you, he doesn't want Jiung to get upset or make things worse for you.

He doesn't know what to do.

"Maybe we should head out." Jongho chimes in, watching San text away.

"In a sec."

san: y/n, don't walk alone. where are your friends?

you: staying behind.

san: you want me to pick you up?

you: no. i think i should stay home.

san: baby, we need to talk about this.

you: and it won't be tonight. i think we both just need to step back and take a breather, okay? too many things happened and i just need to be in my own space.

san: did you and jiung fight?

you: i'll talk to you later.

san: baby, come on.

Because it's true— this was getting sloppier and even though you could care less, you needed to think. Do better. Be better about this with San.

Though, you're scared and you know it's about to unravel quick. Tonight definitely didn't help that case whatsoever.

You just needed a moment away from everyone.

—read 10.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme

[multiheadcanons]

MEMES AND TRAITS THE MERCS STOLE FROM SCOUT AND POORLY USE TO PISS HIM OFF

soldier: soldier started calling everything a “glizzy” after he heard scout say it exactly once. he was eating a hot dog and said “damn this glizzy is perfectly dressed.” he did not get it, he did not care enough to ask what that meant. he just started calling everything a glizzy. rockets? glizzy. ammo? glizzy. the medigun, fully charged and primed for an ubercharge? “HIT ME WITH THAT GLIZZY, DOC!” this was the beginning of the end with scout, once he got past the white knuckled shock of hearing that man say glizzy way too many times to the wrong things.

pyro: pyro eats up a whip and nae nae, no lie. they saw scout do it after a successful push of the payload, and everyone looked at scout weird, but pyro registered that smile, and those movements and committed it to heart. on the next battle, pyro physically dragged scout to a location near the edge of the map, and made a motion to stay still and watch. it freaked scout out until pyro air blasted one, two, three, four of the opposing team off the map; and after the fourth’s screams were cut short from hitting the bottom; they turned slowly to scout, and hit a whip. it’s the only time scout actually laughed. “yeah, get that shit pyro!”

demo: everything scout knows demo knew well before him, it just never came through right with his accent. but when scout started dapping people up demo was ALL IN for that. always brings scout in way too hard and knocks the wind out of him and stings his hands. “you’re not doing it right, lad! like this!” scout never wants to complain because it feels cool to get dapped up by someone he also thinks is cool, though he doesn’t want to admit that. scout does not want demo dapping up anyone else though because they’re not cool enough, except heavy he’s got no opinion on that because it’s funny to watch demo get the wind knocked out of him.

engineer: engineer hits that “gyat DAMN” often because of his accent. scout is convinced he’s using it wrong, that pisses engie off because it’s literally his accent and scout can get the fuck over himself he’s not from the first generation that made up language. sometimes to piss him off he’ll say skibidi toilet with no actual context to go around it. and scout hates that bc he hates skibidi toilet. also an enjoyer of the dap even when heavy and demo practically lift him off his feet with it.

heavy: heavy will dap people up. he loves it. makes him feel like he’s getting closer with his team. will always end a dap by pulling them in for a brief, yet crushing hug. everyone eats it up, laughing after they catch the breath he forcibly removed from their lungs and patting his arm or back, whatever the recipient can reach. also loves to say rizz, it makes his teeth vibrate in a good way. “doctor, you are a rizz master!” “demoman, keep rizzing your weapons!” “i LOVE my weapons rizz!” he doesn’t know if he’s using it right, scout just wholeheartedly assures him he’s using it right.

medic: medic heard scout say something fucks once. now, for him, EVERYTHING fucks. he himself DEFINITELY fucks. he assumed it’s a good thing. there was one time in the throes of battle, he managed to catch scout to heal him, and used the speed boost he got from it to catch up and yell over the din “you’re FUCKING today, scout!” and scout jumped his ass about how he’s not even using it right and he never wanted to hear that again. unfortunately, the doctor is a hellish bastard who loves pissing people off, so now everything does indeed fuck. he definitely fucks. “oh, my medigun? ja, that fucks. and i fuck too.” “doc, nobody wants to hear what you’re fucking, dude”. pissed scout off more when he and soldier were ubered, running into battle, and soldier said very confidently “your glizzy tops ALL OTHER GLIZZIES” and medic responded, making direct eye contact with scout in the heat of battle; “ja, my glizzy fucks.”

sniper: snipes dabbed twice in the privacy of his own nest to see how it felt and couldn’t get over his own shame that he did that. he did it twice because he alternated arms to see if it felt less stupid to do it the other way. it didn’t. he will never bring himself to do that again. that was embarrassing. has a dreadful feeling the other teams sniper saw him do it. sometimes after a really good kill streak he’ll do a small dab as a treat. he does unironically use “deadass”

spy: anything that will piss scout off spy is happy to do. spy has used words he knows does not exist to confuse scout as to the current slang going around. he’ll have scout on the internet desperately searching words that not only don’t exist, but he can’t even spell, just to make sure spy isn’t a step ahead of him. but spy is always two steps ahead of him. spy will say shit just to feel the bostonians eyes burn holes in the back of his skull, only to turn to him and say “what, you’ve never heard that before? look it up!” then hides in his room to watch him desperately search a word he can’t even spell. unironically uses “deadass” because he heard snipes say it once and it wriggled its way into his mind like a worm. he says it after like… everything.

[makeitagoodoneeh]

I need Europeans to understand that we don't have any TIME.

"Why do Americans drive so much? Why do they rely on microwaves? Why don't they hang their clothes out to dry? Why don't they get regular preventive healthcare? Why don't they travel? Why don't they spend time outside? Why do they buy so much convenience food? Why don't they walk? Why don't they vote? Why don't they protest? Why don't they burn the system to the ground?"

Some of your countries experienced an explosion of automation and productivity in the 20th century and at least SOMEBODY in power said "okay, let's try to make sure most people aren't miserable," and it stuck long enough, that enough people got not-miserable enough, to hang onto and slowly expand the rights and resources that keep them from living in misery.

In the US, the people in power went "okay, let's use all this automation to WRING EVERY LAST DROP OF PRODUCTIVITY out of the populace". Every time some group has won any significant struggle for more rights and social protections, there has been massive backlash orchestrated by powerful people using primarily racism but also other bigotry to sow fear and hatred and break our solidarity.

So everything about our social systems, our public spaces, our working lives, our cultural expectations, and even the private infrastructure of our homes (successful people have a dryer and multiple cars) is set up to maximize the profit of corporations with almost zero regard for our own long-term wellbeing.

The politicians and the corporations did this to us on purpose. They sold us washers and dryers on the promise that we wouldn't have to spend so much time doing laundry, and then they sold us MORE CLOTHES which means we have to spend a lot of time on laundry anyway. Oh wait, the dryers are actually not that good for the clothes, so they fall apart faster, and oh look! That means we have to buy more clothes! And that means we need bigger washers with fancier settings and now THOSE break faster but you can't repair that part, sorry, it's cheaper to just buy a new machine.

I don't even have a job outside homemaking and I don't even have kids, and still the thought of having to hang everything on a clothesline and then take it down again, instead of just tossing it in the dryer and pulling it out again, is fucking exhausting. I don't have time for that. Also I am not a small human, and I wear a lot of heavy clothes because it's fucking cold here -- I would need a lot of space in my house to do this, because it's definitely not happening outside most of the year in this climate.

Sure, it costs a little money for the electricity (and/or natural gas) to run the dryer, and it costs money to buy the appliance in the first place. But it costs a lot of time and space to use a clothesline, and our country is set up to make it much harder to spend time and energy doing things for myself than to spend money on something that will grow somebody else's profits.

Sometimes the cheapest way to pay is with money.

Ok, so something I've noticed that is utterly baffling to me is that all the Americans I know primarily dry their clothes using a machine called a dryer. I don't even own a dryer. So, I need to know:

[f-imaginings]

I took a break from writing billford to colour in my billford comic that was just sitting in my drafts lmao. The grind never stops.

This is based on the gender swapped college au that has been rotating in my head for years. Here's the last comic I did for it, so folks can see the vibe I was going for.

Basically if we did a gender swap to achieve peak toxic yuri, I can't see older woman Stanford falling for Bill's tricks but if she were younger and more insecure, say at college, it could be an excellent setting for manipulation, since Ford might still crave social acceptance while acting like she doesn't need it. Major 'I'm not like other girls' vibes from young girl Ford.

Then if you throw in cultish sorority nonsense it would shape up to be a pretty interesting AU. Think Mona Awad's Bunny meets Gravity Falls.

Other fun facts about this au (that I may have a few pages of a fanfic already started in my drafts for haha) are as follows:

Bill is a second year transfer student who somehow within the span of days rose to power as Tri-Delta's sorority leader!

They introduce themselves to everyone as Bill Cipher, but because its the 70s and they're a girl all the other pledges call her Billie to feminize it a bit.

Bill offers to be Ford's first friend, but Ford rejects her on principle as she finds sororities to be vapid popularity contests and assumes Billie is no better. Ford's actual first friend is Viola McGucket who was named after the fancy word for her Pa's fiddle.

Occult phenomena has begun increasing ever since Billie usurped Tri-Delta's old leader and pledging rituals have involved dark magic, summonings and mysteries galore (a bit like the campus in Carmilla) which Stanford is keen to investigate.

Stanford has to prove to her father that she can be successful as a woman in STEM and is looking for something that will put her on the map as a scientist and change the world. Her idol switches from Tesla to Marie Curie.

She seeks comfort in the occult and thinks that her weird features and her intellect make her better than other girls (residual internal misogyny from Filbrick) but she learns solidarity when she has to save the sorority pledges and the rest of the world from Bill's machinations when she realises what the portal is for.

She is very gay, but acts like all women in STEM have to embody more masculine qualities, which is how she denies how gay her thoughts are all the time lmao.

She only starts stalking/obsessing over Billie after peeking at her essays to see that Billie is scoring higher than she is and is a certified genius.

She falls in love with Billie though once she realises that she's not human, and desperately seeks the acceptance in the occult she always envisioned. Bill makes her feel special too, often confirming Ford's biases against the pledges bc Bill thinks the sorority girls are braindead pawns.

Stanley didn't get kicked out, however she left home to make it big on her own while Stanford went to college. Right now she is dabbling in multi-level marketing schemes like Avon and tupperware parties, wanting to prove to her dad on the other side of the spectrum that a woman can make it big in business.

bonus Billie for the folks who read this long haha.

[starsandsuch]

Some notes on Chitra 💎🍡🐅

The 14th Nakshatra. It’s ruled by Mars and is the bridge between sidereal Virgo and Libra. Being contained between 23.20 degrees Virgo and 6.40 degrees Libra.

Deity: Tvastar the celestial architect

Their symbol is a Jewel/Pearl. Some sources would say it’s symbolized as a diamond as well. Their yoni is a female tiger.

This can apply to Sun, moon, Ascendant, lagnesh or Atmakaraka in Chitra. Honorable mention ketu in Chitra.

Here are some observations I’ve made about them:

↠ They look good on camera.

↠ Usually have thick defined eyebrows.

↠ They’re one to obsess over their appearance in a very thorough way.

↠ They have round eyes that look glossy like marbles. Their face is heart shaped.

↠ At a certain point they learn people like looking at them; as many find them physically attractive. They’re not one hide away from that gaze of others, but embrace the attention that comes with being attractive.

↠ They love attention and being the center of things.

↠ They hate having body hair. Many opt to getting laser: permanent hair removal. Ironically enough a lot of them tend to be genetically very hairy.

↠ Even Chitra men hate having body hair. My Chitra guy friend used to shave his legs and I thought it way so weird for a (straight) guy to do that??.😭

↠ Chitra women are thicc. They usually have full hips and big butt.

↠ Fun fact: when I used to do astrology readings , I offered a reading where I’d describe your physical appearance based on your birth chart , and literally every single person who bought that reading had Chitra Sun, moon or ascendant. Mainly ascendant though.

↠ They are good at orchestrating drama. They highkey love drama.

↠ They live for controversy/ creating controversy

↠ Being the conductor of the drama then being the one to try to fix it , is a classic Chitra trope to me.

↠ They actually have a masterful talent of orchestration of drama but never get caught or blamed for it.

↠ They know how to be manipulative of social narratives. They know how to act or say things in order to get a certain reaction from others.

↠ This why they make good lawyers, bc during prosecution you have to make the defendant person look guilty through power of suggestion & insinuation. And put that seed of doubt in the jury’s mind based on their line of questioning. Basically indirectly accusing them without saying it directly.

↠ They’re naturally passive aggressive. They can display the mask of cordiality but secretly plot of someone’s downfall.

↠ They can poke and prod people to get an emotional or angry emotion out of them.

↠ A lot of them are very critical and judgmental. They can be judgmental towards family members especially.

↠ One thing I’ve see with Chitra that no one ever talks about is how good they are at predicting social trends. They usually know about /do something a few years before it’s popular.

↠ I sense they’re good at trend forecasting since Libra naturally has Aquarius in their 5th house. 5th house= talents, Aquarius= the future. So they have a talent for predicting the future.

↠ Two examples of this:

↠ #1 Kim Kardashian (who has Chitra Sun) and her affinity for social media was ahead of its time. Her long-hair-bbl-aesthetic was arguably the first prototype in the copy paste look you see on Instagram.

↠ Also when I watched KUWTK , in a 2012 episode she had a selfie book, and would take selfies with a mini LED light attached to her DSLR camera. Now it’s the norm to have mini lighting equipment in your purse. But she had that even before iPhones were that mainstream.

↠ #2 Soulja Boy (who has Chitra moon) is a known pioneer with music artists/social media. He was one of the 1st to have an online image as a rapper / go viral /have a viral dance for a hit song etc. Basically that formula is the mainstream strategy for success in the music industry in present day. But he did all that in like 2008 before iPhones/IG/tiktok etc.

↠ They will thrive in any career where you have to curate the aesthetics of something. Being a stylist, decorator, image consultant are all very Chitra-like.

↠ These natives are good at making money. Any Chitra person I’ve known IRL is good at money management or they are wealthy. 💰

↠ They’re good at party planning or event planning.

↠ I’ve also seen this be a successful social media influencer Nakshatra. They will post on socials and in a relatively “short” time gain a lot of engagement/followers etc.

↠ They seem to be always on the pulse of social trends/ pop culture etc

↠ They love dressing up as different personas, they are good at impersonating people. They like to personify different cultures through their aesthetic.

↠ They attract very aggressive people as partners.

↠ Libra naturally has their 7th house in Aries so they attract people with Martian energy. Aggressive, straightforward, blunt, controlling.

↠ They have a spouse that is a different ethnicity than them. Likely to be in an interracial relationship.

↠ A lot of them are very intelligent and get high marks in school, some even be valedictorian, magna cumlaude, summa cumlaude etc.

↠ Many get involved in politics or law.

↠ They are social climbers

↠ They love to argue.

↠ The especially like bantering. They’ll be sports commentators, podcaster, fashion critic, pop culture critic, etc.

↠ They get over things quickly. They don’t dwell on the past and let that hold them back from future endeavors. They’re always trying to achieve something new.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

[the-golden-comet]

This is why I explicitly state I write adult fiction. However, a person could put up all the warnings, disclaimers, and age restrictions they want, but in reality that’s not going to stop a child from viewing said art/piece anyway. It’s up to the parent to responsibly set up those barriers and actually have a dialogue with their kids about those topics when they are ready. It is not up to the world to cater around children.

Parents: Up in arms about how “video games are causing violence?” (They’re not) Did you not see the ESRB ratings? (Which are pretty strict, but that’s a topic for a different day) M for Mature—Those games are for those who are mature and responsible; and no matter how much your 8-year-old begs that they’re “Mature and Responsible”—THEY’RE 8. You can tell them no—you’re the parent.

“This movie is way too violent/suggestive to be a Marvel Film!” Again, did you not see the R Rating? For “Restricted Audiences?” Meaning that this film is not suitable for children? Even PG-13 movies can get more violent than Rated-R films. Parents: do some research on the movie before unfairly getting angry at the movie theater workers over showings the employees don’t control.

“This show is bright and colorful and cartoony why is it so violent/suggestive?” Parents: Are you saying Family Guy, The Simpsons, and South Park should have all catered to children? Would they have been as wildly successful as they are today? No. Because their main audience were adults that could understand the humor and just so happened to like the show’s art style.

Point is: life is about choices. I choose, as an artist, to make art specifically for adults. As parents, you have the choice to sit down with your children and have chats about internet safety with them…and when they’re ready, talk with them about mature topics. It is not the responsibility of the artist to censor themselves from doing your job as a parent.

"if you're going to write dark fiction you should explicitly state that it's not okay to do in real life so that a child doesn't see it and think it's okay"

actually i don't cater my art to children, my art is not intended for children, and it's not my responsibility to parent them. hope this helps

[bernadette-laurent]

Twisted Wonderland OC

"Don't worry, I'll do what I can…although it probably won't be much." Grade: First year, Class 1-A (special student) Age: ??? Height: 1.50cm Hobbies: sewing Dislikes: loud noises Favorite food: roasted vegetables Least favorite food: cookies. Special Ability: Tactical Intuition (React before the enemy attacks) -sing -create dresses, bags and plushies. Club: Gargoyle Appreciation Club

Small description:

They describe her as a ghost just out of the basement, but she has no bad intentions, she just wants to be happy.

Don't miss her, she comes from a different world so it's normal that she doesn't know anything at all, just guide her and you'll see a sad but sincere smile. She is open to doing all kinds of things (never you dare overdo it) anything is fine, she just wants to be a better person than she used to be before.

She seems to be very lazy, rude or even angry but she is actually a very good person (get to know her and you will see a kinder and more peaceful side) she loves art and nature and will care more about you than herself.

Although he has an exaggerated side, he will alter any situation to get his way.

Background Story:

Bernadette was born from a relationship between young people, they fought daily and the breakup only made things worse.

Her father wanted to be a famous actor and her mother simply wanted to live without complications, when she found out about the pregnancy they immediately separated.

Her father abandoned them and her mother daily got angry or did everything possible to get rid of Bernadette in her womb, although without any success she had her and never took care of her, Bernadette had no limits in her childhood so she was very naughty, until one day her mother looked for her father and decided to abandon her with him.

He had no idea how to take care of her, so he tried to leave her on the streets but he regretted it and took her to his older brother.

The uncle was not far behind, many in the city feared him, no one knew what he did, he and Bernadette lived in an old and rusty camper near the forest, and many abuses towards Laurent began that continued for many years, finally she stopped being the girl without limits and her gaze faded.

When she arrived to her new world she was afraid of everyone at school, she did not trust anyone and was so pessimistic that no matter how much she suffered she never complained because everyone could have a worse time than her… until everyone silenced her and told her that they worried every day about the way she expressed herself and that she should never be afraid of anything.

Extra information: -She failed many subjects in high school at the cost of little work and unjustified absences. -She does not usually shout due to multiple scoldings from her uncle, so when she does so her throat hurts a lot. -Her previous school was divided into men and women. When there were special days everyone got together.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Let Me Decide

Hank Voight x Reader

You're a lot younger than Hank, hell you should've never looked his way considering you work at firehouse 51 and yet you couldn't resist the sergeant of the intelligence unit. When a bad day happens you take your back and forth with him into your own hands.

You hopped out of the ambulance, grabbing your med bag and looking over at Sylvie. You hated responding to a shooting because you never knew just what the hell you were walking into.  Especially when intelligence was involved.

The two of you met the patrolman that was covering the outside of the house “Well I hope no one is dying considering none of you seem to be in a god awful rush” you told him and saw Sylvie smirk slightly. He shook his head “No ma'am. Sergeant Voight just wanted one of his detectives checked out along with the perp before rolling out”

You rolled your eyes “Always a pleasure to act as his personal rolling clinic” “Well if it isn't my favorite Paramedic” You glanced up the steps to see Voight himself standing in the threshold of the house. 

You hated how damn attracted you were to him. He was quite a bit older than you, his son Justin was just a couple years behind you in high school. He had a hell of a reputation in Chicago and around your station house. He did things his own way and sometimes, well  most of the time those ways were less than morally north.

But he also ran the most successful unit in the CPD. The men and women under him were your friends. He worked non-stop no matter the case and no matter the background of the victim. He may be a little more on the grey side of the moral scale but the results spoke for themselves. He went at every one the same. Brown eyes, that damn gravel filled voice that went straight through you and that fucking smirk that drove you bat shit every time you had to respond to a call he was at.  

“Hello to you too Voight. I see you're fine so which of your detectives got hurt?” You asked, walking up to meet him. He held open the door, letting Sylvie in first then his eyes trailed over you “Ruzek rolled his ass up chasing the perp. I need to see if a trip to med is needed”

You shook your head “Ok then, show us to them”

You were sitting at the bar in Mollys eyeing the most recent concoction Herrman had sat in front of you, Cruz, Jay and Adam. “Boys, I don't think this is a case of ladies first. Besides if either of you go down don't you want me still standing to render aid?” You asked, looking between them.

Adam shrugged and tipped the green liquid back, grimacing slightly but then he shrugged “Not that bad actually” 

You watched him for a second before saying “Fuck it” and tipped back your own shot. You saw why he grimaced. It was very limey but for one of Herrmans mixes it was good. “Not bad” you nodded so Jay and Cruz followed after you.

Cruz motioned to Herrman for another round. Adam cut his eyes at Jay who shook his head. “Ok detectives. What was that about?” You asked, seeing Jay shoot Adam a glare before Adam turned to face you, leaning one arm on the bar “What's with you and Voight?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, looking between him and Jay. Cruz laughed “She's a little oblivious fellas” you spun around to face him and he threw his hands up “I think I just heard Kelly call me…from the other side of the bar” 

“Coward” you called after him before leveling Jay with a look “Halstead” he punched Adam's arm before saying “You and him flirt…like a lot.”

“I do not flirt with Voight” you argued, feeling your face warm. Adam nodded slowly “Yeah, Sure ya don't. And he doesn't get pissy when we have to roll an ambo any time it's not your shift so that means he hasn't gotten to see you”

“What?” You laughed and Jay shrugged “Just an observation” “about what?” Kevin asked as him, Hailey and Kim joined the three of you. “Voight's thing for her”

Your mouth fell open at Adam's answer but then Kevin nodded “Oh yeah. It's hilarious when we work a scene with fifty one. Ain't never seen Voight get dog walked before then” 

“Oh my god. I do not!” You gasped and Kim patted your back “Honey, ya kinda do” 

You shook your head “For fucks sake. You six are like kids trying to get your dad a date” Hailey shrugged “Maybe he'd get in a better mood” and all of you busted out laughing.

A week passed and you didn't give much more thought to their teasing. Hell Hank Voight struck you as the type of man that if he wanted something he'd go after it.

A call rang out summoning an ambulance to the north side. Sylvie slapped your foot where you’d had it propped up on the chair in front of you, currently beating Kelly at a game of poker “C’mon partner. We gotta go” you tossed your cards down and pointed at Kelly “I’ll get you later Severide” 

The two of you headed out to the bays and climbed into the rig with you driving. She shot you a smile as you pulled out onto the road. At least it was a nice day, winter was finally breaking and the roads weren’t iced over. 

“I’ll buy lunch since you bought breakfast” she offered and you grinned “You just want an excuse to hide from Matt” she raised an eyebrow “Says the lady who literally hid behind Chief the last time we worked a scene with PD so you wouldn’t have to talk to Voight!” 

You opened your mouth to argue but knew that would only push her point further. When you clamped your mouth closed she giggled, honest to god giggled. “I knew it! You have a thing for him! Hello daddy issues” your mouth fell open “Sylvie Brett!”

She shrugged “If it makes you happy and he treats you good” you shook your head “He doesn’t treat me anyway. Now no more teasing, we’re to the address”

___________

Hank was in his office when Adam walked to the open door and knocked on it “Hey, um boss” he cut his eyes up from the file in his hands “What is it Ruzek?”

“We got a call about a hostage situation. Three civilians and two medics from fifty one” he was on his feet and grabbing his jacket before Adam could finish talking. “Gear up, now!”

__________

Your eyes were glued to the gun in the man’s hand. Unconsciously you moved one hand to push Sylvie behind you. You couldn’t get your partner out of this situation but you’d be damned before you stood there and didn’t try to protect her. 

“What’s the end game here? I mean you have to know SWAT is gonna come through that door” you motioned to the door at the far end of the store. There were a total of five hostages including yourself and Sylvie.  He nodded “Oh, I know” he took a step towards you, close enough the gun brushed against your chest “But luckily for me I got a pretty little paramedic with a big mouth who wants to protect everyone else in here”

You glared at him, keeping one hand on Sylvie. You had to keep him calm until SWAT could respond. That meant staying calm yourself, despite the fear coursing through you. “Whatever you need me to do to get everyone out of here alive” you whispered, feeling your hands tremble. 

The sounds of sirens hit your ears and he smirked at you “Lets see what happens next”

________

He’d had to order the shot. There was no other way to get you out of the situation. When they’d breached you were held against the man’s chest, the barrel of his gun pushed into your temple. Your eyes had widened slightly when you saw Hank but your shoulders had loosened just a bit.

“Listen, you let her go..you got a chance of walking out of here” he tried to offer a way out but when the son of a bitch had the nerve to look him in the eye and smirk before saying “What if I wanna walk out of here with her” he gave the signal to Jay. 

You flinched when the blood splattered across your face but the moment you were free instead of running to Sylvie like he’d expected or to a member of his unit that he knew you were friends with, you ran straight to him. You wrapped both arms around his neck, your muscles fully relaxing once he pulled you to his chest “Thank you. Fuck, thank you. I was so damn scared until I saw it was you. I knew you’d get me out”

____________

You and Sylvie were on the couch in Hank’s office. She had one of Kevin’s spare jackets wrapped around her while Hank had taken the jacket off his back to put around you when a crime scene tech had been forced to take yours for evidence.

For the last couple hours you’d given your statements and both of you had fallen asleep when the adrenaline crashed down. The entire time no one dared to cross the threshold. Hank had told them in no uncertain terms to “Stay the hell out of my office and let them catch their breath”

You curled further into the jacket, the scent of Hank’s cologne comforting you despite everything that happened that day.You’d never been so fucking scared. Your job was insane enough but staring down a barrel of a gun? Having to offer yourself up to get her and innocent people to safety? 

The moment you knew it was Hank..you knew you’d be ok. You knew he’d get you out. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Why were you waiting on him to make a move? You knew he was single, knew he had a thing for you as well. Why hadn’t you asked him out? 

 A knock at the door drew your attention and you smiled when Hank walked in, followed by Stella. “Your ride’s here” he teased with a smile. You grinned “Oh thank god, I thought I may have to deal with your driving again” Sylvie shook her head with a small smile “We can go?”

“You’re free to go” he agreed so she walked over to Stella. You started to walk after her and made it halfway into the bullpen before you realized you were still wearing Hank’s jacket. “Let me give his jacket back” you told Stella who nodded “Take your time” 

___________

You walked back to his office and tapped on the open door. He cut his eyes up and smiled when he saw you “Hey sweetheart, you forget something?” you motioned to the jacket “Well sergeant I was stealing this” he shook his head “Keep it. Looks better on you”

You felt your face warm “Hank Voight. Never would have pegged you for a flirt” he shrugged ���Only when you’re around apparently” you rolled your lip between your teeth. After the day you had, you weren’t letting an opportunity go by “In that case, you have my number on my statement. Why don’t you use it and come pick me up Friday night?”

He raised an eyebrow “Excuse me?” you grinned “Come on Old man do I gotta spell it out” you stepped further into the office, leaning against the wall not far from his desk “I like you, you’re a pretty good man and damn good looking. I think you like me. So, do you want to go out friday night?”

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head “You’re damn near young enough to be my kid” you couldn’t have stopped the smirk that slipped onto your face if you’d tried before you asked “Is that your way of telling me you want me to call you daddy? Because damn, at least wait until then”

He laughed “You’re something else you know that?” you nodded “I’ve been told. So, friday?” he smiled “Friday sweetheart”

__________

When you walked out of the office you heard Adam whisper to Hailey “I think we got her” you cut your eyes at him and smirked “I’ll see ya around Ruzek” he grinned “So does this mean I can call you when he’s mean to me?”

You shook your head “Ruz, let me go out on the date first before you want me to protect you. Damn!”

[burdenandacrop]

˗ˏˋ ❝ italian leather sofa. ❞ ˎˊ˗

thank u to the wonderful @thecourtjester-e for being the reason this is being written, ur MIIIIND. this goes hand in hand with my cake AND schlatt obsession so ... does a twirl.

HEAVILY based on the song italian leather sofa by CAKE !

summary : for a schlatt & co video, your [ secret ] boyfriend decides to take you out shopping. showing off his douche-bag internet persona, unbeknownst to him; that was actually quite the turn on. with a little fashion show back at home, he shows you just how hungry he's been.

⋮ ⌗ ┆established relationship, secret relationship, schlatt is mean in this one, you're also decently famous!, dabbles in a bit of spoiling, power difference k!nk, degrading mixed with some praising, rough smut.

the bright luminescent lights were beaming across the designer store, your hands gently trailing through the racks of numerous dresses. you weren't used to this sort of environment, but it was very quickly becoming second nature to you. to the internet's eye, you were schlatt's acquaintance who was mostly just known for your face. the running joke was that you were his personal thumbnail over-user, considering every video the two of you did got millions of views. almost the amount that his reaction videos got, and this was on his second channel. surprisingly, not a whole lot of people suspected you to be a pair. rather just an unconventional duo, which kind of worked on your end.

he brought the camera back up to your face, making you smile and droop your shoulders with a grin. "these good enough for you miss socialite?" schlatt sneers out, you wished the viewers could see just how cocky he looked in the moment. "brought her here to the most expensive mall in new york, nothing too smancy." he adds on, turning the camera to his face to wink and smile, "cause you know, i can afford that." god he was so insufferable, in a good way surprisingly. he brings the camera back to you, anticipating for you to say something. "i just need a dress for my event." you snicker out, rolling your eyes and searching the racks yet again.

"and of course you had to come here for it, didn't ya?" he teases, you just shake your head and continue to search the racks. eventually pulling out a red silk dress. schlatt was hoping to god the microphone wouldn't pick up how his breath hitched when he saw it. his mind already reeling on how it'd look on you. "this one?" you ask, looking at the camera with a smile. shaking the hanger and awaiting for schlatt to do anything but gawk. a part of you almost wanting to turn the camera right around just to show the viewers how down bad he was. "yeah get the red, brings out your rosacea real nice." he bites back with a chuckle.

you scoff at him and rub your cheek, worried that it was visible to the camera how aggravated your skin might've been. "yeah, get a purple tux to match your eyebags, dickhead." you groan out, hoping to one up him. you knew the viewers loved the bickering, especially with your one liners. "i'll get a ralph lauren one and call it a day, can't say you can do that." he replies with a smile, he knew you had your own money but he liked to occasionally throw in that he was a smidge more successful.

"yeah i can't wear a tux, no shit schlatt." you roll your eyes and stow the dress back on the rack. almost sending him into a panic, "editor, cut this." he stammers before leaning the camera down for a moment. "keep it, i'm buying it." he practically chokes out. your head whipping back to him with a smile, nodding and stowing the dress in between your arm. you secretly loved how he insisted on things like that, was kind of hot in a way.

he sighs in relief and brings the camera back up with a smile, going right back to his persona. "gonna buy anymore or are you too low on cash for it?" he stated, knowing damn well he'd be leaving this store with a dent in his wallet. "i'll have to look and see." you sigh out, looking to him for a moment before looking back to the racks. "you're no sydney sweeney but i'm sure it'll suffice." he stifles out, making you side eye him as you were just about to pull out another dress.

"and you're not hugh jackman with those chops." you say as you roll your eyes, pulling out another silk dress, except it was black. "now what about this one?" you state as if you didn't just plain insult him, the both of you knew it was just for viewer attention. "it looks like people will only be looking at the dress, saves the trouble of looking at your face." he snickers out, you look at him with a groan. suddenly seeing his lips mouth the words 'keep it. that one too.' it was so hilarious to see the switch, you just wished the rest could see, but of course, they couldn't. "you're truly such a gentleman, mommy must be so proud." you gruffly reply, making him shrug with a smug grin. "that she is." he measly replies.

"see what i put up with for clicks? she's so ungrateful." he adds on, rotating the camera back to his face with a sigh. you shake your head as you eye another dress, the royal blue was catching your eye. "and it seems miss socialite has found yet another dress that's gonna bankrupt her." schlatt chuckles out, panning the camera back over to you as you show off the dress with a smile. "isn't the color so nice?" you ask with the same cavity inducing smile, knowing it'd probably be clipped all over twitter. whatever, as long as it brought money with it. which is almost always did. you watched as schlatt sweetly grinned with a nod, hidden from the view of the lens. "how much is it again?" he says as he reaches for the dress to hang his fingers to the tag.

his eyes widening as he realized it was a $3000 dress, looking back up to you with a grin. he zoomed the lens into the tag, then slowly panned the camera back to his face. his eyes bugging out with his brows furrowed in a comical look, quickly dropping it for a more serious expression, "i spend that in an hour, anyways." he deadpans, making you scoff at him and turn yourself away from him. he looks up from the camera to see your irritated stature and belts out a low laughter, turning the camera right back to you. zooming right into your head, picking up how your head was shaking as you continued to browse the racks. "somebody's sour about that fact." schlatt teases, making you spin your head back to him with narrowed eyes. he was so unserious.

"what's this- event even about anyhow?" he honeyed, at least the question wasn't half bad. you leaned against the rack, twirling the hanger as you thought of how to answer. "it's for this upcoming body-care line, very prestigious." you reply with a grin, feeling a bit prideful that you did get invited to something like that anyhow. "they just don't invite majorly successful people to advertise their products, got it." he pokes, making you nudge his shoulder with a groan. the comments from him were never ending; but so was a lot of other things. "what? you don't think i can be a good representative of smelly goods?" he snickers out, drooping his shoulders at you with a slight pout. "yeah, you totally could." your tone couldn't be any more sarcastic.

he softly pumped a fist in the air and panned the camera back to him, "that's what i thought." he stated, looking back to you with a knowing smile. the little look giving you a good idea of how his ego was far from being bruised. "now if she could go through with this faster- i can get my watch." he sighs out, shaking his head at you as you continued to scroll through the racks. "this is the kind of greed that they talk about in the bible." he adds on, earning a little chuckle from you. his switch off button was no where to be found.

"a lot of talk coming from you, y'know?" you breathily reply, the weight of the dresses getting to you as they restlessly laid on your arm. "i'm allowed to talk." he snapped back, he noticed how the weight of the dresses were getting you as you bobbed your arm up and down to try and balance it. "look, now she's getting all tired. see what internet notoriety does?" he jokes, turning the camera back to your state. "tell that to a mirror." you reply with a chuckle, making him nod. "oh i do, every damn day baby." his tone was unbelievably cocky. though, another part of you was asking; why were you really liking it? now what did that say about YOU?

the camera had already been recording for a good thirty minutes, he followed you around for a short bit more. getting all the funny banter that he would need for the video, he already knew they would eat it up. it was you after all, you were basically an infinite money glitch. yeah, he was mean as shit to you on camera. he just didn't want people to interfere with your relationship, especially when the cameras were gone. he knew if his viewers, particularly his male viewers, knew he bagged such a beautiful girl. he'd never hear the rest of it on twitter, so it seemed it was the smarter decision. plus, what man likes to share? especially not him.

he stowed away his camera with a smile, immediately gripping his hand around your waist as the two of you reached the check-out line. "you're out of your mind if you think you're wearing any of those to that promo event." he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. you had a good five dresses in your arms, all together probably the amount that most people pay for a down payment on a bentley. "the black one's my favorite though." you whine out quietly, looking up into his eyes with a smile. "why do you think i don't want you wearing it out then?" he replies, his hands wandering up your back slowly. "just wear the blue one, cmon baby." he pleads. making you sigh and oblige to his request.

you knew exactly why he didn't want you wearing the black one, based on how you saw it was sewn. it'd look damn near painted on your figure, the blue one on the other hand was a lot more 'leave it up to your imagination' sort of deal. the two of you eventually made it up to the cashier, placing your dresses down as he checked the quality and the tag. "find everything to your expectations today, miss?" the cashier says as he begins to scan everything, his eyes a bit narrowed as he noticed the amount that was racking up. you fiddled your hands together in front of you, nodding to the cashier with a soft grin. "everything is to par." you felt so pretentious saying that, but you deserved it in a way.

you watched as the cashier raised his eyebrows to your reply, smiling to himself as he continued to scan the tags. his eyes almost lighting all the way up as the price continued to raise. you saw how his eyes wandered back to you, eyeing how your blouse sat on you. maybe a little too hard too, with a smile plastered on his face as he did so. schlatt let out a deep exhale, knowing it was loud enough to be a signal for him to keep his eyes where he needed them. if he wanted to keep them, that is. the cashier smiled and stood up more straight to eye the total, "$10,034.67, miss." he stated, almost not believing the price. schlatt watched how he was eyeing you, he was one to give second chances but he just blew that on how he was insistent on looking at you like that.

he took a step closer to the counter and leaned down slightly, just to throw it in the little cashier's face that he had a good six inches on him. cocky as ever, maybe some parts of the 'persona' were real after all. your eyes followed to him, noticing how irritated schlatt was getting to be. you knew you had to do something to get out of this, and pronto. you nervously smiled at the cashier before shuffling your hands to your purse, you couldn't imagine he was actually being serious about paying for all of this. that'd just be ridiculous. you felt his hand gently but strictly wrap around your wrist to halt your motion to try and grab your wallet. making you shoot your head back to him, "don't embarrass me like that." he says barely above a whisper. "you know i got it." he adds on with a sigh, pulling his wallet to whip out a black card of all his cards.

he used that card any chance he got, just to be annoying that he did in fact make that much. you watched as he handed it over to the cashier like it was nothing, looking back to you with a soft grin. "what?" he says as if he had no idea why you were looking at him like he had three heads. "douche." you roll your eyes with a smile. he shakes his head and leans his head down to reach you better, "you haven't seen anything yet." he whispers into your ear, you could practically hear the smug grin in his tone. the cashier carefully put all the dresses into the boxes, then slid into the bags. handing over the bag with a smile, "see you next time." he snarkily goodbyes, giving him a soft nod about to open your mouth to save the possibility of embarrassment. "oh you will." schlatt slyly replies before turning with you to leave, making sure to not let go of you for even a second. slightly tilting his head to eye the creep of a cashier, lowering his hand to your behind and nodding. he looked back to you and kissed the top of your head. was it prideful? yeah. did he care? no.

schlatt's head reeled back into the couch's leather, eyes closed as he impatiently waited for your little fashion show. the one that you insisted wasn't going to take long, now having him sit for a good 20 minutes to himself. wasn't your fault though, you were just intensely afraid you would tarnish the dress by putting it on too quickly. okay, and basically gawking at yourself in the mirror for way too long. let a girl live. schlatt opened his eyes and peered them over to the coffee table that had his brand new longiene watch that was sitting in it's neat little box.

"oh, what the hell." he groaned out, leaning over and picking up the small box. smiling to himself as he took it out of the case, draping it around his wrist to snap on. did feel quite nice to have three thousand on his arm, a little ego boost if you will. he twisted it on his wrist, leaning back into the couch with a sigh. "you almost done in there, hon?" he yelled out, spreading his legs out as he fidgeted with the settings on his new watch. you patted down your dress, knowing it was probably best you just escape your little narcissistic moment. for now at least. you took one last look in the mirror, swooshing your hair on your shoulder so you could get one last peak on how nice the backless effect was.

"in there in a sec!" you yelled back from the bathroom, letting go of your hair and smiling to yourself as you opened up the door to walk down the hallway. hoping you were going to get the reaction you were hoping for from him, maybe then the money would seem worth it. he cocked his head to the side as he heard your footsteps, a grin growing on him as he saw the first impressions of the dress. you grazed your hand along your hip as you made your way in front of him. "lil spin for me?" he asked with a smile, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms. you nodded and twirled yourself around slowly. he licked the roof of his mouth as he watched every movement, deeply stuck almost.

you crossed your hands together behind your back as you stood in front of him, the look on his face alone told you all you needed to know. "it's even backless!" you excitedly state, turning your back towards him to show it off better. "if you don't sit your ass down." schlatt says as he shakes his head, gesturing for you to come over with his finger. you raise an eyebrow and slowly walk over to him, leaning down and letting your palms rest on the leather. purposely not giving him what he wanted right away. looking right into his eyes and titling your head to his just a smidge closer. "i take it you like the dress?" you whisper out, his hands reaching up to your ribs. "do i like the dress, huh?" he mocks back at you with a grin, letting his hands roam around under your breast. his eyes failing him as he looked at how your hips looked poking out.

he leaned his head back and looked up and down at you without shame, almost trying to convey his pleading with his eyes. you leaned your knee onto the leather, cocking your head to the side as you continued to move yourself onto the couch. schlatt's mind reeling as he could see the silk tightening around your hips. "i've already got hypertension, are you trying to make it worse?" he gruffly stated, his hands wandering down right above your hips as he helped you settle on his lap. you roll your eyes as you lean your hands on the edge of the couch, right above his shoulders. "you're so dramatic." you snicker out, adjusting the edges of your dress that were riding up. that little notion not making him the happiest.

his hands went right to your thighs to trail up the fabric, his chest slowly puffing as more and more skin showed. "this is more like it." he muttered, bringing his hands up to your shoulders to toy with the straps as he looked at you. "you don't think?" he added, expecting you to be vocal. he knew exactly what he wanted you to say, which was to admit how needy he was getting you. he could see it by how you gently squirmed under his touch, stroking his ego a little further. you slowly nod and adjust your hips above him, "yes, this is better." you sigh out. which earns him a little chuckle, raising his hand up to cup your chin. "there's the money." he practically seethes out, racing his free hand to your breasts to give them a firm squeeze. it was pretty hard not to.

his hand reaches up so he can gently tug down at the offensive fabric covering you, you arch your back a little to give him a better view. "you trying to say thank you?" he asks, tracing his finger along the silky straps. you softly hum and nudge your shoulders with a smile. "point taken." he adds, pulling down the straps and dropping his hand from your chin to fully engorge his hands to your breasts as the delicate fabric fell onto your stomach. "and no bra? you're just trying to get in trouble." he seethes out, involuntarily bucking his hips up as he looked up into your eyes. watching how the friction was affecting you.

he reaches his hand up to the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss, gently groaning as your lips meet. his other hand still grabbing a selfish amount of your breast into it. you grind in with his hips, making him deeply exhale and drop his hand to your ass to give a sharp slap. you knew exactly what he wanted, and you knew exactly how you were going to do it. he gently pulled back from your lips after a moment, looking up at you. "i'm kinda exhausted from today, baby." he states, letting his hand grip along your ass again. that didn't mean he didn't want to do it, just meant he wanted you to do all the work. perhaps as a thank you.

you softly nod and lean down to your knees, feeling his hands leave you as you felt your knees hit the hard wood. you could see his smile above you as you began fiddling with his belt, his jeans practically making a tent. unbuckling the belt and pulling it off slowly, knowing damn well he wasn't in the mood for anything that slow. it was just fun to be a bit of a tease sometimes. he trailed his hand to the top of your scalp, ruffling your hair gently as he looked down at you. "cmon baby." his voice cooed, you sigh and unbutton his jeans. letting the zipper come undone as you pulled down at them. being met with a rather aggressive hard on from him.

you looked up to him, his fingertips running through your hair as he smiled down at you. then dropping his hand down the side of your face, shaking his head as he ran a thumb along your bottom lip. "so pretty." he whispered, letting his hand drop to your chin as your hands fiddled with his boxers. his anticipation only growing further, but he wasn't satisfied just yet. he fluttered his eyes shut as he felt your mouth wrap around him, his hand shooting right back to your hair to grab a fistful. you paced yourself as you listened to his grunts coming from his stubbornly closed lips. he wanted so badly to just slam your head down, but right now; it felt way too good to mess anything up. he could afford the patience.

he kept his grip on your hair, his mouth gaping open as he looked down to the saliva mess you were creating from your tongue. he wasn't usually the biggest fan of messy sex, but today would just have to be an exception. bucking his hips slightly, causing you to accidentally slam your mouth around his base. even the gagging sound beginning to excite him a little too much. he liked the sound of struggle, knowing it was hard to keep up. he leaned his head into the leather and looked down to see your eyes glaring at him, even the gloss over your eyes made him want to bite back. "keep it up with your mouth and i'll give you what your hips are begging for." he choked out, his stomach twitching from underneath his shirt. he knew was cusping at the edge.

you felt your body warm up at his words, only making you give him a real show with your mouth. his grunts becoming incredibly obvious now, he wanted the real thing. he let you pump him for a few more moments before pulling your hair to unlatch your lips from him. watching as the saliva slowly dripped from your gaping mouth, snickering to himself. "uh-uh, i want you up here baby." he breathily stated, releasing your hair from his fist. he watched as you crawled back onto his lap with a shit eating grin. "hike it up for me." he added on, trailing his hands on your thighs as you curled up the fabric around your hips. he looked down to your underwear and shook his head, "off." he demanded, making you quickly pull of the couch for a moment to toss them off of you. quickly plopping back onto his lap, his eyes zoned on the new sight.

his fingers quickly moved under you to rub along your clit, smiling to himself as it immediately made an effect on you. "you like me spending all that money on you?" he asked, continuing his pace. you shakily nod, only able to respond in needy whimpers. "come on, answer me baby. or i'll have to stop rubbing on you like this." he snickered out, knowing he was going get the exact answer he wanted. "y-yes!" you choke out, bucking your hips with the movement of his fingers. "and you just love paying back, don't you?" he sighs out, looking down to his fingers. your hands grip along the edge of the couch, almost about to fall back. "you just get whatever you want, huh?" he adds on, biting down on his tongue as he fastened his pace along you.

his kept his eyes down, slowly trailing his fingers from your clit to your slit with a grin. "you want this, don't you baby?" he groaned out as he teased the tip of his finger on your slit. you looked at him and leaned forward, almost trying to push it inside yourself. "mm-mm, don't get shy now- if you don't say what you want, i can't give it to you baby. tell me." he seethed out, shaking his head softly at your impatience. "please- give it to me." you whimper out, progressively just getting more and more needy. with that, and a click of his tongue, he shoved one finger inside you. your eyes shutting as it reached fully inside. "already two?" you groan out, earning him a little chuckle. "it's just one for now, baby." your hips immediately pressing down into his legs as he curled his finger. it really was unbelievable just how nice the one felt.

he watched as your head flailed back to his motions, his free hand reaching up your chest. letting his fingers grip along your neck gently, making you fix your head back down. "show me that you want more, baby. i know a sweet- sweet whore like you can." he sneered out, letting his grip tighten along your throat slightly. your noises only growing more desperate as he curled his fingers right where it needed to be, your hips switching along him. he watched how your hips moved with ease, knowing how good it feel right on his dick; but he could be patient. this was more than worth it. "god- you fucking slut." he seethed out, popping another finger in as he smoothed out his pacing. "you deserved another one for that." he added on, pumping his fingers in and out.

you lean down and press your palm into his chest to stabilize yourself, huffing for air as he continued. he snickered to himself as he could see how quickly you were just giving in, bringing his free hand to cup your face as he kept his finger's pacing. "it's a miracle you can take my cock when you act like this with my damn fingers." he muttered, keeping his grip tight on your face. your eyes fluttering open and shut as he kept on, unsure on how much longer he could go with this before you would completely unravel. "got you in the palm of my hand, don't i?" he adds on, swallowing deeply and waiting for you to do anything but whine out. your hips begin to whine on his fingers, making him look down at the mess you were creating with yourself. "fucking yourself back with my fingers? show me how you really feel, hm?" he grunted out, smiling as he noticed how close you were to coming right on him.

slowly nodding with a grin as he noticed the immense relief that washed on your face, feeling your hips slowly come to a stop. he groaned and pulled out his fingers of you, settling both his hands now on your hips as he raised your body up. "my turn, yeah? only fair right?" he seethed out, your body was already so exhausted. you knew it'd be worth it though, adjusting the fabric of the dress before settling yourself on his dick. schlatt's hands gripping tightly into your hips as you pushed all the way down, a bit surprised you did it so quickly. no questions. just how he wanted you. you kept your hand on his chest as you bounced yourself, his eyes transfixed on how your breasts were bouncing with you. a part of him wanting to just completely take over.

he slapped his hand along your back, causing you to fall right where he wanted you. running his fingertips into your back as he latched his lips onto your breast, lapping his tongue the best he could with your rapid bouncing. his eyes closed as he focused on sucking down on you, enjoying every last moment. roaming his hand along your back as he pulled you in close, smashing every inch of your flesh against his face. his other hand giving a sharp slap on your ass as you were reeling him in more and more. choking out a yell, only encouraging you to keep your vigorous pacing on his cock. your arms wrapping along his shoulders as you wailed out, schlatt's body stiffening as he felt your insides tighten around him. unable to control himself, his lips letting go of your breasts. his head falling to the back of the couch, all he could do was look at you and pant. it couldn't be more perfect.

you were so drowned in the pleasure, you didn't even realize how intense you were going. oh but he knew, letting out a low groan as you continued. his eyes failing to keep open, but he needed them open so he could see how good your tits looked while you bounced so desperately. almost like your life depended on it. his hand trailed up your sides, the dress had basically became a hip cover at this point. the only thing you could hear from him was a few 'fucks' and 'shit's underneath his breath, watching him beneath you as he struggled to keep himself together. "god- don't let me stop you now." he groaned out, bucking his hips to meet with yours as your pacing began to lessen. looking up into your eyes as he noticed how tired and shaky your legs were getting.

finally having enough, just wanting to rummage every bit inside of you. grabbing onto your sides and bucking his hips up and down, a pace you couldn't do if you tried. he smiled as he watched your lips fall agape, you really were just letting go. just for him. he'd be lying if he said that's not what he wanted. "come on. let go." he stifles out through his grunts, giving you another rash slap to the ass. "this is exactly what you wanted, hm?" he adds, looking up to you and expecting an immediate answer. he noticed the side of your ass reddening, only exciting him further to do it again. "answer me." he grunts out, practically branding your ass with his palm. you yelp out and grip onto the edge of the couch to not complete fall over, "g-god yes!" you shakily whimper out, huffing in and out.

he flails his head back and continues to mindlessly pump into you, almost choking on his breath as he climaxes. slowing down his pacing as he lets it fill inside, rubbing his hands around the raised up skin on your hip. the heat radiating off his palms. "you wanna show me the other dresses?" he snickers out, trying to catch up with his breaths. running a hand through his hair with a smile, you groan and pull yourself off of him. almost stumbling on your own movements, "if that's what you want." you huff out, watching as he began to pull up his boxers. "what? scared of round two?" he stifles out, sitting up more upright as he watched you fix yourself back up. you roll your eyes with a grin as you pull up the straps of the dress, his grin growing as he's reminded just how good you look.

you peel up the fabric up to cover up your breasts, wincing as you try to move your hips. the silk pairing perfectly with your dampened skin, and he was well aware of how beautiful it looked. "yeah. i'm taking you back to that store soon." he mutters, eyeing you up and down. "you've made it clear it's worth it."

author's note : i think this was the most excited i've gotten off a one shot idea, maybe Ever. perhaps it's because it's based on one of my favorite CAKE song, but none the less @thecourtjester-e is a mastermind and i appreciate the patience and creativity that was helped put into this. so PLEASE check them out !! 💌 their new series is one of my personal favs and i'm sure it will be yours too :,))

[elodieunderglass]

I can’t let you guys continue this conversation without pointing out that they’re different meals with different recipes. Boston baked beans (USA) have a molasses/brown sugar/bacon/onion profile and when properly prepared are closer to a thick cassoulet - not so much a soup-type dish as a sort of solid preparation that you can pretty much shape into a mound, like in the thumbnail of that video. They’re thick, sticky and dark brown.

UK beans, as in beans-on-toast, are in a loose tomato sauce. They do not mound; they spread. The tomato sauce is rather like a more sophisticated spaghettiO sauce in texture, and in taste is pleasant but with a strong tomato profile, much like ketchup.

Sure they have shared roots but this is like starting off your post by saying “ketchup is the same thing as barbecue sauce.” Well, yes, if you zoom out enough, sure! But also, on the more conventional plane, no.

Yes, UK haricot beans in tomato sauce are adapted entirely from indigenous American plant engineering (haricot beans and tomatoes.) no, they did not invent the concept.

No, most Americans will not recognise what is being served when handed a portion of Branston’s. Yes, British people are startled and excited when I produce actual baked beans, which they perceive to be more aligned with a sort of chilli con carne. They are deeply related dishes that exist in conversation with each other and are both influenced by colonialism, but as a dish you might serve someone, they are pretty different in texture, taste, colour, intention, ingredients, and all the sort of things that we look for when describing a food.

Anyway here’s a recipe for my evil UK fusion gluten free huevos rancheros, which will be violently disclaimed as an abomination by every culture involved in the violence of its creation :

Have on hand:

- leftover cooked chicken or pork, chopped or shredded by hand. I usually do this with leftover roast chicken carcass.

- tin of branston beans. I strongly dislike Heinz for not letting you stack the tins. Fuck them.

- enough Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ sauce (gluten free, available at Tesco/asda/Sainsbury’s in the world food section)

- a lot of whatever fajita seasoning you use to taste

-old El Paso GF tortilla wraps found in the GF section. You can do this with the gluten version, but it will do you good to have to have a recipe written the other way ‘round.

-eggs

-avocado

-shredded cheese

-sour cream, or use up crème fraiche or Greek yogurt if that’s what you have left

-pesto or basil leaves lmao

Shred meat and mix with beans. Heat the meat within the beans with the spices and bbq sauce.

Fry the tortillas on both sides until Activated. (Pronounce them tor-TEE-ya, not turtle-a, thanks). Set aside. You may rub with pesto.

Use that pan to fry eggs UK style. Runny yolks but cooked on top.

Order of assembly: tortilla, beans, fried egg on top. Decorate egg with cheese, sour cream, chopped avocado. Sprinkle basil leaves or coriander if people like coriander.

Surprisingly successful with children, high protein, gluten free, cheap and easy, uses up leftover meat and stuff you probably have around, not too difficult, will cause people on the internet to shout at you. You’re welcome.

Baked beans are an American dish adapted from a similar dish first made by native Americans and baked beans were first canned in the US and then brought to Britain where the British decided to start putting them on toast and calling them a British food. And I’ve started to realize that some British people think that we think beans on toast is strange because we don’t have baked beans. When in fact we’ve had baked beans this whole time. We brought the baked beans over there. We just think it’s mildly confusing that Brits put them on toast.

[callmearcturus]

valonia47: IMO Dottie taught Ted avoidance and denial as the only allowed coping skills, which is how he ends up in England in the first place: avoiding the conflict and denying how bad his marriage has gotten. In that sense returning to Kansas is Ted breaking out of that and reconnecting with Henry on a regular basis instead of avoiding the inherent reminders of his relationship with his dad

two problems with this take, if you'll forgive my need to make a rebuttal.

ONE: Ted winding up in England because of conflict avoidance and denial is not how I read the situation at all. Hell, I don't think a man can move to another country without knowing things are bad, and every time he brings up Michelle, it's regarding the trouble in their marriage.

also, uh

given the entire fuckery with Dr. Jacob, I don't know if I actually agree at all with that take. Ted winds up in England because a pretty serious betrayal of trust.

this is one of the most interesting things the show does imo. like when Ted first talks about therapy and is dismissive/negative on it, I literally went "ah another otherwise progressive midwestern man who nonetheless doesn't like therapy" because bruh that's a thing for sure

and then ted tells sharon about his history of therapy and I was like "okay that's a little unusual but cmon ted you're better than this"

and then the fucking slap in the face happens and oh my fuck, Ted was right, he was manipulated by a fucking therapist holy shit, like all of his hesitations are entirely justified.

TWO: For Kansas to feel like a success for Ted, a LOT of shit would have needed to be done differently.

a. he needed to make the choice of his own volition, not because his mother pulled That Shit on him as punishment.

b. the show needed to actually show Kansas as living place that has support systems and people Ted loves. WHICH TO BE CLEAR: THE SHOW COULD HAVE DONE. fuck, if you want to read a fic that actually makes Ted moving back to Kansas make sense, I highly recommend Lafayette Goes To America, which I vouch for as a Missouri native is a loving and wonderful depiction of KCMO and why you'd want to live there.

c. why the fuck did they do that creepy fucking musical sting on the final shot of ted in kansas? i watched it with a friend who'd never seen the finale and they fucking gasped at it.

d. and this is a huge one for me is the trick each season with the opening/closing shots.

each season opens and closes on one character in a very deliberate move, like a reminder that you should be focusing on this person and the journey they've been on.

and it's not a necessarily positive journey.

with Rebecca, we watched her through season one transform from a hurt, vengeful, cruel person who was thrilled to ruin the lives of everyone around her if it helped her meet her goals into someone who finally recognized the gravity of their callousness.... but not before her actions led to the team being relegated.

with Nate, we watched him blossom as a tactician and strategist, and he winds up the head coach of West fucking Ham by the end..... but in the process, he loses everyone who supported him and he repeatedly fails to recreate those relationships in S3

with Ted, the show holds me down and kicks me repeatedly in the stomach until i admit i love a good tragedy I MEAN ted is successful, loved, respected, and supported by the people around him, he continues to work on himself in this place that he comes to adapt to and love... and instead of him asking "hey maybe i should review my custody arrangement and ask my son if he'd like to live here with me" he loses ALL OF THAT

there's this moment that makes the pain worse, this little (intentional? unintentional?) jab rebecca gives him. she begged this man to stay, offered to make him the best paid coach in the league, to personally assist in helping his family join him here, and he leaves.

it's a rejection. it's a rejection of richmond as meaningful, as people who love him, as his community and family. it hurts so fucking much.

none of them were worth trying for, ted? not rebecca, who held you tight when you had a panic attack? not trent, who detonated his career after shielding you from a press shitstorm? not roy, who came back to you and fucking quoted Jerry Maguire to your face, choosing to speak your language? fucking hell.

I blame Dottie for this, for how she looks at all the process Ted's made, resents it, and tears him back down. but the refutation of these people and their worth is part of the tragedy.

ANYWAY UH. I RESPECTFULLY DISAGREE. SORRY.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 9k (long ass chapter lol)

Trigger warning; //

notes; Hello my loves <3 HAPPY NEW YEAR woohooo!!! Sorry for not posting these last few days, but they’ve been looong with all the celebrations. Plus, I had to travel back to my place, and it took forever. So today, you’ll not only get part 6, but also part 7 ;) (it should be up in the next few minutes). This chapter was actually pretty hard for me to write because I had doubts about where to take the story or if I should give more or fewer clues about Y/N’s background. Either way, don’t hesitate to comment because even if I don’t reply to all of you, I definitely read them, and I loveeee getting those notifications. Well, see you in a few minutes for part 7 lol <3

Link; Part 5 or Part 7

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Late afternoon shadows stretched across Velaris as you and Cassian stepped off the bridge leading into the quieter district near the clinic. Both of you were weary—three days in Illyria had taxed your energy, even if the journey home was less fraught than the work you’d done in the camps. Your cloak felt heavier than usual, boots scuffing softly on the cobblestones as you approached the modest building that housed the clinic’s entrance and your apartment above it.

Cassian’s shoulders slumped a little, wings drooping as he glanced at you. “We made it,” he said, voice carrying a note of relief. “Another successful adventure survived.” His smile was a bit lopsided, but genuine.

You managed a small chuckle, rolling your stiff shoulders. “A success, I hope,” you answered quietly. “At least some of them seemed open to new methods.”

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “They’ll never admit it, but they’ll use what you taught them. You left an impression, Y/N.”

The simple honesty in his tone warmed you. The clinic door beckoned, safety and rest just inside. You paused at the threshold, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming with me,” you said softly. “I know you had other duties, but I’m grateful you lent your presence—and, frankly, your muscle—to ensure no one gave me too hard a time.”

Cassian shrugged, easy humor returning for a moment. “Any excuse to keep the Illyrians in line.” He sobered a fraction, studying you with quiet sincerity. “I’m glad I could help.”

A silence fell, not uncomfortable but weighted with the fatigue of the journey. At length, Cassian cleared his throat, as if remembering something. “Oh, right,” he said, seeming almost amused by whatever he’d forgotten. “Before I go—Rhys asked me to pass along an invitation. He’d like you to join him, Feyre, and a few others for dinner tomorrow night at their townhouse in Velaris. It’s a sort of… well, I guess a welcome dinner now that you’re truly back in the Night Court.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a spark of gratitude lit behind them. “Dinner?” you repeated, a bit taken aback. “That’s… an honor. I—” You hesitated, a hundred questions floating to your mind. You weren’t sure what one normally did when invited to the High Lord’s home for a meal. “Should I bring anything?” you asked, half-wondering if a gift or some rare herbs might be customary.

Cassian’s grin turned playful. “Bring yourself,” he said simply. “That’s all they’ll want. Trust me, Rhys and Feyre don’t stand on ceremony with friends. Consider it an evening to relax, maybe talk about what’s next.” His gaze flicked over the clinic’s door, then back to you, voice softening. “You deserve a good meal and a bit of comfort after the work you’ve done.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “All right,” you agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” He exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Now, I’d better let you rest. I think we’ve both earned a good night’s sleep.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Absolutely,” you said, resting a hand on the door’s latch. “Sleep well, Cassian.”

He gave you a salute that was half-mocking, half-genuine, wings fluttering as he turned away and headed down the street. You watched him go for a moment, then slipped inside the clinic, fatigue tugging at your limbs. Tomorrow, you would face the High Lord’s table, and perhaps some quieter conversations that might shape the next phase of your return.

For now, rest called, and you followed it gratefully up the stairs to your apartment, thoughts drifting between memories of Illyria’s harsh mountains and the warm promise of dinner among unlikely allies.

Back inside the familiar confines of the clinic, you paused just inside the door, drawing in the scents of linen and dried herbs that always lingered in the halls. Your joints ached a bit from the journey, but routine called, and you answered it. Before heading upstairs to your apartment, you moved through the quiet corridors to the records room. A low lamp flickered there, its glow soft against the shelves.

You ran your fingertips along the ledgers, pulling out the records from the past three days. Your eyes skimmed the entries, scanning notes that Elira and the other healers had left. No major emergencies, you read with relief—only a few minor wounds, a mild fever, the usual aches and pains. The neat handwriting confirmed that Elira had continued training the younger healers as planned. She’d even left a brief note: All went well. The younger ones are picking up the new bandaging technique quickly.

A small smile touched your lips. Good. Progress, even in your absence.

Satisfied that the clinic had fared well without you, you tucked the ledger back into place and turned toward the stairs. The promise of rest beckoned, and you ascended quietly, passing familiar sconces that flickered in the gentle air currents. Upstairs, your apartment welcomed you with its calm silence. You shrugged off your cloak, letting it fall over a chair, and considered the state of your legs and back. A warm bath—yes, that would be perfect.

You crossed to the small bathroom, lighting a few candles along the way. The soft glow gilded the tiled walls and the simple, claw-footed tub. Setting the faucet, you allowed steaming water to pour in, scenting it with a bit of lavender oil you kept for moments like these. As the tub filled and steam rose, you breathed deeply, letting the tension roll off your shoulders.

So much had happened—Illyria, the uncertain dynamics in the Night Court’s inner circle, and tomorrow, a dinner invitation from the High Lord himself. But for now, here, in this private sanctuary, you could let all that fade. Stripping out of your travel-stained clothes, you sank into the bath, the warm water cradling your tired muscles. The quiet of the evening settled over you, and the lavender-soaked steam eased the lingering edges of worry.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges and discoveries. Tonight, you granted yourself peace.

—————

When evening arrived, you found yourself walking through Velaris’s softly lit streets, a bundle of carefully chosen flowers nestled in the crook of your arm. You’d spent much of the day working at the clinic as usual, but your mind had drifted often to the upcoming dinner. Now, wearing a simple but neat outfit—something presentable without being ostentatious—you followed the directions Cassian had given you, making your way toward the High Lord and High Lady’s townhouse.

Your heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves. It wasn’t as if you were heading into battle, but meeting them on such personal terms, in their private home, was a new threshold. You hadn’t seen Azriel since returning from Illyria, and though he might be present, you tried not to focus on that too much. This evening wasn’t about your confused feelings or the golden thread that tugged quietly at your awareness. It was about respect, camaraderie, and, hopefully, laughter over good food.

Rounding a corner, you came upon the district where the townhouse stood. The soft glow of streetlamps illuminated quiet lanes, and music drifted faintly from some distant party. Ahead, you spotted the house described to you—a graceful building of warm-colored stone and gently sloping roofs. It was large enough to accommodate their inner circle and guests, yet it didn’t loom or flaunt opulence. Instead, it exuded a gentle, welcoming aura.

Plants climbed trellises along the exterior, flowering vines weaving patterns around balconies and window frames. You caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine mingling with roses and citrus blossoms, an elegant tapestry of nature’s perfume draped over the home. It felt alive, this house—a place nurtured by caring hands. A place of growth and warmth.

Approaching the door, you paused to straighten your posture and smooth your clothes. The flowers you carried were modest and cheerful—nothing exotic or rare, just a vibrant mix of blooms from a local florist. You’d considered bringing wine, but after a moment’s reflection, you realized that whatever bottle you could afford would be outshone by the contents of their likely well-stocked cellar. Flowers, though, offered color, scent, and sincerity. That, you hoped, would be appreciated.

Exhaling slowly, you stepped forward, footfalls muffled by the ivy-softened walkway. The door’s brass knocker gleamed in the lamplight. You raised your free hand and knocked gently, heart fluttering once more. Perhaps it was silly to be nervous. You’d healed impossible wounds, steered conversations with stubborn Lords, and confronted your own uncertainties. You could handle a dinner invitation.

As you waited for someone to answer, you let your gaze drift along the eaves and sills. Lanterns dangled from hooks, their glass panels casting soft patterns of light and shadow across the entryway. Everything felt harmonious and attentive to detail—a reflection, perhaps, of the people who lived inside.

In a moment, you would be ushered in, welcomed as a friend or colleague rather than a mere visitor. The thought steadied you. The flowers shifted in your arms, and their gentle fragrance rose to meet you, a reminder that some gestures spoke volumes without words.

You were here, and you would face whatever the evening brought with an open heart.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, her hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders, a gentle smile illuminating her features. She wore something elegant but not showy, a simple gown that played up her natural grace. When she saw you, her eyes lit even brighter, and she reached out, enfolding you in a warm, unexpected hug. It eased a little of the tension that had coiled in your chest.

“You’re here,” she said, voice calm and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could come.”

You offered her the bouquet, a mix of vivid blooms you’d chosen with care. Her eyes widened slightly, delighted. “They’re beautiful—thank you. I know a perfect spot for these.” She stepped back, holding the flowers with a careful tenderness, as if the gift mattered more than you’d dared hope.

She ushered you inside, and you slipped off your coat. Though it hadn’t snowed that day, a crisp chill still lingered in Velaris’s winter air, and the townhouse’s warmth wrapped around you like a soft cloak. Feyre guided you through a well-lit hallway into the living room, where conversation and laughter wove a gentle tapestry over the hush of the evening.

Rhysand rose from an armchair near the hearth to greet you, his violet eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Welcome,” he said, voice smooth and sincere. “Please, make yourself at home. You’ve already met Cassian and Azriel, but allow me to introduce the rest.”

Your gaze swept over the room. Cassian stood near the mantel, a glass of wine in hand, and as you glanced at him, he offered a lazy grin. Azriel was positioned a bit to the side, one arm resting along the back of a sofa. His bandages were gone, leaving faint lines of healing scars hidden beneath well-tailored clothing. He inclined his head softly when your eyes met, acknowledging your presence without fuss.

Seated near Azriel was a stunning blonde female—radiant and poised. Her beauty caught your attention immediately. Feyre noticed your look and added with a smile, “This is Mor—Morrigan. She’s family.”

Mor raised her glass in greeting, her hazel eyes warm with easy camaraderie. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said, voice touched with a hint of laughter, as if you’d arrived just in time for something pleasant.

Another figure caught your eye next: a smaller female, perched on the arm of a chair. Her silver eyes were sharp, ancient somehow, set into a refined face and framed by dark hair. This, you guessed, must be Amren. Your heart gave a small jolt of surprise—she was the one you’d heard described as powerful and formidable, yet she merely gave you a faint nod, assessing and cool, but not impolite.

Near Cassian stood another woman, her posture elegant, her features bearing a clear familial resemblance to Feyre. This must be Nesta—Feyre’s sister, the one who you’d heard was mated to Cassian. Her gaze was direct, but not hostile; perhaps curious, as if measuring who you were and why you’d been invited into their circle. You offered her a respectful smile, and she inclined her head in a subtle, regal manner.

The atmosphere was cordial, tinted with curiosity and acceptance. The fire crackled softly behind you, the scent of rich food and spices drifting in from another room. Feyre gestured to a free chair and you sat, the others resuming their conversations, weaving you naturally into their midst.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Azriel shift slightly, watching the interplay of introductions. Morrigan turned to say something to him, drawing his attention away and giving you a moment to breathe, to take in that you were truly here, part of this intimate gathering.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Feyre said, settling beside Rhysand, who’d gently clasped her hand. “Until then, relax. We’ve all been looking forward to getting to know you better.”

With those words and the warmth in the room, you felt some of your lingering tension melt away. You were among allies, in a house so beautifully tended, with plants climbing the windows and laughter in the air. It was easy, in that moment, to let yourself belong just a little more to this court you were slowly making home.

As you settled into a free chair near the hearth, the soft hum of conversation enveloped you. The group arranged themselves in a loose circle of armchairs and sofas, each face illuminated by the gentle firelight and the glow of simple lanterns placed around the room. Feyre had taken a seat beside Rhysand, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, while Cassian lounged near Nesta and Azriel, who remained quietly attentive. Mor perched gracefully on a low ottoman, crossing her long legs with casual elegance, and Amren claimed a small armchair as if it were a throne, her silver eyes keen but not hostile.

Feyre, ever the thoughtful hostess, spoke first. “You’ve just returned from Illyria, haven’t you?” Her voice was warm, genuine curiosity shining through. “Cassian told us a bit about your work there. How did it go?”

You drew a steady breath, aware of more eyes turning your way. “It was… challenging,” you admitted with a half-smile. “The healers were skilled but set in their ways. I managed to introduce a few new techniques. Some were skeptical, but I think a few caught on.”

Cassian gave a snort from his spot by the mantel. “Some of them were more than skeptical. Let’s say they were resistant until they saw the results.” His grin flashed, clearly proud of how you’d handled the situation.

Mor tilted her head, golden curls slipping over one shoulder. “Resistance is standard there,” she said, amused. “I’m impressed you made progress so quickly. Usually, it takes a century or two to change an Illyrian’s mind about anything.”

A ripple of light laughter flowed through the room. Even Nesta’s lips curved slightly, though her gaze remained measured. “They can be stubborn,” Nesta agreed quietly. “But if you got them to listen, you’ve accomplished a minor miracle.”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you then, calm and thoughtful. “Any particular technique you introduced that might stand out for them?” he asked softly, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. There was interest, maybe respect, underlying the question.

You smoothed a hand over your knee, considering. “I combined some Dawn Court infusion methods with local herbs to create salves that heal burns and cuts faster. Also taught them how to more efficiently close a wound using layered bandaging, so it breathes and doesn’t trap infection.” Your shoulders relaxed as you spoke, talking shop easing the tension in your chest. “It’s subtle changes that matter over time.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “Subtle changes often pave the way for greater shifts. Even if they don’t appreciate it now, they’ll notice the difference when their warriors recover more swiftly.”

Amren’s silver eyes narrowed with interest. “You sound like someone who doesn’t fear digging into traditions,” she commented. “I suppose traveling the continents taught you that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Exactly,” you said. “Every place I visited had a different approach to healing. By the time I returned, I carried a blend of knowledge. Challenging ingrained habits is never easy, but I believe if we show results, people adapt.”

As the conversation in the living room flowed around you, your attention drifted to Azriel, who’d been listening quietly while the others exchanged stories. Under the soft glow of the lamps, he seemed more at ease than the last time you’d seen him—no bandages, no pained tension in his posture. But you knew better than to assume all was perfect.

Leaning forward slightly, you caught his eye. “Azriel,” you began, your voice low enough that the others, caught up in their chatter, wouldn’t be distracted. “How are your injuries feeling now?”

He blinked, as if brought out of private thoughts. The edge of his mouth curved in a faint but genuine smile. “Much better,” he replied softly, voice smooth and controlled. “Your treatments worked wonders.”

A small surge of satisfaction warmed you. “I’m glad. I worried about scarring, especially on the wings, but it seems my methods held.”

Azriel inclined his head, shadows shifting imperceptibly at his shoulders. “They did. I owe you more gratitude than I can put into words.”

You waved a hand dismissively, though not unkindly. “No need for grand thanks. It’s what I do.” After a brief moment, you continued, “If you find yourself running low on ointment or salve—anything for lingering aches—you’re welcome to stop by the clinic. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

His eyes flickered slightly, a hint of something unreadable passing there. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, voice still gentle. “Though I think it’s my turn to follow the rules this time. I won’t risk mixing anything that’s not from your hands.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. “Good,” you said, pleased to note even the faintest humor there. “I’d prefer no more surprise remedies.”

He almost smiled fully at that, and you found yourself relieved—relieved that he’d healed, relieved that you could speak amicably, and relieved that, even amidst lingering complexities, you could offer him help without awkwardness.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his attention shifting fully to you. “Your skill with Illyrian wings is… notable,” he said, voice calm and curious. “It’s not often we see someone outside these mountains who can treat wing injuries with such precision. Where did you learn that?”

You swallowed, noticing how everyone’s gaze had angled your way. Azriel’s dark eyes were steady, Cassian’s brows lifted with mild interest, and Mor sipped her wine, listening quietly. “I owe much to Madja,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound offhanded. “In my youth, under her tutelage, I spent time observing healings of various kinds. When I traveled to the Dawn Court, I worked extensively with peregryns. Between the two experiences, I pieced together techniques that transfer well.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, and you sensed approval rather than suspicion. Feyre offered a gentle smile, as if pleased to understand more about your background. Azriel only gave the faintest tilt of his head, acknowledging your explanation.

Before anyone could delve deeper, the door opened softly, and you all turned. Elain stepped into the room, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The atmosphere shifted; the hush that followed her appearance was softer, lighter. She carried a baby—a tiny figure swaddled in soft linens. At the sight of you, Elain’s eyes went wide, a brief flicker of something like panic crossing her face. She managed a stiff, silent nod in your direction, acknowledging your presence.

She crossed the floor and carefully handed the baby to Feyre before moving to sit next to Azriel. The subtle tension that flared in the air didn’t go unnoticed by you. Seeing her choose a seat near Azriel struck a chord, stirring a quiet ache in your chest. The memory of misunderstandings and the complexities of their relationship hovered in your mind.

Feyre, noticing the moment, turned toward you with a warm, bright smile and the infant cradled securely in her arms. “This is Nyx,” she said softly, pride and love coloring every syllable. She stepped closer, letting you see the baby’s tiny, delicate features, the soft tufts of dark hair. “Our son.”

Your heart softened at the sight, and you drew a careful breath. “He’s beautiful,” you murmured, the tension easing slightly at the simple purity of this introduction. “Congratulations.”

Feyre’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said, rocking Nyx gently. After a moment, she glanced toward Elain and then back to you. “I should also introduce you to my sister, Elain. But I believe you’ve already met?”

Your eyes darted to Elain, who offered another small, tense smile. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly. “We’ve met.” The memory of the morning with Azriel’s injury still flickered in the back of your mind. Elain’s panic that day, her attempt to help gone wrong.

The baby cooed softly, wriggling a tiny arm free from the swaddle, and Feyre adjusted him tenderly. The simple, gentle act redirected your focus to something simpler and kinder. In that moment, held in Feyre’s arms, Nyx represented a softness and hope that contrasted sharply against the intricate bonds and tensions that wove this inner circle together.

You lifted your gaze, meeting Elain’s eyes briefly. She looked away, cheeks coloring faintly, before focusing on Azriel and the room’s gentle chatter. A hush of understanding passed—whatever had happened before still lingered, unspoken and unresolved, but for tonight, perhaps it could remain beneath the surface, overshadowed by the presence of family and the simple joy of a new life in their midst.

You blinked, noting the tiny, budding wings peeking out from Nyx’s swaddle. It took a moment for the sight to register—Feyre and Rhysand’s child had wings. The world narrowed briefly to that small detail, a realization that sent a pulse of concern through your chest. Memories stirred of the quiet horrors you’d learned about: how some winged births could end tragically if the mother’s body wasn’t prepared.

“Oh,” you said softly, voice hushed. “He has wings.” The words escaped before you could smooth your tone. You turned your gaze to Feyre, eyes wide with a hint of shock. “Are—are you all right?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. You knew how risky such births could be, how many mothers—non-winged mothers—lost their lives or their children. The knowledge spilled out in your startled tone, too raw and honest.

As soon as the question left your lips, you caught yourself. This was personal, deeply so, and it might not be your place to ask. A flush warmed your cheeks, and you cleared your throat softly. “I’m sorry,” you murmured quickly, lowering your eyes. “That was intrusive. I didn’t mean—”

Feyre’s smile was gentle, understanding. She shifted Nyx slightly, rocking him in a way that spoke of deep maternal comfort. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, voice kind and steady. “I know it can be dangerous. It was. But I’m fine now—truly.”

She exhaled softly, sharing a glance with Rhysand who offered a reassuring nod. “We had a lot of support, the best healers, and… let’s just say there were extraordinary circumstances that helped.” Feyre’s tone carried quiet resilience, as if acknowledging a trial endured and overcome.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief and admiration washed over you. “I’m glad,” you said simply, heartfelt. The image of the tiny, safe baby cradled in Feyre’s arms, half winged and wholly loved, took the sting out of your earlier alarm.

Nyx stirred, letting out a small, contented noise, as if confirming that all was indeed well. And so, in that moment, you allowed yourself to trust in their strength and the healing they had found—together, in this extraordinary court.

The dining table was set with care and elegance, an array of dishes spread like a tapestry of flavors and colors. Feyre had returned after settling Nyx down for the night, and now she sat beside Rhysand, her eyes brighter, freer, as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. You were seated between Amren and Mor, with Azriel directly across from you. The air hummed with conversation, the gentle clink of silverware, and the faint glow of faelight sconces casting a warm gleam over crystal and china.

The food was beyond anything you’d tasted in recent memory—roasted vegetables drizzled with spiced oils, tender meats seasoned to perfection, a fresh salad of night-blooming flowers and herbs that tasted of moonlit gardens. Between bites, you couldn’t help small hums of appreciation. Mor grinned at your delighted expression, whispering that Feyre and Rhys knew how to choose their cooks wisely. Amren, on your left, merely arched an eyebrow, as if such quality was the norm in this household.

Across the table, Rhysand and Feyre spoke quietly with Azriel about the latest developments with Koshiev’s faction. They didn’t hide the topic, but neither did they elaborate on grim details unnecessarily. Still, the tension was palpable.

Cassian, seated beside Nesta, seemed to pick up on the unease radiating from her. He leaned closer, murmuring something low that drew a reluctant smirk from her lips—a rare crack in her otherwise steely demeanor.

The conversation shifted, soft murmurs filling the dining room as everyone seemed to settle into their own thoughts. But your gaze lingered, drawn to the quiet interactions between Azriel and Elain.

They weren’t doing anything outright inappropriate, of course. Yet the way Azriel leaned slightly toward her, his shadows curling faintly around her seat as though they couldn’t help themselves—it was subtle, but unmistakable. And Elain, for all her delicate, quiet nature, didn’t seem to shy away from him. If anything, the small glances she cast in his direction, the way her hand lingered near his on the table, spoke volumes.

Something was going on between those two. That much you were sure of.

But didn’t she have a mate?

The thought gnawed at you. From what you’d learned during your short time with this group, the bond between mates was supposed to be unbreakable, undeniable. A rare gift—or curse, depending on how one saw it. Yet here was Elain, sitting close to Azriel, her mate nowhere to be found.

You couldn’t help but recall the low, tense conversation you’d overheard between Rhysand and Azriel days ago. Their voices had been hushed, but you’d caught enough to piece together fragments. It had been about Elain, about Azriel’s feelings for her—and about how complicated the whole situation was.

Even tonight, the tension was palpable. Rhysand and Feyre avoided looking too long in Azriel and Elain’s direction, as if their mere proximity might ignite something. Cassian’s joviality had dimmed slightly, and even Mor seemed unusually reserved.

You shifted in your seat, the unease settling in your chest like a stone. Whatever was unfolding here felt like a precarious balancing act, one wrong move away from shattering entirely.

It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself firmly—because at the end of the day, you barely knew him. Whatever flicker of connection you’d felt when you first crossed paths with Azriel had been just that: a flicker.

Still, you couldn’t entirely ignore the truth you’d kept to yourself. That he was your mate.

You hadn’t planned to speak of it, not now, perhaps not ever. What would be the point? He didn’t seem to know, and you weren’t about to disrupt the fragile balance of this group—or his life—by bringing it up.

But watching him now, seeing the way his gaze softened for Elain, the way his shadows seemed drawn to her as if they couldn’t help themselves... it unsettled you.

You reached for your glass of wine, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem. It wasn’t your place to interfere, nor did you want to. And yet, the sight stirred something uncomfortable in you—an ache you couldn’t quite place, an unease that whispered of things better left buried.

For now, you resolved, you would tread carefully. Whatever this was, it wasn’t your story to tell.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, you caught snippets of Mor and Feyre discussing the upcoming Solstice celebrations. Their voices carried a mix of excitement and warmth, and even those not directly involved in the planning seemed to lean in slightly, drawn by the festive air.

“Everything’s nearly set,” Mor said with a grin, her golden eyes glimmering. “But I still think we need more lights. You can never have too many.”

Feyre laughed softly, shaking her head. “We’re already bordering on blinding half the Sidra with what we’ve got planned.”

“Exactly,” Mor countered. “Bordering. Not quite there yet.”

The exchange drew a small chuckle from the others, and soon the table was animated with chatter about the Solstice—decorations, food, gifts, the music for the evening. You found yourself listening quietly, a faint smile on your lips as their excitement filled the room.

Then Cassian turned to you, curiosity lighting his hazel eyes. “What about you, Y/N? What are you planning for the Solstice?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Working,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Cassian stared at you, his expression shifting from surprised to faintly unimpressed. “You’re working?” he repeated, as though the concept was completely foreign to him.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your wine. “I gave the night and the day after to the other healers,” you explained matter-of-factly. “They have families to spend it with.”

His blunt stare didn’t waver. “And you don’t?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long. You didn’t flinch, though. Instead, you gave him a small, wry smile. “Not in the traditional sense,” you replied. “I’ve spent most of my life on the road. Holidays are just... nights like any other to me.”

Mor frowned slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but Feyre beat her to it. “You could spend it with us,” she offered warmly, her eyes soft and kind. “If you’re free after your shift, of course.”

You hesitated, glancing around the table at the faces watching you. “That’s kind of you,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I’ll see how the night goes, but I wouldn’t count on me. Those nights tend to be pretty busy.”

Cassian still didn’t look entirely pleased, but he let the topic drop, turning to Azriel to mutter something under his breath. Across from you, Feyre and Mor resumed their discussion about the preparations, but you noticed the glances they shot your way from time to time.

The Solstice was supposed to be a time of joy, of togetherness. And yet, for you, it had always been a reminder of the distances you’d kept—between yourself and others, between your past and your present. Maybe this year would be different. But you weren’t ready to hope for that just yet.

Nesta, her tone gentle yet curious, asked, “Don’t you have family here in Velaris? Since it’s where you’re from?”

Cassian’s head turned sharply to her, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked like he was about to respond, but you stopped him with a soft smile, silently telling him it was okay.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but quieter now, the words laced with a faint melancholy. “My parents passed away when I was still a child. And... it wasn’t exactly a union their families approved of. My father was a High Fae, and my mother was Illyrian.”

The table fell silent, the weight of your admission settling over the group.

Feyre’s expression softened, her brows knitting together as if piecing together what your childhood must have been like. Even Amren’s usually sharp gaze seemed to flicker with a faint glimmer of understanding.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice low and thoughtful. “A High Fae and an Illyrian,” he mused, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a knowing look. “That couldn’t have been easy for them—or for you.”

You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t. My mother’s family saw her as a traitor for leaving the war-camps. And my father’s family... well, let’s just say they weren’t thrilled about him choosing someone they considered beneath him. They tried to make it work, but the rejection on both sides was... hard.”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a faint, understanding smile tinged with something more—perhaps a trace of his own memories. “My parents were mates,” he said softly. “But even that bond didn’t shield my mother from what she endured because she was Illyrian. My father’s court viewed her as an outsider, no matter that she was his equal in every way.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his willingness to share the parallel. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Then I suppose you understand better than most.”

He inclined his head. “More than you might think. My mother bore the burdens of being Illyrian with grace, but I saw the way it chipped away at her. The way others refused to see her worth simply because of where she came from.”

The room was quiet for a beat longer, the group absorbing the weight of your shared experiences.

“Did they stay in Velaris?” Nesta asked gently, her voice curious but kind.

“They tried,” you said, your voice softening even more. “Velaris was my mother’s dream. She wanted a place where their love could thrive without the judgment of others. But it wasn’t that simple. My father’s family refused to acknowledge me, and my mother’s kin wanted nothing to do with either of us. They both passed when I was young, so... it’s just been me for a long time.”

Cassian shifted, his hand tightening briefly around his glass. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his body told you all you needed to know—he hated the thought of you enduring that kind of isolation.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quietly, her voice warm with empathy.

You offered her a small smile, the sting of the memory softened by time. “It’s all right. I’ve built my life on my own terms since then. And Velaris... it’s still home.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze steady. “Velaris is the City of Starlight. But it’s also a sanctuary for those who need it. And no matter what, you’ll always have a place here.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and something you couldn’t quite name.

The laughter faded into a comfortable hum, and Rhysand glanced at you again, his tone turning slightly more serious. “Speaking of important matters, are the preparations for your trip to the Dawn Court coming along?”

You nodded, resting your hands on the edge of the table. “It’s going well,” you said. “I’m not rushing, though. The meeting isn’t for a few weeks, so there’s time to finalize everything.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes slightly. “What meeting?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The head healers of all the courts are gathering to discuss the rising tensions in the world. It’s not something we do often—every ten or twenty years, if that. But given everything that’s been happening lately, it was decided that now’s the time to meet.”

Feyre leaned forward, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Even though you’ve only recently taken over from Madja, isn’t that going to be... challenging for you?”

Her question was genuine, not unkind, and you offered her a soft smile. “Not as much as you might think,” you replied. “I already know all of them. Either they trained me, or I’ve trained them at some point.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Well, look at you. The prodigy of Prythian’s healers.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly. It’s more about connections and trust. It’s easier to work with people when you’ve already built a rapport.”

“True enough,” Rhysand said, his voice thoughtful. “But there’s still a lot of weight in those meetings. Decisions made there could affect countless lives.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’m aware. That’s why it’s important we all come together now. We have to be prepared for what might come next, no matter where it starts.”

Cassian broke the tension with a grin. “Still betting it’ll be less of a disaster than a High Lords’ meeting?”

Laughter rippled around the table again, and you shrugged with a playful smirk. “I’d say so. We’re less inclined to argue over who’s the most powerful and more focused on practical solutions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Amren muttered dryly. “I’d argue just for fun.”

The table erupted into laughter, the light-heartedness returning as the conversation shifted to lighter topics once more.

Dinner naturally came to an end, and the group shifted to the living room. The atmosphere turned even more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Cups of tea were passed around for some, while others nursed glasses of wine or stronger spirits. The crackle of the fire in the hearth added a cozy backdrop to the low hum of conversation and occasional laughter.

You found yourself sinking into a plush armchair, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The soft glow of the firelight played across the room, highlighting the easy camaraderie between everyone. This wasn’t just a group of warriors and leaders—they were a family. Even in their teasing, you could sense the unshakable bonds that connected them, forged by shared history and unwavering loyalty.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the sight of them. Feyre and Rhysand were curled up together on a loveseat, Cassian sprawled across a large sofa with Mor perched at the other end, her laughter ringing out as he recounted some likely exaggerated tale. Nesta sat nearby, a book in hand, though her attention occasionally drifted to the conversation.

But as your gaze wandered, you noticed something—or rather, someone—missing. Neither Elain nor Azriel was present. The realization sent a small, unwanted pang through your chest, one you quickly buried. Whatever their reasons for leaving, it wasn’t your concern. It couldn’t be.

When your tea was finished, you placed the empty cup delicately on the table before rising to your feet. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “But I should head back. There’s still some work I need to wrap up before the night’s over.”

Cassian glanced up from his drink, his grin playful as always. “You’re leaving already? And here I thought Azriel was the workaholic around here, but you might actually be worse.”

His words, though light-hearted, made something twist in your stomach. You tried to brush it off, but then he glanced around the room and added, “Speaking of which... where is Az? Slacking off for once?”

“Leave it, Cassian,” Rhysand interjected smoothly. His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his violet gaze betrayed a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps understanding—as his eyes darted to you. He didn’t press the issue, but the weight of his brief look lingered all the same.

Feyre stood and approached you, her steps fluid and graceful. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms firm but gentle. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “It was nice having you here. We’ll have to do this again soon.”

You returned the embrace, her kindness settling some of the unease lingering in your chest. “I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Cassian’s voice broke through the moment as Feyre stepped back. “You know, if you’re working this late, you might actually give Az a run for his money,” he teased. Then, with a mock thoughtful look, he added, “Though I guess he’s not here to defend his title. Convenient.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe he’s finally taking a well-deserved break,” you said, keeping your tone light as you glanced toward the door.

Rhysand’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing. The slight quirk of his lips suggested he’d noticed something, but whatever it was, he chose to keep it to himself—for now.

With a final round of goodnights, you stepped out into the cool night air. They were a family, and while you didn’t quite feel like part of it yet, the warmth they’d shown you was undeniable.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Velaris, the crisp night air nipping at your skin, your gaze lifted instinctively to the sky. The stars above were breathtaking—countless pinpricks of light scattered across an endless expanse of velvet black. They seemed so serene, so untouched by the weight of the world below. For a moment, you let yourself be lost in their beauty, your steps slowing as if the universe itself was urging you to pause.

You didn’t notice the tears until a cold droplet slid down your cheek, and then another. Startled, you reached up to brush your fingers against your face, finding your skin wet. Confusion prickled at the edges of your thoughts as you stared at the small drops clinging to your fingertips. You weren’t sad. At least, you didn’t think you were. The evening had been lovely—warm and full of laughter. Yet here you were, crying under the stars.

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you continued walking, the faint echo of your footsteps the only sound in the stillness. You barely knew Azriel. That thought circled your mind like an unrelenting shadow. For all the moments you’d spent stealing glances at him, observing the way he carried himself with quiet strength and grace, there was still so much you didn’t know. So much you might never know.

And then there was the bond. The invisible thread you could feel humming at the edge of your awareness, a constant reminder of something greater, something unasked for. You’d kept it to yourself, not because of secrecy, but because the mere thought of saying it aloud made your stomach twist with apprehension. It wasn’t fair—not to him, not to you.

Forcing a bond on him, on anyone, was the last thing you wanted. Azriel deserved the freedom to choose, the freedom to love without the weight of a bond dictating his path. But even as you told yourself that, a cruel voice in your mind whispered that the bond wasn’t something he would celebrate—not with you as his mate.

What did you have to offer him? Compared to Elain’s gentle beauty and kindness, you felt like a storm—chaotic and unyielding. You’d spent centuries honing your skills, fighting battles, making sacrifices. Vulnerability wasn’t something you knew how to share.

A sharp breath escaped you, your hands curling into fists as your pace quickened. The tears came faster now, silent but persistent, blurring the cobblestones underfoot. It wasn’t sadness, you told yourself again. It was confusion, frustration, maybe even fear.

You weren’t sure when the walls you’d built around yourself had started to crack, but tonight, surrounded by the warmth of the Inner Circle, you’d felt something shift. It wasn’t just about Azriel. It was about family, connection, belonging—things you’d never let yourself hope for, let alone believe you could have.

But as much as you’d enjoyed the night, as much as you’d appreciated their kindness, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider looking in. They cared for each other deeply, their bonds unbreakable. And you? You were just passing through, a healer with a tangled past and an uncertain future.

The stars blurred as fresh tears welled up, and you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head back to let the cool night air soothe your burning cheeks. You didn’t know what you were crying for—what you were mourning. Maybe it was for the family you’d lost long ago, or the life you might have had if things had been different. Maybe it was for the bond you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

Or maybe, it was for the fragile hope buried deep within you—the hope that one day, you might find a place where you truly belonged.

——

Azriel’s POV

Azriel exhaled a quiet breath as he stepped into the crisp night air, the faint sounds of the dinner fading behind him. The garden of the townhouse was peaceful, blanketed in a soft glow from the moon above. Elain walked beside him, her delicate frame tucked into a thick coat, her hands gripping the fabric tightly against the chill.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first. But as they wandered further down the winding paths, Elain drew closer, her arm brushing his. He glanced at her briefly, noticing the faint pink on her cheeks—not from the cold, but something else.

It was when they reached the edge of the garden, where the view of Velaris spread wide and glittering below, that she finally spoke.

"Azriel," she said softly, her voice hesitant.

He turned to face her, noting the awkward expression on her face, the way her hands twisted nervously in front of her. “What is it?” he asked, his tone calm, though a flicker of concern stirred in his chest.

Elain hesitated, her gaze darting away before meeting his again. “Are you sure...we can trust Y/N?”

Azriel blinked, her question catching him off guard. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, this hadn’t been one of them. “Why wouldn’t we?” he asked, frowning slightly.

Elain’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s just...the way she talks, the way she carries herself. There’s something...off about her.”

Azriel tilted his head, studying her closely. He hadn’t missed Y/N’s sharp tongue during the meeting at the House of Wind, but her words had been purposeful, her actions deliberate. If Elain was referring to that, it didn’t make sense for her to hold it against Y/N.

“She was doing her job,” Azriel said carefully, keeping his tone neutral. “If this is about what happened at the House of Wind—”

“It’s not just that,” Elain interrupted, her voice rising slightly before softening again. She looked at him with wide, almost pleading eyes. “You don’t realize the way she spoke to me. The way she...looked at me. It was—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Azriel’s frown deepened. He couldn’t recall Y/N being anything but professional, but Elain’s tone suggested she felt otherwise. Still, he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without evidence.

“Elain,” he said gently, “what exactly are you saying? Is there something specific that’s made you doubt her?”

She hesitated again, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then, after a moment, she said, “I just...feel like she’s hiding something. A lot of things. And it’s not just her past—it’s her power, Azriel. It’s unsettling. What if she’s here for something else? What if she’s working for Koschei?To attack us from the inside?”

Her voice grew more frantic as she spoke, her words tumbling over one another in a rush of worry.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression calm. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Elain,” he said firmly, his voice a quiet anchor. “You’re overthinking this.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertainty flickering there.

“She’s not here to harm anyone,” Azriel continued. “If she were, we would’ve seen signs by now. And even if there were any truth to your fears, I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

Elain’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt as he added, “Nothing bad will happen while I’m around. I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Elain simply looked at him, her expression softening at his words. She nodded slowly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t completely ease.

“I trust you, Azriel,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel gave her a faint nod, his gaze steady. But as they turned to head back toward the townhouse, a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind—not about Y/N, but about the seeds of mistrust Elain had tried to plant.

Elain bid Azriel a soft goodnight, her steps retreating up the stairs until they faded entirely. Azriel lingered in the quiet of the garden for a moment longer, the chill of the night seeping into his skin as he let his mind turn over her words. Doubt, no matter how unwarranted, was a dangerous thing to sow.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he made his way back to the living room. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta were nowhere to be seen, their laughter and conversations long gone. Only Rhysand and Cassian remained, seated comfortably with drinks in hand.

“There he is,” Cassian said with a smirk, raising his glass. “Thought you’d vanished into the shadows for good this time.”

Azriel ignored the jab, heading straight for the sideboard. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and crossed the room to join them. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, cradling the glass in his hand before taking a long sip.

“You missed the part where we solved all the world’s problems,” Cassian quipped, but there was a lightness to his tone.

Azriel shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to Rhysand, his expression thoughtful. “Did you know about Y/N being half Illyrian and half High Fae?”

Rhysand raised a brow, leaning back in his seat. “Madja mentioned it to me when I first spoke with her about Y/N, but beyond that, no. Y/N hasn’t shared much about her personal life—at least not with me.”

Azriel frowned slightly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “She’s been...secretive.”

“That’s not surprising,” Rhysand said, his voice calm. “She’s lived a long life, Azriel. People who’ve endured as much as she likely has aren’t quick to share their scars.”

Cassian shrugged, setting his empty glass on the table with a faint clink. “It’s not uncommon, though, is it? Half Illyrians without wings? The camps might not like to talk about it, but it happens more often than they’d admit.”

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around his shoulders, his gaze distant. “It’s not just that. She’s...different. There’s a weight to her that’s hard to ignore.”

Rhysand regarded him carefully, his violet eyes sharp. “What are you trying to say, Az?”

Azriel hesitated, the words forming slowly. “She doesn’t seem like someone who’s just here to replace Madja or take up the work of healing. There’s more to her, something she’s not saying.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully. “She’s a healer, yes, but she’s also a warrior. And from what I’ve gathered, she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal to those she chooses to protect. That doesn’t mean she owes us every detail of her life.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s not like we’ve shared all our dirty laundry with her either. Hell, Az, you’ve been watching her like a hawk since she got here, and she hasn’t so much as flinched. If she were hiding something dangerous, don’t you think she’d have slipped up by now?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows whispering quietly in his ears. He took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat.

“I’m not saying she’s a threat,” he said finally. “But there’s something...unsettling about not knowing where she stands. Especially now, with everything happening in Prythian.”

Rhysand sighed, his expression softening. “You’re not wrong to be cautious, Az. But until she gives us a reason to doubt her, we owe her the benefit of the doubt. She’s earned that much through her work alone.”

“Relax, brother,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “Not everyone is out to stab us in the back. Besides, if she wanted to, she’s had plenty of chances.”

The conversation lulled, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. Azriel leaned back in his chair, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. Despite Cassian’s teasing and Rhysand’s reassurances, the unease in his chest didn’t fully fade.

He’d keep watching. Just in case.

Rhysand shifted in his seat, his sharp gaze settling on Azriel. His expression was calm, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice as he spoke. “Maybe it’s time for you to look elsewhere, brother. To seek someone who could truly bring you peace.”

Azriel sighed heavily, the sound filled with equal parts exhaustion and frustration. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if the whiskey held answers he couldn’t find.

Cassian, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked. “You know, Az, Rhys might actually have a point for once. The world won’t end if you let yourself—”

Azriel’s sharp glare cut him off, but it was Rhysand who pressed on, his tone gentle but firm. “Listen, brother, I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or whom to care for. But Lucien is coming back to Velaris for the Solstice, and I don’t want you to—”

Azriel’s head snapped up, and his voice was cold and clipped as he interrupted. “You didn’t have to invite him.”

Rhysand’s brows rose slightly, but his voice remained steady. “He is her mate, Azriel. Whether we like it or not, that bond exists. Ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling more protectively around him. “I’m well aware of that, Rhys. But you didn’t need to bring him here. Solstice is for family.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, holding up a hand as if to diffuse the tension. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. It’s been a long day, and we don’t need to—”

“I don’t need your advice,” Azriel snapped, cutting him off as well. His voice was calm but laced with a quiet, simmering anger. He stood, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “I’m grown enough to make my own decisions, and I don’t need either of you meddling in my personal life.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes followed Azriel carefully, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. But he didn’t press further, simply nodding once.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Well, that went well.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his shadows coiling around him as he turned and left the room. He felt their eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t look back.

As he stepped into the cool night air, the weight of their words still lingered. His chest felt tight, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, guilt, and something he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

----

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