#event planning certification

[eventmanageguide]

Should You Get Certified as a Wedding Planner?

Wedding planner certification, while not mandatory, can set you apart in a competitive field. It demonstrates your knowledge of event planning fundamentals and wedding-specific details. While event planning certification or even general event management certification can provide a valuable foundation, wedding planner certification programs delve deeper into the intricacies of weddings, from vendor management to budget planning. Choosing the best wedding planner certification course depends on your learning style, budget, and career goals. Research different programs to find one that aligns with your needs.

[airlinetransition]

Website: https://www.airlinetransition.org/

The Airline Transition Manual is a comprehensive guide for aspiring and professional pilots navigating the aviation industry. Authored by seasoned airline pilots with decades of combined experience, this resource is tailored to individuals exploring aviation careers, transitioning from other industries, or advancing their pilot careers. The manual covers essential topics like airline operations, scheduling, training, union participation, and career management. It serves as a critical resource for student pilots, military veterans, corporate pilots, and aviation enthusiasts aiming to thrive in the complex world of professional aviation.

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[fortunes-unfavored]

[riyap123]

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When you search for event planning services near me, you’re looking for someone who can translate your vision into reality. Event planners manage every detail, from selecting the perfect venue to coordinating vendors, handling décor, managing logistics, and creating unique experiences that reflect your style and goals. By relying on seasoned professionals, you save time, reduce stress, and enjoy the journey as much as the big day itself.

Why You Need an Event Planner

The biggest misconception about hiring an affordable event planner is that it’s a luxury reserved for big budgets. In reality, event planners help you save money by avoiding costly mistakes and negotiating better deals with vendors. They know the ins and outs of the industry and can suggest creative ways to make the most of your budget without compromising on quality.

Many people start their search with an event organizer near me because they realize the importance of local expertise. Local planners understand venue options, regional vendor reputations, and even seasonal considerations that can make or break an event. From small private parties to large-scale conferences, a trusted event organizer can handle everything with seamless coordination.

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When it comes to personal milestones, such as birthdays, having a dedicated birthday party planner near me ensures a fun and stress-free celebration. They take care of everything from theme ideas and décor setup to entertainment and catering, allowing you to focus on enjoying the moment with loved ones.

For high-end gatherings, a luxury event planner brings a level of sophistication and exclusivity that’s hard to achieve on your own. From elegant floral arrangements and custom lighting to gourmet menus and premium entertainment, luxury planners pay attention to the smallest details that create an unforgettable experience. Their creativity and industry connections enable them to deliver events that are not just memorable, but truly iconic.

In the corporate world, Event Planning is crucial for brand image and business success. Product launches, award ceremonies, and annual conferences all require flawless planning and execution. Professional planners ensure these events not only run smoothly but also reinforce your brand’s message and strengthen relationships with clients and partners.

Why Choose Oppvenuz for Event Planning

When it comes to choosing the right event partner, Oppvenuz stands out as a trusted name in the industry. As a comprehensive event planning platform, Oppvenuz connects you with the best planners and vendors to suit your unique needs. Whether you're looking for an affordable event planner for a cozy family function or a luxury event planner for a grand celebration, Oppvenuz ensures top-quality service and exceptional attention to detail. With a focus on creativity, professionalism, and personalized experiences, Oppvenuz makes your event planning journey smooth, enjoyable, and memorable from start to finish.

Advantages of Professional Event Planning

One of the biggest advantages of working with a professional is the access to an extensive network of trusted vendors and venues. This means you get the best services, often at better rates than if you were to book on your own. From photographers and caterers to décor experts and entertainers, planners bring together the best in the industry to create a cohesive and spectacular event.

Moreover, professional planners excel at crisis management. Even the most meticulously planned events can face unexpected challenges — weather issues, last-minute vendor cancellations, or technical difficulties. With a professional by your side, you have someone ready to handle any situation with calm expertise, ensuring your event stays on track and your guests remain blissfully unaware of any behind-the-scenes hiccups.

Another significant benefit is the creative direction that comes with professional Event Planning. Planners are trend-savvy and can suggest themes, entertainment options, and décor ideas that are innovative and tailored to your specific audience. This creative edge helps make your event stand out and become the talk of the town.

Conclusion

In the end, choosing professional Event Planning is more than just outsourcing tasks — it’s about transforming your dreams into reality without the stress and uncertainty. Whether you’re searching for event planning services near me, an affordable event planner, a reliable event organizer near me, a dedicated birthday party planner near me, or a stylish luxury event planner, you’ll find the perfect solution with Oppvenuz.

With the help of a dedicated planner, every event becomes an immersive, enjoyable, and seamless experience. If you’re ready to elevate your next celebration and truly impress your guests, explore Event Planning services through Oppvenuz today and start turning your special moments into lifelong memories.

[strangesuittheorist]

Hospitality Management Courses | Top Training in Hotel Industry

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[neeeooon]

Secretly Married!Sae headcanon: When an interviewer asks Sae about his martial status, Sae's answer is to pull out his marriage certificate... and giving his PR team their biggest headache to date.

absolutely i love husband!bllk 🩵🩵

a fool in love

secretly married!sae x gn!reader. fluff, slight crack hcs

secretly married!sae was ready to go home the moment he stepped out of the car at the fundraising event. if it was a real fundraiser supporting a real cause, maybe he’d care a little more

secretly married!sae didn’t care about helping the rich get richer. he just wanted to be with you

secretly married!sae kept his face blank as he followed his staff through the crowd to the carpet, eyes hooded and lips frowning despite the reporters and photographers screaming at him to smile

secretly married!sae stood at let the flash cover him until enough time had passed for him to move on

secretly married!sae planned to walk past the interviewers without sparing them any mind, but he made the mistake of glancing over at his teammates, all with fake smiles and gleaming makeup, and accidentally locked eyes with a particularly eager interviewer dressed in blue

secretly married!sae had a mic shoved at his mouth before he could back away. “sae, sae!” the giddy reporter shouted. “eagle-eye fans have noticed you posting more full body photos, as if someone is taking them for you. the angle is all the same, suggesting it’s the same person! can you tell us anything about that?”

secretly married!sae understood what they wanted to know. are you seeing anyone?

secretly married!sae, for the first time that night, let his lip twitch faintly upward. the interviewer’s eyes widened. “are y—“

secretly married!sae held his left hand up. he’d been keeping it from camera’s view after a long, threatening meeting with his pr team, where he refused to take it off

secretly married!sae made sure the reporter’s camera caught the simple black band around his ring finger. “my spouse loves taking my photos. it’s annoying,” he said with a fond smile

secretly married!sae stepped away and walked off the carpet as if he didn’t just drop the biggest bombshell in re al history. now to solve the real mystery: who had been able to get heartthrob itoshi sae to settle down?

[ozzgin]

In the post mentioning flashing horny mantis there was meet and greet. I have a question how other monsters would behave in meet and greet (assuming that they will show up)

(Sorry for my English ;^;)

Also I love your work

POV: Your monster followers meeting you

content: gender neutral reader, mentions of stalking

LizardKing5 vehemently denies his attendance in the chatroom. "What, you think you're some celebrity?" he types, claiming he has better things to do than follow around some pathetic human.

Coincidentally, he's the first monster to greet you, standing tall at the very front of the queue.

"Whatever," he'll mumble, pulling out his merch and shaking your hand with feigned indifference. "I just happened to be in the area."

"What were you even doing before this," you ask, raising your eyebrows at the enormous backpack looming behind him.

Is that camping gear?

His clawed, scaly hand quickly ruffles your hair. Mind your damn business.

SharkMan is rather polite and reserved in his mannerisms. Don't misunderstand, he truly is excited to see you again, but he'd rather not add more to your plate. Besides, if we count the milestone event, he's already gotten way more than a handshake from you.

"Are you staying hydrated?" he asks, placing a bag of goodies on your table. "Here's something to eat during your break."

You smile and thank him for the thoughtful gesture. Hard to believe the same monster left you nearly crippled after a night together. You're sitting on the same cushion you needed for weeks after the affair.

DefNotAStalker will show up just to mess with you. He's watched you prepare for the event, he carefully observed you getting dressed; hell, he even ironed your outfit the night before! You swear the shirt had wrinkles last time you checked.

He'll shake your hand with an innocent grin and ask for an autograph. He's picked the perfect photo for it: to the unaware, it looks like a blurry print screen taken during one of your livestreams. In reality, he cheekily snapped it while hanging right above you, off-screen. You sign it with a chuckle.

"Thank you for coming, it was such a tiring week for me," you say, lowering yourself back in your seat.

"I can imagine. I hope the apartment complex will fix it soon."

You nod, distracted, and the monstrous creature slithers away.

Wait, did you ever even mention this to your followers?

Y/NSimp is elated to meet you. He's been carefully planning this for months, constantly daydreaming about the fateful encounter. His bag is filled to the brim with the required equipment: a fat stack of love letters, a marriage certificate, Photoshopped photos of the two of you together, an engagement ring, and a list of potential names for your future children.

He can already see it: he'll hand you the bag and the flowers, and you'll gasp, surprised by his romantic gesture. You never thought someone would care this much. Without hesitation, you jump into his arms, and promptly cancel the rest of the event. You'll be too busy with your husband-to-be.

Unfortunately, he has omitted one vital detail in his elaborate schemes: the correct address of the meet and greet. By the time he reaches the actual location, the doors are closed and the venue empty.

[Monster Streaming Series] | [Meet and Greet Part 1]

[cressidagrey]

A McLaren Meltdown

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Mclaren’s staff reactions to Oscar Piastri’s surprise marriage reveal.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Sophie had three rules for race weekend PR.

Control the narrative.

Anticipate the chaos.

Never trust a “quick” fan stage.

She was halfway through writing a press release about tire strategy when her phone buzzed once. Then twice. Then thirty-seven times in under two minutes.

The group chat with the digital media team had caught fire.

[McLaren Media 🔥] 💬 “OH MY GOD.” 💬 “HE SAID HE’S BEEN MARRIED SINCE HE WAS EIGHTEEN.” 💬 “WE NEED A STATEMENT.” 💬 “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘MARRIED’???” 💬 “Lando spat water. There is video.”

Sophie blinked at her phone, stunned.

Then came the link.

She clicked. Watched. Listened.

Oscar, calm as ever:

“Well, I already did one of those things.” Lando, shrieking: “YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

Sophie made a sound not unlike a dying animal.

She stood, tablet in hand, walked to the nearest wall in the media trailer, and very calmly banged her forehead against it.

Twice.

Across the room, one of the interns whispered, “Is she okay?”

“No,” someone else replied.

Sophie turned to the team.

“Does anyone have a marriage certificate? A formal quote? A—a photo? Anything we can use?”

Her email pinged.

Subject line: Netflix Inquiry — Episode Rights: Oscar Piastri Reveal

Another ping.

BBC Radio Request: “Interview With the Most Mysterious Woman in Motorsport.”

And then, like he’d been summoned by sheer rage, Zak Brown strolled in, looking far too calm.

“Hey team. Saw the fan stage. Oscar’s married, huh? Wild stuff.”

Sophie slowly turned. “You knew.”

Zak gave her a sheepish smile. “Mark Webber mentioned it once. Years ago. Said she was great. Didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

“ZAK.”

“What?”

“HE’S BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS.” Sophie was dangerously close to combusting. “He’s our youngest driver and he eloped at eighteen. That’s relevant!”

Zak held up his hands. “I didn’t think it was a secret. Oscar’s a private guy.”

“Private guy?! He said ‘on the bed’ like it was a normal engagement location!” Sophie nearly shrieked. “Do you know how many headline puns they’ve made about that already?!”

Someone from graphics called out, “Can we use ‘Lights Out and Vows Away’ or is that too much?”

“It’s not damage,” Zak said helpfully. “It’s engagement.”

“I swear to God, Zak,” Sophie hissed. 

Slack was already full of memes. Someone had gif’d Lando’s meltdown with the caption “Me finding out my best friend is secretly married like it’s a normal Thursday.”

The press inbox was collapsing under subject lines like:

“IS SHE A CELEBRITY?” “DO THEY HAVE A CHILD?” “LAN-DRAMA: Norris Betrayed???” “Can we get her on The Paddock Panel?”

Sophie clutched her forehead. “Okay. Okay. Deep breath.”

“We need Oscar to post something,” she declared, her voice rising above the din.

Zak tilted his head. “You sure? That might just fuel it more.”

“He already fueled it, Zak. He turbocharged it and strapped fireworks to the back.”

“Fair point.”

Sophie groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to have to rewrite everything. Update the media deck. Issue a statement. Reprint bios. Plan a WAG-friendly feature piece. And deal with Lando, who’s spiraling like his best friend betrayed him.”

A pause.

“And someone call Netflix,” she added darkly. “Tell them they just got their best episode of the season. No edits required.”

***

Andrea Stella prided himself on knowing his drivers.

Their tells, their ticks, the way they thought—how they braked, how they communicated, when they needed space and when they needed a push. It was part of his job. But it was also personal. He’d always believed that good leadership came from paying attention to the whole person, not just the lap time.

Which is why the events of this morning left him quietly, genuinely stunned.

He hadn't seen the fan stage live—he’d been in an engineering debrief—but by the time he stepped into the media office, it was all anyone could talk about.

Oscar. Married. For five years. Since he was eighteen.

The video played on loop in the corner of the room, muted but unmistakable. Oscar’s dry calm. Lando’s shocked scream. The social media team was in shambles. The PR team looked like they were trying not to hyperventilate.

Andrea just… stood there for a moment.

Watching.

Processing.

He felt the frown settle between his brows. Not anger. Not exactly disappointment. Just… a quiet ache in the chest of someone who’d thought he was closer to one of his drivers than maybe he actually was.

Oscar had been married. For five years. And Andrea hadn't known. Not even a hint.

He stepped out of the room, calm as ever, but his mind raced.

And then, with all the subtlety of a man who’d been blindsided one too many times today, Andrea found himself heading toward the physio area—toward Kim.

Kim Keedle was Oscar’s trainer, his shadow, his constant presence in the garage. If anyone knew Oscar better than Andrea, it was probably Kim.

Andrea found him in the paddock gym, casually adjusting a resistance band on the wall.

“Kim,” Andrea said, voice even. “Quick question.”

Kim turned, cheerful as always. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”

Andrea tilted his head, arms crossing. “Did you know Oscar was married?”

Kim blinked. Then blinked again. “Uh… yeah?”

Andrea waited.

Kim scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. They’ve been married since—what—just after graduation? Felicity’s great. ”

Andrea was silent for a beat too long.

Kim winced slightly. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Andrea said softly. “I didn’t.”

And that—that was the part that surprised him the most. Not the marriage. 

But the fact that Oscar, his driver, his stone-faced, brilliantly strategic driver, had managed to keep an entire wife away from the paddock spotlight… and never once let it slip.

He thought about all the long flights, the post-race reviews, the hours spent talking about the future. He had asked Oscar about his offseason plans, his training routines, even his travel preferences.

Never once had he thought to ask if Oscar had someone waiting at home.

And Oscar, ever calm, had never offered.

Andrea nodded slowly. “Thank you, Kim.”

Kim gave him a sympathetic smile. “He didn’t mean to keep it from you, you know. He’s just… private. He thinks if something doesn’t affect the job, it doesn’t need mentioning.”

Andrea looked away, exhaling through his nose. “Still. I would’ve liked to have known.”

“Yeah,” Kim said, voice gentler now. “I think he’ll understand that.”

Andrea gave a small nod, but the sting remained.

He wasn’t angry.

Just... quietly hurt.

Because he cared about his drivers—not just the helmets and telemetry and podium stats, but the people beneath all that.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought they cared enough to let him in too.

***

The room had all the energy of a bunker mid-airstrike.

Half the PR team was gathered around the conference table in McLaren hospitality, the other half hovering behind Sophie, who had summoned Oscar with the same tone one might use for code red, house on fire, or Lando’s Instagram Live just crashed the website again.

Oscar walked in like it was any other media meeting.

He sat down. Calm. Collected. Completely unaware that his entire personal life had set the internet on fire six hours ago.

Sophie didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Okay,” she said, voice clipped. “Let’s talk about The Reveal.”

Oscar blinked. “The what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Zak leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying himself. “You nuked the internet with six words.”

Andrea Stella, unusually quiet, just sat with his arms crossed. Still processing. Still mildly wounded.

“‘Well, I already did one of those things,’” Sophie quoted flatly. “That’s what you said.”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Because I did.”

“You have been married for five years,” Sophie said, very slowly, “and you did not think that was something the team—your teammate, your PR department, the people who make the media decks—should know?”

Oscar gave her a polite shrug. “I didn’t hide it.”

Sophie made a strangled noise. “You also didn’t say a word.”

“Different issue,” Oscar said mildly.

Andrea exhaled sharply through his nose.

Zak smirked. “To be fair, he has a point.”

Sophie gave him a look that could kill.

“We need a response,” she snapped. “A controlled response. Instagram. Twitter. Something that gives people what they want without fueling every gossip rag on Earth.”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully. “Okay.”

Sophie blinked. “Okay?”

“I already have a draft.”

The room fell silent.

“You what?” Sophie asked.

Oscar reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out his phone, and calmly opened his Notes app. “Wrote it earlier,” he said. “Figured you’d ask.”

He passed the phone to Sophie.

She scrolled.

Stopped.

Scrolled again.

By the third paragraph, she was blinking fast and biting the inside of her cheek. By the end, she was holding the phone with both hands like it was a fragile heirloom.

One of the interns leaned over her shoulder. “Did he just… write a romance novel in his Notes app?”

Oscar shrugged. “Seemed easier than a press conference.”

Andrea, still quiet, tilted his head. “You wrote this yourself?”

Oscar looked at him. “Yeah.”

Andrea just gave a small nod. No words. But something in his expression shifted. A little less hurt. A little more understanding.

Sophie passed the phone to Zak.

Zak read three lines, then huffed. “Jesus. You really are a wife guy.”

Oscar shrugged again.

“Well,” Sophie said faintly. “It’s perfect.”

Oscar took his phone back. “Should I post it now or wait until after FP2?”

Sophie threw her hands in the air. “How are you so calm about this?!”

Oscar looked up, deadpan. “Because I’ve been married for five years.”

And there it was again—that maddening, infuriating, charmingly psychotic Oscar Piastri calm.

Sophie sat down, defeated. “Fine. Post it. Pray Lando doesn’t say anything unhinged in the comments.”

Andrea glanced at him one more time. “Next time, Oscar,” he said softly, “you can tell us. It doesn’t have to be relevant to the car.”

Oscar looked at him, then nodded. “Noted.”

And with that, he pulled out his phone, opened Instagram, and hit post—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

(Which, to him, it probably was.)

Ten seconds later, Sophie’s phone buzzed again.

And again.

And again.

“Buckle up,” she muttered. “Here we go again.”

[eventmanageguide]

Pursuing Excellence in Event Management

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[inbabylontheywept]

holy hell are people just crueler in arizona????

how would the idea to drag a 2nd grader around on gravel until his back is destroyed even occur to a person????

glad you have your sister to back you up. as a certified big sister (the certificate being the shirt i got saying "awesome big sister" after the birth of my second baby sister), this is what must be done for siblings. you can't fuck with them, that's our job. if there were a nobel prize for big-sistering, i think she should win, but alas, there isn't.

my dad grew up in phoenix/scottsdale and was also bullied in school. once when he was a teen he was walking home and some random boys sprayed mace in his face for no reason and drove off (they were later busted for illegal possession of a weapon, as there was a gun in their backseat). is there something in the water there?

Ehhhhhhh. I've talked to some people about events like this in my childhood, and gotten a lot of responses along the lines of "What Bastard Ass Corner of Hell Did You Crawl Out Of," so here's my multitheory of Arizona Weirdness.

The Summers: Arizona doesn't do daylight savings because it has no desire to save any daylight. Whenever people aren't looking, it tries to discreetly pick pieces of sunlight off its plate to feed to the dog. There was a humiliating incident a few years ago where it thought nobody was looking and tried to throw a large piece of sunlight out an open window into the backyard, but the window was not open, it was merely very clean, so it SMACKED into the glass and slid down and fell on the kitchen floor while everyone watched. This incident is still spoken of in hushed winters in PNW dinner parties. The summers of Arizona make everyone a little manic. Fortunately, God realized this was going to be a huge problem, so He had for the foresight to limit summers to only approximately 6 months of the year. Adding fuel to the fire is that the mania is accompanied by an outside temperature above 110 F (43 C) so you either stay inside and get this very intense kind of cabin fever (like watching TV static on Adderall) or you go outside where you are both energetic and in extreme physical discomfort. Most of the people that are outside have actually tried their best to stay inside, it's just that the Cabin Fever finally succeeded in overriding their pain receptors, so they are basically the equivalent of mindless rage zombies unless they are actually inside of a pool at that very moment. This is why everyone in Arizona owns pools.

The Mormons: The Mormons are extremely resistant to cultural changes. This is because they pick their prophets from a group of 13 old men who are literally competing to see who lives the longest. The oldest gets to be in charge. If this sounds like a bad plan consider that any time one of them dies, everyone goes, ah, well, he probably wouldn't have made a good prophet then. You know. Because God killed him and all. I have always considered this hilarious in how brutal it is. Anyway, the Mormons consistently linger ~20 years behind the standard culture. So growing up in 1980's Mormonworld was, socially, very similar to growing up in 1960's Americana. Except I was in elementary school in the early 2000's, which meant that my social environment was probably most comparable to the 1980s, which television has led me to believe was the era that bullies were required to take mandatory Kung-Fu Dirtbiking courses.

The Water: If there was something in the water, we would still have to drink it.

The Water II: Maybe there's something in everyones water, but it only starts making you into an asshole when you drink a gallon and a half of it a day. Worth considering.

Dumbass Cowboys: Arizona reaaaaaally like its Wild West Heritage. Which in practice means that they are, culturally, very pro-violence. They're an open carry, stand your ground, castle law state, and they have been my entire life. This actually added quite a bit to my elementary school bitterness. It is extremely bizarre to be told, as a child, that you aren't even allowed to swear at people for hitting you while your parents would be allowed to keep shooting until they ran out of bullets. At which point they could call their complimentary NRA lawyer. I have a vague memory of my 3rd grade teacher saying that kids would be much nicer to each other if they were allowed to come to school armed, but alas, Columbine ruined that for everyone. She was actually a very nice lady when she wasn't arguing that children should be allowed to, occasionally, shoot each other. I think she was in her 60's then. Might still be alive.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

As you have one-shot coming up, this idea could work as a long one shot or mini series.

Though I'm just halfway through Iron Flame and don't know how Xaden turns into a venin and of like rest of the fandom and Vi, as of now we don't know the cure for it too. I stumbled upon some 'venin-cure' theories and one of it inspired this idea so hear me out.

Ik Xaden turned into a venin for Violet. As per theories, if he can become one for his love, he has come into the realization and give up what he took (the direct power).

Finally the idea: the reader is actually pregnant. It's up to you if Xaden knew it earlier or not but maybe like idk they're in a war zone or whatever situation, he was going to kill somebody or whatever and at that moment reader faces Xaden. Telling him that she's not going to fight him, she let go of her dagger or sword, trying to remind him of himself, showing him his ring still on her finger. When she sees him calming down, she may take his hand and touch her barely visible (or visible) belly, begging him to let go of the power, reminding him that he's in control of himself, begging him to come to her and their baby.

So I got lost in the writing and made it an OC instead of x reader but it can still be read as a reader instert! That being said, please please please wait to read this until AFTER you've read Onyx Storm as I did use actual events in this!

⚠️MAJOR ONYX STORM SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️

What Love Left Behind | Xaden Riorson

Summary: In the wake of war and unexpected loss, Briar Veyloren–now Riorson–is left to lead Tyrrendor alone—pregnant, grieving, and haunted by the man she loves. Briar must navigate politics, power, and the whisper of hope that lingers in a mysterious letter. She learns that love may be the most dangerous weapon of all—and the only one worth wielding.

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x OC! Briar Veyloren

Notes: I included a couple theories that have been circulating. But seriously if you haven’t read Onyx Storm, you should before reading this.

Warnings: Onyx Storm spoilers, surprise pregnancy and concerns around maternal health, emotional distress and PTSD themes, implied past violence and death, mentions of planned death, war context and threat of battle, angst

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist | FW Masterlist

“Your Grace.” 

The words echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, each utterance threatening to send me over the edge. One month had passed since he vanished, leaving behind only a marriage certificate, a noble title, and an unexpected pregnancy. The last month spent poring over maps and sending out search parties, each return bringing nothing but disappointment. The latest team would be back any day now, but every second dragged on like a lifetime.

As the Duchess of Tyrrendor, I was trapped by my responsibilities, drowning in meetings and decisions that felt foreign to me. No longer just Briar Veyloren, I was now a figurehead, a woman expected to wield authority, yet all I wanted was a moment to breathe without the suffocating weight of my new title. 

The next person who bowed low and addressed me as “Your Grace” just might find themselves on the receiving end of my very real frustration—and it's not my hormones talking.

“Briar? What are you doing?” Brennan’s voice cut through my thoughts, his brow furrowed with concern as he approached. 

“Walking? Did you not just tell me I needed to be more active?” I shot back, rolling my eyes. At barely eleven weeks pregnant and not even showing, I felt more like a burden than a mother-to-be. Brennan’s worry was sweet, but it had become suffocating since he and Imogen had found me unconscious in the courtyard of Riorson House. 

And let's be honest, my whole world feels suffocating without him.

“With someone! What if you tripped on any of the stairs between your room and here?” His voice was laced with the kind of earnestness that made me want to scream and laugh at the same time.

“Brennan,” I began, pinching the bridge of my nose, “I’m going to be honest with you for a minute, okay?” He nodded, earnestness replaced with curiosity. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But if you lecture me again for walking through my own home, I will strangle you.” I raised an eyebrow, my expression daring him to argue.

Brennan's face shifted to one of understanding. I wasn’t just battling the challenges of my pregnancy or the burdens of my title—I was facing the reality that the one man I had trusted to stand by my side was missing, and with him, a part of my heart.

“Understood.” Brennan nods, his expression betraying a mixture of sympathy and concern, but I know this won’t be the last time I’ll have to remind him of my boundaries. “Garrick and Bodhi landed a few minutes ago; they’re in the Assembly Room waiting for you.” His words cut through my thoughts like a sharpened blade as I turn to continue my walk.

“And you waited to tell me that because?” I gasp, the weight of urgency pooling in my chest. The minute those two returned from their mission, I should have been the first to know. 

“Sorry, Bree.” Brennan’s smile emerges, almost sheepish, as a chuckle escaped his lips at my reaction. “I’ll walk you down.” I eye him suspiciously, skepticism knitting my brow, but he’s quick with a rebuttal. “Merely because I’m a part of that meeting too, not because of what I said earlier, I swear.” 

My laughter, albeit strained, breaks through the monotonous hum of everyday life in the halls, a sound that feels foreign yet welcome. It’s probably the brightest anyone has heard since his departure, a small glimpse of the woman I used to be, if only for a moment. 

As we approach the grand double doors leading into the Assembly Room, Brennan leans forward, his hand resting lightly on the polished wood, a silent invitation. He swings the door open, and I step inside, the air suddenly thick with the weight of expectation. Instantly, all eyes turn towards me, the occupants standing with a blend of respect and trepidation as I walk through the threshold.

“What did I say about that shit?” I groan, exasperation lacing my tone as I stride to the opposite end of the throne, settling into one of the more ordinary chairs that line the table. 

“Wouldn’t you prefer to sit on the throne, Your Grace?” Major Ulices Ferris’s voice cuts through the murmur of the room, sounding less like a suggestion and more like a command. I refrain from reacting, my gaze fixated on the imposing throne that looms across the table, a symbol of power that feels unlike something that's mine. 

“It is the Duke’s throne, not mine.” My reply is curt, resolute, as I remain anchored in the chair I’ve chosen, fighting the sorrows that gnawed at me.

“You are the acting leader of Tyrrendor, Your Grace. The Duke is not–” 

“If you tell me what to do in my own province again, Major, you will find that my temper is much, much shorter than his.” The words escape my lips like wildfire, a hand slamming onto the table with a resounding bang that silences the room. “If I do not wish to sit on the fucking throne, then I won’t.” Wide eyes are fixed on me, some filled with surprise, others masking concern, as I struggle against the tears that threaten to spill. “And the next person to call me ‘Your Grace’ will find their vocal cords ripped out.” I realize then, perhaps it is the hormones talking, because I never raise my voice or lash out but the frustration surging within me feels all too real.

A palpable silence envelops the Assembly Room, heavy and suffocating. The clatter of chairs scraping against the floor echoes like thunder as everyone hastily settles at the long, polished table. I take in the scene before me, trying to read the emotions etched on the faces of my advisors and comrades, but I find myself floundering. My dragon, Ríogh, had decided to block me from his power until my child arrives, severing the tether that usually grounds me in the whirlwind of feelings surrounding me. The air feels thick and stagnant, as if charged with unspoken fears and burdens, and I have no way to discern why.

The murmurs fade as the Assembly begins their weekly reports—information that should be routine yet now seems to hang like a dark cloud overhead. One by one, they share updates on the army's status, the progress of the riders’ and flyers’ classes—classes I should be attending, but the demands of governing Tyrrendor weigh heavily on my shoulders. The mention of Violet’s training under Felix pulls my attention momentarily, but I am drawn back to the map spread before me, its worn surface marked with notes and symbols that pulse with urgency.

“And the search?” My voice, low and steady, cuts through the air, my gaze still focused on the map as if the answers might leap off the parchment and reveal themselves to me. Hope is a fragile thing, and I’ve learned not to cling to it, especially during these grim reports. Two weeks of relentless despair in the beginning had left their mark, and I understood all too well the reason Ríogh had shielded me from his power.

“We arrived a day, if not a few hours, after the attack.” As Garrick's voice reaches me, a dagger suddenly plunges into the map, piercing the inked details with alarming accuracy. My hand hovers above the blade, a physical extension of my shock. “There were no signs of Venin or wyverns remaining in the area.” 

“But we did find this, Briar.” Bodhi’s voice breaks through my daze as he slides a letter towards me, its wax seal glinting ominously in the dim light. I reach for it, my heart racing as I analyze the unfamiliar seal. Yet, it is the handwriting that sends a cold shiver racing down my spine, his handwriting.

“Where?” I manage to ask, the urgency in my tone rising as I set the unopened letter back on the table, a weight growing in my chest.

“Hung on the main gates of the city,” Bodhi replies softly, his gaze downcast as he sets the blade alongside the letter. “With this stabbed through the corner.” 

My breath hitches, and I struggle to contain the emotion that threatens to spill over. One look at the familiar blade sends a sob escaping me, and I lift it trembling from the table, tracing the delicate carvings along its length—my initials, BV, just below the hilt, carved by by parents before my entry into the Rider's Quadrant. The leather wrapped around the hilt, added by him after he won the dagger from me during a challenge in my first year, brings an achingly familiar feeling. The weight of the dagger in my hand felt like a tether to a past I desperately wanted to cling to, yet the reality of its current context made my grip falter. 

I was acutely aware of the bustling energy around me as my friends hastily ushered the Assembly leaders out of the room, their murmurs becoming a distant hum, barely piercing through the fog of my thoughts. 

“He always carried this dagger,” I whispered, the words escaping in a broken whisper that was almost lost amidst the scuffle of chairs and the echo of hurried footsteps. My eyes remained fixed on the intricate carvings adorning the blade, but the simplest carving of my initials below the hilt that my parents had placed there. The worn leather, a reminder of him, that was added after he had won in a challenge.

Garrick’s voice broke through the haze, steady and firm. He spoke of the dagger’s significance, recounting tales of how it had become an extension of him. As I absently twisted the blade between my fingers, the familiar weight brought fleeting comfort, grounding me amidst the turmoil swirling around me. 

Using the dagger, I carefully pressed the tip against the wax, the sharpness gliding through it with an ease that mirrored the memories flooding my mind. As the seal broke, I felt an exhilarating rush that felt eerily like both dread and anticipation. The letter now lay before me, a promise of answers that beckoned me closer, even as it threatened to unravel everything I thought I knew.

The world around me quieted. I could sense the worried glances of my friends, the weight of their expectations heavy on my shoulders. Yet, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the letter before me, a bridge between despair and hope.

As the last remnants of the wax fell away, the air shifted, thickening with tension as if the universe itself held its breath, waiting for me to unveil the secrets hidden within the paper. My fingers tremble slightly, and I could almost hear the heartbeat of Tyrrendor in the silence, a reminder of the stakes that lay beyond my personal anguish.

“Briar,” Bodhi’s voice penetrated my concentration, laced with worry. “What does it say?” 

The question hung in the air like a charge, electrifying and daunting. I felt as though the answer would either condemn me or set me free. I inhaled deeply, my heart racing with the weight of anticipation.

Briar,

Can’t you ever listen to me? 

Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision.

Leave your resources where you need them most.

Look where you least expect.

Don’t take this as a clue on where to find me.

You are Tyrrendor’s only hope.

Remember the good moments.

I trust you.

-X

“What does it say?” Bodhi asks again, leaning over my shoulder, his breath a warm whisper against my neck. 

I carefully reread the letter, its words swirling in my mind like a chaotic tempest. “This makes no sense.” A heavy sigh escapes my lips, carrying the weight of despair that clings to me like a shroud. “Maybe he is too far gone.” The reality of the cryptic message settles in my chest like a stone, and I stand, tucking the letter into my pocket, the fabric of my clothes brushing against my skin, grounding me. I slide the dagger into its empty sheath, the familiar clink of metal against leather echoing in the silence around us. 

“I’m going to watch flight maneuvers.” My voice is firm, a declaration against the unease that threatens to consume me.

“Briar—” 

“Brennan, if you tell me I can’t go sit in a fucking field with my dragon and watch the cadets, I’m going to scream.” The softness in my voice belies the storm brewing within, and I don’t even turn to face him, my focus fixed on the door that leads outside.

“I was going to suggest taking a waterskin. It’s warmer today than it has been.” He sets a sturdy waterskin in my now outstretched hand, the leather cool and reassuring against my palm.

“I don’t want to be bothered while I’m out there. I just need some peace and quiet.” The words tumble out, a plea wrapped in frustration.

“Of course.” Garrick steps up beside me, his presence steady and calming. “We’ll handle everything.”

“We will?” Bodhi questions, and before I can reply, a grunt of pain escapes him, quickly followed by his reluctant agreement with Garrick.

I turn to face them, a small smile breaking through the cloud of anxiety that looms overhead. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn?” Bodhi laughs, the lightness of his voice a balm to my frayed nerves, only to be silenced by Garrick’s elbow jabbing into his side.

I laugh at my friends' antics, the sound echoing through the Assembly Room, a momentary distraction from my turmoil. With a heart a touch lighter, I walk towards the exterior door, its wooden frame worn and familiar, leading me to the open path that winds toward the valley below. 

As I begin the trek, the anticipation of watching the cadets fills me with a  fleeting escape from the shadows that linger in my thoughts. After a bit of a walk, I finally arrive at the designated field, the vibrant hues of summer in Tyrrendor blooming around me, and there, nestled in the grass, I spot Violet curled up with Andarna, her laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves. My own dragon, Ríogh, stands sentinel beside them, an unmistakable warmth emanating from his scaled form.

“Hey Ríogh.” I smile at the sight of him, the bond we share a steady anchor amidst the storm.

“Feeling better, Little Foot?” His smirk dances through our connection, teasing and light-hearted.

“I’ve told you this before, just because your previous riders were all men does not mean I have small feet.” I pause mid-step, crossing my arms, my glare playful yet fierce, challenging him as the sun beams down on us.

“Oh, but it's so fun to rile you up. Even if the Mender had Marbh lecture me about being nice so you kept your blood pressure low.” Ríogh's voice cuts through my simmering irritation hangs heavily between us.

I release an annoyed sigh, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. My feet begin moving again, almost as if they’re propelled by sheer frustration. “I’m going to kill your brother,” I mutter, the declaration slipping from my lips as I pass by Violet, my stride purposeful and swift. I collapse onto the grass beside Ríogh’s massive head, leaning against his warm, scaled neck, seeking solace in his steadfast presence.

“What did he do this time?” Violet asks, laughter lacing her tone as her gaze remains glued to the pages of her book, the sunlight casting a golden glow over her hair.

“Lecturing me about walking alone, reminding me to grab a waterskin before I walked here, and apparently having his dragon lecture mine about my fucking blood pressure.” The words spill out of me, laced with exasperation. “I’m running a fucking province by myself while my husband—who I can’t even remember marrying—is fully Venin and apparently leaving cryptic letters at the cities he destroys now. My blood pressure hasn’t been normal in years.” My voice trembles with the weight of it all, each word a release of pent-up tension that has festered within me.

“Xaden left you a letter?” At the mention of his name, a sharp pang pierces my heart, each syllable feeling like a jagged blade. In the early days after his disappearance, the mere utterance of his name sent me spiraling into tears, raw grief threatening to consume me. Yet Violet never adhered to the unspoken rule her brother had set.

I pass the paper over to her when she sets her book aside, moving closer, her curiosity igniting a flicker of hope within me. She studies the words intently, her brow furrowing in concentration as she reads them over and over before finally speaking. 

“Holy shit, it's an acrostic.”

“Acrostic?” The word feels foreign on my tongue, an enigma until it clicks. “Like a poem?”

“The first letters of each line spell a word or phrase.” As she hands the letter back, I analyze the words once more, and adrenaline surges through me. With newfound clarity, I leap to my feet, urgency propelling me forward. 

“I know where they’re attacking next!” I shout, my voice echoing as I barrel through the doors of Riorson House, where Garrick, Bodhi, and Brennan still remain in the assembly room, their faces a mix of surprise and concern at my sudden arrival.

“Are you sure?” Aaric’s voice cuts through the tension, his brow furrowed with concern as he steps closer, the urgency of the moment hanging heavy in the air. I had sent for him the moment I returned, a spark of desperate hope igniting within me because if I was right, then a Prince of Navarre was urgently needed.

“Violet said it’s an acrostic,” I explain, my heart racing as I recall the words that had danced before my eyes like the flickering shadows of doubt. “Xaden has never written a poem in his life; that’s why it made no sense. He just needed to spell a word, not a whole message.” My hand trembles slightly as I hand the letter to Aaric, eager for him to see it with his own eyes. I spell it out, enunciating each letter clearly, “C-A-L-L-D-Y-R. He’s trying to tell us where to find them.” The hope in my voice feels fresh, like the first breath of spring air after a long winter, awakening a purpose within me that had been dormant.

“Briar, this is a stretch,” Garrick interjects, his skepticism evident as he pulls the paper from Aaric’s hands, the furrow in his brow deepening. 

“I trust you,” I implore, my gaze locked onto Garrick’s, willing him to see the truth within my conviction. “It’s a code we came up with before he graduated.” My eyes are pleading, a silent plea to embrace this fragile thread of hope. “Sign off with ‘I love you’ if it’s just a letter. ‘I trust you’ means there’s important info woven into the message.” The weight of my revelation hangs in the air, heavy and uncertain. 

Every pair of eyes is fixed on me, the silence thickening as I break down the implications of his words. 

Can’t you ever listen to me? He told me not to search for him in the note I was found with, but defiance had driven me to ignore his warning. 

Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision. The decision to seek him out? To stand and fight instead of hiding behind the wards? 

Leave your resources where you need them most. Aretia had ample defenses; between the riders and flyers we housed. The entire fleet wasn't needed here.

Look where you least expect. I’d never have imagined this—his clumsy attempt at poetry-- would be a desperate lifeline crafted in the dark. 

Don’t take this as a clue on where to find me. I had never been good at listening to him. 

You are Tyrrendor’s only hope. The echo of his words  from after he first channeled resonated within me, a haunting reminder of what he was preparing me for. 

Remember the good moments. He’d been sharing his plans during those fleeting, cherished instances, hints interwoven throughout our laughter and love, guiding me to this very moment.

“He laid it out for us.” The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, pressing down on my chest as I took in the skeptical expressions of my friends. I may not have been able to read emotions at this moment, but their faces told me everything I needed to know; doubt shadowed their brows, and disbelief flickered in their eyes. “Please, let me have this last bit of hope.” My voice cracked with desperation, and I felt as if I were grasping at threads of light in an encroaching darkness.

Bodhi, always the one with a heart so large it often outshone his doubts, was the first to break the tension that wrapped around us like a constricting serpent. “What’s the plan?” His tone was firm, a lifeline cast into turbulent waters.

“Aaric and the flyers leave today to prepare King Tauri for our arrival.” My mind raced, each word tumbling out like stones rolling down a hillside, gathering momentum. “The Dark Wielders have at least a three-day advantage on us. We leave a riot first-years along with a mix of second- and third-years and officers so Aretia is not defenseless.” My voice steadied, emboldened by purpose. “The rest of us leave for Calldyr City at dawn.”

“The rest of us? You are not going to battle in your condition.” Brennan’s protest cut through the air like a sharp blade, concern etched into his features. I could see the worry pooling in his eyes, a turbulent sea of emotions that mirrored my own.

“I’m pregnant, not dying!” My defense came out more forceful than intended, but the urgency of my plea propelled me forward. “If he’s there, then I have to see him. At a minimum, he deserves to hear the news from me.” A gentle hand rested over my stomach, a silent promise of the life that blossomed within me. I watched as my friends exchanged glances, their expressions softening ever so slightly, an understanding threading through the tension.

“If you need to, assign people to defend me, but I have to talk to him. If he’s truly gone, I’ll drive the knife in myself.” The words tasted bitter, yet they felt liberating, a catharsis of intent.

They looked between each other, silent deliberation flickering in their eyes before nodding in unison. 

“Fine,” Brennan agreed, the weight of his acceptance settling around us like a comforting cloak.

“The minute we tell you to run, you better be on Ríogh’s back and gone,” Garrick warned, his expression fierce and protective. I nodded, resolving the hardening in my chest.

“Thank you.” My heart swelled with gratitude, a flicker of hope igniting within me, illuminating the path ahead.

The flight was interminable, each beat of Ríogh's powerful wings echoing the urgency that thrummed through my veins. My back ached from the prolonged strain of clinging to his scaled form, the chill of the wind biting through my cloak.Had Aaric not successfully persuade his father to trust me, the kingdom might have been plunged into chaos with an untested ruler on the throne. 

As we soared through the sky, a heavy pall hung over us, the dragons sensing the approach of the Dark Wielders with an eerie intuition that prickled at my skin. It hadn’t been long since my arrival, yet already the atmosphere crackled with tension. Instead of convening with King Tauri to strategize, an urgent edict had been issued: protect the city at all costs. High above, with Garrick, Bodhi, Brennan, and Violet by my side, we hovered, scanning the horizon for any sign of him.

I was taken aback when we left to see Tairn willingly alongside us, his massive wings cutting through the air with a grace that belied his size. Violet had shared with me the heart-wrenching news of his bond with Sgaeyl fracturing during my lost twelve hours, and my heart ached for the dragons, their shared pain palpable even at this distance. Tairn, who had not been seen for weeks, now glided silently, his sorrow evident in every powerful stroke of his wings.

Suddenly, Ríogh’s voice broke through my reverie. “Sgaeyl nears.” The words resonated with urgency, and I turned to Violet, who nodded in understanding. 

Moments later, the majestic navy blue silhouette of Sgaeyl emerged from the clouds, a dark shadow against the sunlit sky, but there was something unsettling about her presence—she bore no rider.

“Tell her I need to speak to him,” I urged Ríogh, my heart pounding as Sgaeyl approached us with a grace that felt both regal and mournful. Ríogh scoffed at my command.

I felt the connection between Sgaeyl and Tairn, a profound sadness swirling in the air around them. Gathering my resolve, I broke tradition and shouted, “Tell the Duke his Duchess requires an audience.” 

After a tense moment, Ríogh relayed her message. Violet and I were to follow, the others had to keep their distance. 

“Tell the others, and don’t lose her, please,” I instructed, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. As Ríogh and Tairn took the lead, I felt a strange calm wash over me, a stillness amidst the chaos that enveloped Calldyr City. 

We descended into a tranquil field to the east, the sound of battle faintly echoing from the city, contrasting sharply with the peaceful serenity of our surroundings. 

“Briar,” Violet called, pointing ahead. When my feet met the earth, I looked ahead. There, standing before Sgaeyl, was him. 

“Stay here, be ready in case this goes wrong,” I instructed Violet firmly, but my heart raced with hope and trepidation. Ríogh's growl vibrated beside me as I began my approach. “He won’t hurt me,” I reassured him, though his huff conveyed his doubts.

“Quiet the venue for a meeting, Your Grace.” His voice sliced through the heavy air, resonating with authority yet laced with a fragility that echoed the distance between us. I halted mid-step, the tension thick as I stood roughly ten feet from him, yet I could feel the magnetic pull towards Ríogh, who fidgeted behind me, his wings slightly unfurling as if sensing the charged atmosphere.

“You’re a hard man to nail down, Your Grace.” I matched his tone, defiance cloaking my emotions like a shield, even as I took in the sight of him. 

My heart ached, and I fought to mask the tumult within. The man who stood before me was a shadow of the one I had known. The once-familiar onyx depths of his eyes now held a tempest of turmoil, rimmed in red, and deep red veins at his temples. The only trace of familiarity was the intricate relic winding up his left arm and creeping over his neck. But the moment he stood before me, my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat at the sheer presence of him. 

“Xaden,” I breathed, the name falling from my lips like a tender sigh.

“You shouldn’t have come, my stillpoint.” His voice was devoid of the softness that once enveloped our conversations, each word striking me like a knife to the chest. I steeled myself against the ache of familiarity that felt foreign now, a haunting reminder of the love that felt so distant.

“I had to see you—needed to see you. Considering I don’t remember our last moments together.” The words slipped out, edged with a growl that I could not suppress. “Including our wedding.” I watched him flinch, the shadow of pain flickering across his face.

“It was for the best.” His response was hollow, a sentiment that did little to assuage the storm raging within me. 

I took a step closer, determined to bridge the chasm between us. “Why’d you turn?” I demanded, the question a relentless echo in my mind since that fateful night. 

“It's what I had to do.” His voice was strained, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air.

“Why?” I pressed, the urgency in my voice flaring. 

“Briar!” Bodhi’s warning cut through the tension, but I paid it no mind. 

“Little Foot.” 

“You told me once that your love for me was strong enough to keep you from channeling,” I said, taking another step forward, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. “But something else was stronger that night.” I drew nearer, driven by an inexplicable need to understand. “What drove you to channel?” 

“They were going to hurt Sgaeyl.” The admission fell from his lips, raw and broken, a lament that shattered the fragile moment. “I wasn’t going to let someone else I love get hurt for being connected to me.” 

I nodded, allowing the weight of his words to settle in. His love for me had once kept him off the ice, but in an instant, it was his love for Sgaeyl that had broken the ice below his feet. Understanding flickered like a candle in the wind, and with each heartbeat, the threads weaved together, drawing me inexorably closer. 

His love had been the driving force each time he channeled, a tempestuous tide that surged through him in moments of desperation. 

At Basgiath, because the sage had threatened me.

In my room, because he lost control when with me, leaving greyed fingerprints that still littered my hips.

Beyond the wards, because Garrick the wyvern were surrounding Garrick.

In Deverelli, when Courtlyn’s guards had turned their murderous sights on me.

When the venin were after Sgaeyl.

If his love was strong enough to drive him to channel, then could it also be the anchor that brought him back?

“The only time I will ever love someone more than you is if we get the chance to start a family.” 

Those words echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of the future we once envisioned together. He had spoken them with a weight while he was subtly preparing me for a time when I would need to kill him, should he lose control.

“I’m a lost cause, Bree,” he laments, an air of resignation clouding his features. “Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision.” 

I paused, my heart pounding as realization washed over me. The ink of his letter still fresh in my mind, I understood at that moment that he had anticipated my arrival. This conversation, laden with unshed tears and unspoken goodbyes, was not a mere coincidence. It was a final chance to see me.

I will not let this be that moment.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet laced with determination. A soft smile broke through the anguish as I drew my dagger from the sheath, its familiar weight grounding me in a chaotic storm of emotion. Recognition flickered in his eyes when he saw the blade—the one he had left for me, a symbol of our intertwined fates. 

“Anything,” he breathed, the vulnerability in his tone echoing the tempest within. 

“I know you can fight it, the venin side of you.” Though he opened his mouth to protest, I pressed on. “Everything you’ve ever done was for love. For me, for Garrick, for Sgaeyl. Your love for those close to you was enough to break the ice from under you. So let a new love be enough to make you swim.” I reached for his hand, my heart thudding in the silence that enveloped us. He flinched at my touch, but miraculously, he did not pull away.

“Briar!” Brennan’s voice pierced the haze of urgency surrounding us. I glanced down at Xaden’s hand, instinctively placing it over the almost imperceptible bump that was our future.

“Swim for the life we created, please,” I implored, my voice trembling as I saw the flicker of understanding ignite within his stormy gaze. “I know you’re still in there, deep down, Xaden.” Each word felt like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, hope anchoring my desperate plea. “If you can’t come back for me,” I felt the sting of tears threatening to spill, the weight of our love heavy in the air, “come back for our child, who deserves to grow up with their father.”

In an agonizing moment, he pulled his hand away, and I watched as the red veins, once pulsating with venomous fury, began to fade like mist at dawn. Xaden collapsed to his knees, fingers clawing into the earth, as if seeking refuge in the very ground beneath him.

“Back away, Little Foot.” Ríogh’s warning was accompanied by a fierce gust of wind, Sgaeyl launching into the air. But my eyes remained fixed on Xaden, his anguish palpable as the soil around his hands lost its color, wilting under the weight of his struggle. I instinctively retreated, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as I stumbled backward, my heart pounding.

Suddenly, a sturdy form blocked my path. Garrick’s arms encircled me protectively, but panic surged through me, propelling my feet forward just as the circle ceased expanding, a scream tearing through Xaden’s lips—a sound that reverberated with raw, unfiltered emotion.

“You need to go, Briar,” Garrick urged, his voice a mixture of fear and insistence as he attempted to guide me toward Ríogh. Yet, I stood firm, rooted to the spot.

“Wait.” My voice cut through the air, defiant.

“You promised—”

“Just wait!” I shouted, breaking free from his hold, my resolve solidified as I approached the very edge of the circle. Xaden’s screams morphed, a shift from frustration to fierce determination. I could see him lifting his head, and through the veil of tears, I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath—the onyx eyes now flecked with gold, igniting a spark of recognition in my chest. 

It was my Xaden staring back at me. 

As the circle began to shrink, color returned to the desaturated landscape, and instinct took over, guiding me back to him. 

“The little one says she senses no darkness in him. I’m inclined to agree,” Ríogh’s voice broke through, a beacon of hope as I drew closer.

“You’re saying my absolutely insane idea to put mine and the baby’s lives on the line by touching a venin actually worked?” I laughed, disbelief mingling with relief coursing through the bond between us.

“Sgaeyl thanks you for saving her rider,” came the response, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Xay?” I called softly, my voice trembling with the rush of emotions that flooded through me. Standing at arm's length, I could see the myriad of emotions flickering across his face like shadows dancing in the twilight. His eyes met mine with a deep intensity, shining with the remnants of the man I had fought so hard to save.

“How’d you know it would work?” His voice was shaky, a fragile thread woven with uncertainty. I caught sight of his hands, trembling ever so slightly, surely because of Sgaeyl's hesitation to let him tap into her magic for fear of him slipping.

“I didn’t,” I admitted, the truth spilling from my lips like a breath of wind. My heart raced, both from the thrill of his return and the perilous gamble I had taken.

“That was insanely dangerous, Your Grace.” His chastisement cut through the tension, but the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth contradicted the gravity of his words. Thank you for saving me.

“I really hate being called that.” A laugh escaped me, light and buoyant, as I reached out to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips—a small, grounding detail that reminded me of who he truly was.

“Then what should I call you? Duchess? Mrs. Riorson? My savior?” His voice held a teasing lilt as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer, the warmth of his body enveloping me like a protective cocoon.

“Your wife will do just fine.” Relief coursed through me, mingling with joy I thought I had forgotten. I searched his eyes, yearning for confirmation, and finding it—an unwavering promise. “No urges?”

“None, my beautiful wife.” With that, our lips met in a passionate kiss, a moment suspended in time. As I melted into him, I prayed to the gods that he would never let me go.

But just as the world around us faded into a blissful oblivion, a throat cleared behind us, pulling us back into reality. Turning to see our friends gathered, I felt a tinge of embarrassment sweep through me.

“You’re not going to kill us, right?” Garrick asked, his voice laced with wariness as he remained a cautious distance away.

“Because I’m venin? No.” Xaden chuckled, releasing me from his embrace to pull Garrick into a hearty hug. A sense of camaraderie filled the air as he moved on to his cousin, laughter easing the tension in our group. “For bringing my pregnant wife to a battle? Definitely.” 

“Technically, the Duchess brought us into battle,” Bodhi interjected, a smirk lighting up his features. “Rank is a fickle thing in this world, especially considering she’s still a cadet yet somehow out ranks Brennan.”

“I did try to stop her regardless,” Brennan defended, his eyes revealing the weight he carried of having to contend with me but he smiled nonetheless.

Xaden's laughter rang out again, and it warmed my chest, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the chaos. 

“She’s never listened to anything I’ve ever told her.” With a playful shove, I pushed my husband away, but his hand caught my waist, pulling us back together. He pressed another kiss to my lips, sealing the moment with an electric spark that ignited my heart.

 Violet broke through the haze of our shared bliss, her voice sharp and steady amidst the charged atmosphere. “As sweet as this is, we do have an entire city under attack.”  Her words hung heavily in the air. 

Xaden muttered into the kiss, his breath warm against my lips, “Go back to Aretia.” 

The protest slipped from my mouth like a child’s plea, raw and desperate. “I won’t leave you.” My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, the coarse material grounding me in this moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. I felt his shadows swirling around me, a tender yet protective caress that ignited in my chest. I leaned further into him, craving the solidity of his presence, already missing everything about this moment, as if it were sand slipping through my fingers.

“I will return to you as soon as I gut the Sage like a fish.” A smirk played on his lips, a flicker of mischief that danced in his stormy eyes. “I have a new reason to end this war, and something tells me it’s going to stick.”

“Come home to me.” My voice, tinged with urgency, turned into a command, a plea wrapped in iron resolve. “Don’t make me a widow before I can experience married life.” 

“Are you saying that as my wife or as the Duchess of Tyrrendor?” he asked, his brow arching, a challenge mingled with affection.

“Both. Never different people with each other, remember?” I pulled on the words he had spoken after he received his title back.

“I love you, my wife.” 

“I love you, my husband.” 

I thought of an entire series for after this so if you would like to see more of what I'm calling The Aretian Chronicles, please let me know! I'll make a post of details and a poll if there is interest!

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans

Comment, ask, or pm to be added to a specific character or everything taglist!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[justblades]

hypothesis — anaxa x fem! reader

IN WHICH, your research study piques anaxa’s interest, inducing him to trap you into a collaboration to achieve the end you both desire

TAGS, MDNI. dub con, university setting, drugged sex, mind fuck, not proofread.

Applause rises from the crowd in front, the expressions painted on the majority’s faces are one of shared joy - it was a moment of delight and fulfillment, as marvelous minds clashed and melded with one another to craft such a significant research. Your group stands proud while the research panel awards you the trophy and certificate, hereby marking a significant milestone; the batch shall continue to tread the endless pursuit of wisdom and knowledge after the graduation.

The previous proud grins of some gradually curl upside down, catching your attention as you whip your head to your members’ direction. You pick up from the beads of tears streaming down their cheeks, the other attempting to bite down his threatening sobs, it was when it finally dawned on you: you truly have made it. The sleepless nights of stress and pressure indeed bore fruition.

After what felt like an eternity of suspense and excitement, the emcee then reads her closing spiel, formally announcing the end of the event. The big day comes to an end, loud cheers of the batch naturally follow, resounding all throughout the grove.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans, as it unties the already woven threads of triumph, letting it all loose as the scrutiny of the meticulous professor lands upon you. Seeds of doubt and confusion were sowed in the depths of your heart as you receive a bizarre call, “Professor Anaxa has queries about your research.”

Standing before you now is the infamous blasphemer of a teacher, whose mind is unbridled of moral restraints for the sake of knowledge. Expectedly, as a scholar, that trait of his was highly condemned and yet you find a part of you justifying his actions whenever you come across such wild rumors.

His fingertips slowly glide past the corners of the hardbound pages, skimming through the context of the rigorous part of your thesis: the methodology. Your heart thrums against your ribcage, this time, twice more as Anaxa slides in his pen to mark the part he was focusing on. Subsequently, he hums and looks at you with anticipation.

Slightest hint of disapproval emanates from his stare, to which the professor tries to coat as confusion to test your resolve. “If I’m not mistaken, you were the assigned leader of your thesis, no?” His voice stern as ever, you immediately respond. “Yes, sir.”

Dating back, you never happened to have a class taught by Anaxa. It was just a one time occurrence when you were able to witness how the cogs of his bright mind function when he stood as an adjudicator for a debate event held by the academy, to which he successfully cracks down the fallacies made by the opposing team with just mere questions, with the purpose of catching them by their own words, akin to a fish biting the bait and digging its own grave.

If anything, you knew him more through rumors and gossip, as the last you heard about was him expressing an opinion that scholars who are hellbent on gaining newfound knowledge shall be willing to bend the arrows of their moral compass to achieve such an end. Naturally, his school of thought anchoring on this expression was heavily criticized for the main reasons of ethics and confidentiality in the field of academics.

“Entitled ‘Efficacy of Specialized Alchemy through the Lens of Genetic Modification’ . . . Interesting. But the theoretical framework and methodology do not align.” He states, slate hue fixating on you. “If you were to study the efficacy of a particular object, you’d normally employ a design that encompasses both the quantitative and qualitative nature of the data to be derived, yet you stuck with one that adheres more to the latter. Care to explain how you came up with this process?”

Your brows furrow, bewilderment sits on your facial expression. The rationale of the methodology is already stated in the same paragraph for that question - why was he asking things that are obvious?

“Professor Anaxa—“

“Please refer to me as Anaxagoras.”

“Sir, as expressed in the introductory text, to determine efficacy, qualitative data shall provide an in-depth understanding of the subject, to name the factors that cannot be determined by merely recognizing patterns and trends. It tends to have a nuanced nature as it doesn’t just describe the leverages of the topic, its drawbacks shall also be determined in order to establish possible interventions for its improvement and to ensure your hypothesis is approved.”

“—Additionally, our thesis hinges on the concept of genetic modification with the main focus of improving our five senses, to be able to heighten them at our own volition as we see fit to be utilized according to the circumstance we are in.”

Anaxa pays close attention to your gestures as your hands tend to move on their own, a habit you happened to develop as you hone your dissertation all throughout these years. “However, our paper just touches upon the efficacy, not the practical application of specialized alchemy.”

“And? What are the results?”

Your jaw widens out of disbelief, as if the answers he was looking for cannot be found in the book. The longer this supposed questioning drags on, the more toll it took on you. Regardless, respect shall be shown, so you backtrack the results of your study. “The majority of the respondents strayed from describing the concept as something that can be done right, but rather, for them, it’s an insult to the human life. The quantitative data geared more to it being an impractical method to improve one’s capabilities, which was further supported by the verbatim cited in the presentation part of the chapter.” You recite, breaking off eye contact with Anaxa, head hung low facing the ground. Your fists balled, a bittersweet mood washes over you, recalling the summary of the data you gathered from the respondents.

“And let me guess, you were disappointed with the results.” With one sentence, you look back up at him, this time, more puzzled than before. A question arises, how did he know?

He slightly tilts his head and waves his hand in the air, “It is truly a shame to realize that these people, supposedly seeking wisdom, are the same ones who will never get to quench this thirst as they are held back by their morals. If we do not change up our methods, do you think it will yield different results each time?” His words had weight on them, not seemingly just blank questions one would typically ask in a thesis defense. The whole exchange becomes all the more confusing.

“I suppose you already have an idea where I’m getting at.” The teal haired drops his finality, and like a last puzzle piece falling into its right place by pure coincidence, you were able to see the bigger picture Anaxa prepared for you.

Alignment stems from shared vision, branching into different methodologies cultivated through revisions to obtain an answer from your assumptions. As Anaxa skimmed through your thesis, it was undoubted that he was able to relate your justification with his school of thought. The two of you were willing to tiptoe on the boundary lines of ethics in research - because if not, how will we be able to procure knowledge if sacrifices were not to be made?

“I understand, sir.” It was when you approved of his invitation that the green curls of smoke in the laboratory started to become more visible, carrying minuscule pigments of shimmer as rays of light spill in the littlest crooks of the room. “Wh—“

You were cut off as Anaxa takes steps towards you while you stepped further away from him. A loud thud echoes in the vicinity as you find yourself trapped between Anaxa’s looming aura and his master desk. The sage’s tattooed hand then brushes softly on your supple skin. Starting from your collarbone, making his way up to your neck, “I employed modifications on my genes to test my assumption - but I couldn’t activate those out of my own volition. To determine the efficacy of something, its participant should be willing. Am I right?”

As if you were at a standstill in time, your breathing hitches the longer his skin is in contact with yours. His fingers were rough, some had dry patches, as expected of a practical researcher. Yet the warmth he exudes from his touch feels foreign, a driving force that makes your stomach churn with a whirlpool of mixed emotions.

“Let’s start off with sense of sight. Close your eyes.” Your chest rises and falls, heartbeat pacing faster in each minute. “Sir—“ Unexpectedly, you follow suit to his command, shutting your eyes. Your brows knit even further, wanting to protest against this method but the words you intend to verbalize die down on your tongue in an instant.

How did he manage to make you follow suit to his command? What else did he incorporate to the component?

Darkness graces your eyes, another chilling sensation rides on your skin. It felt hot, but the second it trails away into another direction, it leaves an icy feeling, lingering.

Thousands of thoughts surface in your mind and none of them were of composure. You were astonished, confused, wanting to beg for more time to adjust but here you are being immediately toyed in Anaxa’s palms. As if acting out of desperation to break free from this predicament, a new pseudo dimension forms, to which faint lines of everything around you could be discerned, each having its distinct color.

The surroundings were pitch black, yet every object in the space had its own different hue, the lines materializing as you try to get used to this awakening. Trying to make out of whatever was happening in front of you, with enough focus, you could envision the sage leaving ephemeral licks on your skin, particularly on the back of your hand. Your jaw falls agape to which Anaxa quickly notices, the corners of his lips then tug into a boastful smirk.

It’s as if he had already put two and two together that he realized your sense of sight indeed improved, incomparable to that of a mere human’s.

“Second. Sense of hearing.” As soon as he announces his next step, he prods into your mouth with the same tattooed hand, inserting his index and middle fingers to explore your cavern of warmth. Your stomach turns as Anaxa toys with your tongue, not leaving enough space for you to breathe nor have sufficient time to process everything.

As this act unfolds, you suddenly begin to hear your saliva being mushed with his fingertips, your mouth making slick noises inside, to which you could do nothing but leave mumbles of puzzlement. “A . . . Naxa.” Every splash of the liquids inside reverberate inside your head, which further affirms Anaxa’s assumptions.

After what felt like eternity, you could finally peel your eyes open and see the view unravel before you, Anaxa being a mere hair’s breadth from your face, goosebumps rake your spine. Up close, his brows are knitted in expectation, eyes somewhat heavy-lidded in which excitement gleams from his slate monochromatic iris. With one swift movement, he stops fiddling with your tongue, taking his digits out, leaving a small trail of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips.

“My patience is wearing thin.” He expresses, wiping away the smeared saliva from the margins of your lips with his gloved hand. Dumbfounded, you could do nothing but just lie in wait to what he’s supposed to do next. “Let’s amp up our methodology. We’ll be testing the remaining three senses simultaneously. I hope you can bear with it.”

Suddenly, your clothes dissipate into thin air, the fibers curling into little burnt cinders until they’re void of anything. “Anaxa—“ he proceeds to fervently crash his lips into yours, a surprising tang of sweetness cracks on your tastebuds. Your stature wobbles and threatens to fall, but the male had already anticipated that as he supports your weight with an arm slithered on your waist. He aids in maintaining your balance, but it was only a mere second that you were able to think straight when his free hand toys with your inner region.

With little effort, your arousal coats his fingers, muddling his skin’s red markings with a cloud white color, your scent inevitably wafts inside the laboratory. Anaxa inhales deeply, taking in everything all at once that is unfolding. Nonetheless, he proceeds, inserting his fingers into your pussy.

Caught off guard, he thrusts in and out, your walls taking the shape of his long, slender fingers. At the same time, your tongue twirls in rhythm with his, the sweet taste gradually enveloping the cranny of your mouth.

It all felt messy, as if Anaxa’s actions override one another, making everything far more overwhelming than it is prima facie. Your mind was lost, yet your body basks in the foreign sensation, pleasure emerging as you feel you were nearing your satisfaction. The male’s gloved fingers wrap around your neck after and breaks the deep kiss, “Are you ready?” He queries, taking a quick glance at your seeping cunt and trail back up to your eyes with a surprising longing gaze in them.

A second passes by, he undoes the buckles of his belt, letting everything loose as he strokes his own erection, wrapping his coated fingers around himself. You eagerly watch at every movement he does, a tantalizing view to etch in the deepest part of your memory. As he deems himself fit, he rubs his tip on your entrance, the position possibly adding up to the struggle.

His breath drops, feeling a short wave of satisfaction once he gets a taste of your slicked pussy. “Time to prove my hypothesis was right.” Anaxa rams inside you, your walls enveloping around his girth as he struggles to keep himself still. “Anaxa . . !” His tangled thoughts were abruptly cut off as he hears your plea, spiraling into an abyss of pleasure as an intense gaze locks his eye with yours.

“Spit.” He orders, a vague one in which you cannot crack immediately. A breathy moan bubbles from his throat subsequently, a rare occurrence of Anaxa showing vulnerability. Regardless, he expounds. “Gather an appropriate amount of your saliva.” As if obedience was coded into your personality, you purse your lips together. “Let it trickle down your chest.”

You follow suit to his command, slightly parting your mouth open, leaving just enough space for it to stream down your dewed skin, leaving such a sticky feeling. The professor wastes no time as his hands glide up to your tits, fingers fidgeting with your perked nipples, lubricating them with your own spit. He traps the buds within his calloused fingertips as you grant him the most lewd noises you’ve ever made in the entirety of your life.

Anaxa wasn’t the type of person to hunger for indulgences like this. But upon witnessing a remarkable sight right in front of him, impulse rush in as he digs into your mounds as well, the tip of his tongue caressing your nipples.

“It’s too warm . . sweet . . and hot.” Mindless musings come undone the margins of your lips, making the sage’s libido hike even more. Additionally, these testaments of yours reinforce the data he supplied in his test drive journal for this study, another victorious feat for him it appears. “Very good.”

He simpers, starting the momentum of his thrusts to your body, nice and slow in the beginning yet with such intensity and impact in each push. Naughty noises echo inside, along the gibberish you’ve been rambling for a while which were descriptions of the changes occurring in your body. Anaxa encourages it, playing along as if he was able to comprehend your barely coherent sentences.

“Sir, I . . . feel like I’m being suffocated.” You yelp, first time among your endless prattles he was able to understand something, your hips grinding along Anaxa’s dick as he fills you to the brim. You look down and see how easy it was for him to prod into your folds, the very entrance curling around the base of his cock with such longing and excitement. “You’re doing great.” He manages to say in between thrusts and hefty breaths, “What else?”

Anaxa’s praises reverberate in your head, like a badge of excellence as he sees you worthy to be his research partner and that in itself is a privilege. Gradually, the male’s pent up sexual frustration reaches its end as strings of cum sprawl out, Anaxa withdraws just in time. A searing heat of temptation pools inside your body, thoughts clouded with nothing but pure carnal desire instilled by the sage.

“If . . If you’re willing to . . as well, I’d be honored to do more of these with you.”

[strangesuittheorist]

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[dioslesbianwife]

Can you write headcanons about how L, Misa, and Light would react if the reader (who they've been dating) proposed to them?

mhm totally!!! thank you for requesting and here are the headcannons! :)

proposing to light, misa, and L

Light Yagami

Light is taken aback at first- this wasn't how he envisioned the proposal going at all. He probably thought he'd be the one to do it and control every aspect of that moment.

He forces himself to smile politely but internally analyzes the situation like it's a strategic move in a chess game.

A smile slowly spreads across his face, soft and sincere. "You're serious about this?" he asks, wanting to hear it again.

He makes the moment seem picture perfect by pulling you in close and saying something cool and suave.

He quickly shifts into planning mode, wanting to ensure that your future together is flawless. He'll discuss practicalities but never lets go of that initial warmth from the proposal.

Deep down, he's a bit touched that someone loved him enough to take the plunge, even if his God complex would never let him openly admit it.

Misa Amane

Misa is absolutely over the moon- she practically screams with joy when you propose. She's always dreamed of a fairytale romance, and this is straight out of her fantasies.

She throws herself into your arms, probably crying a bit from sheer happiness. "YES! YES! A MILLION TIMES YES!"

Immediately starts talking about wedding plans, color themes, matching outfits, and extravagant venues.

She calls up every single contact she has in the entertainment industry to gush about the proposal and subtly hint at getting magazine features for your upcoming wedding.

Depending on how extravagant or calm the proposal was, she might "upgrade” the story when she tells others to sound more dramatic.

L Lawliet

He blinks at you, his usual blank expression making it impossible to tell what he's thinking.

He takes a long pause as he processes the unexpected event.

"Are you certain you want to marry me?" he asks bluntly, not out of insecurity but pure curiosity. He's used to analyzing others' motives, even in love.

If you seem serious, his lips twitch into a tiny smile. "I suppose I can't refuse such a well timed proposal."

L doesn't immediately plan a big wedding but seems more focused on practicalities, like marriage certificates and longterm commitments.

Despite his usual odd demeanor, there's a quiet warmth in his acceptance, as though he's grateful someone sees him beyond his brilliance and quirks.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

im sorry this might not be the place to ask for advice/help but im doomscrolling about the news and the soon to be president and im seeing so much to be scared shitless about, invasions, removal of vaccines, cost of living increases, revoking of trans rights and how it might make it all the more impossible to get the surgeries i wanted... its just too fucking scary to breathe right now what do i do with myself

Hey, Anon. I'm here. A lot of us are here right with you.

It's scary, to be sure. And I'm not going to sugarcoat the possibilities of things going south very quickly. So, let's jump into some survival tactics.

This post on burnout is a great place to start. There is a lot of overlap with burnout and the anxiety you're feeling.

Allow yourself to slow down and unplug. You are allowed to step away from the news cycle -- events out of your control will unfold regardless.

Don't feel guilty by letting yourself relax. I find it especially helpful to do activities that don't involve the internet -- I've been decorating my house, mending broken crockery, and sketching some embroidery ideas. I try to take the time to get dressed and groomed every day, to remind myself that I matter. I spend more time outdoors.

As you find the ability to relax, you'll be able to focus better on the things you can do to be resilient. Things I have been doing to improve myself and make me a better helper:

Staying on top of my medical appointments and any preventive care I can do

Working to be physically healthier overall to mitigate future medical issues

Getting all my paperwork in order, including passports

Tweaking my financial budget

Researching what estate & family documentation needs to be done to protect my relationship in case my marriage gets dissolved

Brushing up on job skills, getting new certifications to stay competitively employable

Stocking up on my medical and general emergency supplies, especially for bad weather events

Getting in the habit of mindful purchases, curbing my habit of impulse shopping

Selling things I don't want or need anymore to have a little extra money and be able to move house easier, if need be

Building a habit of fixing/maintaining my possessions instead of trashing broken things

Canceling online subscriptions and quitting social networks that make me feel in danger

Getting my personal and any queer-related files out of the cloud and onto redundant solid state drives

Downloading / printing out queer resources and buying queer art that may be banned or monitored in the future

Enjoying physical media again and hunting for old favorites

Keeping in touch with queer friends and allies and making plans in case people (even myself) need to flee

Being visible when I can and knowing when it's best to lay low

Allowing myself the luxury to dig into things Old Me would have saved for "special" events -- aka, wearing the nice clothes and eating off the fine china as an everyday thing

Shutting the fuck up, especially online, when I think my words could be used against me

In a way, I am trying to simply become a better version of myself, one who is calm & self-sufficient, mindful about his actions, and available to help those in need. It sucks that the driving factor is fear, but I intend to use that fear as a catalyst to be stronger and survive.

There is a lot to be done, but there was always going to be work, new regime or not. But please, start with that burnout article so you can jump into your own plans with new hope and energy. ❤️