#anyway love calligraphy like as a concept

[sainamoonshine]

Listen guys I know I will never be much good* (or even enjoy, tbh) calligraphy, but my mother-in-law keeps giving me old “the basics of calligraphy!!” sets that she finds at goodwill that obviously someone got as a gift in the 90s and never even opened and I enjoy collecting the inks and tiny ceramic bowls and inkstones so, so much ☺️

*this isn’t poor self esteem btw this is clear eyed & serene knowledge of where my skills lay and the answer to that is in art forms that do not require steady hands and good spatial awareness. I like digital art and fiber crafts lmao.

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Can I please request an HC with a Foreigner Darling with Nanami from JJK, Captain from Hellsing and Byakuya Kuchiki from Bleach?

Nanami's got some knowledge of foreign cultures, but he doesn't speak English that well and if you speak any other language, he doesn't understand. So conversations will be in either simple Japanese or English, or he'll use a translator app. He tries to learn about your culture and incorporate it so you don't get too homesick. He also teaches you Japanese if you struggle with it and is a much more patient and kind teacher than how he is with the kids at Jujutsu High lol. He likes the idea of marrying you, but he leaves what kind of wedding he'd have up to you: Japanese traditional wedding at a shrine, a Western style wedding, etc. He just wants you to be his wifey/househusband, the ceremony itself is less important to him. Ideally he wants a more private ceremony though, just because he hates big parties with a bunch of guests...or one particular guest named Gojo who he knows would make a special day much more annoying. The Captain has little conception of cultures outside of what he knows of Milennium's German roots and hazy memories of Werewolf culture with his own people. And because he doesn't speak, you would think he doesn't understand language; in reality, he understands many languages but just doesn't speak them. So he can understand what you say even if he doesn't ever respond. He tries to give you little trinkets or items to remind you of your home, like books or food. He isn't sure how you're supposed to treat a mate, especially one that is a human. But doing things like this is probably good, right? Byakuya would be a bit angsty about it, because he's a noble and he knows firsthand how much pushback he got for marrying a lower-class woman like Hisana. Despite his love for her and for you, he knows that a foreigner would be borderline unacceptable to marry. So he would try to resign himself to pining from afar and keeping a distance, but that makes his obsession worse lol. He would eventually decide to court you anyway and damn the consequences or criticism from the other nobles in and out of the Kuchiki family. But he would also insist on training you in everything a Shinigami nobleman's wife would need to know: calligraphy, flower arrangement, tea ceremony, wearing kimono, dancing and playing instruments, etc. He wouldn't force you to assimilate and abandon your own culture or anything, but he would press the issue that being his bride (even if you didn't even ask for that) has responsibilities. But he trusts you to do them and loves you regardless. He tries to learn about and participate in your culture, too. Ie. if you're Mexican, he wants to make an ofrenda next to the family altar for Dia de los Muertos. If you're Black he refuses to do anything with your hair that you don't want, and he snaps at anyone who comments about it; he's very quick to remind them that for all his faults, Kaname Tosen was a very refined man who never looked "sloppy" or "unkempt" with his hair worn in dreadlocks. He learns about matryoshka from a Russian Darling and makes a new line of Ambassador Seaweed nesting dolls.

[cloudshuffle]

THE MEME IS SO CUTEE AAA

Hmmm the doing nothing but stare at an adorable dragon all day depends on which Lunae you're with. Dan Feng or Dan Heng?

If you're Dan Feng's darling, there's no such thing as doing nothing. He seems like a traditional nobleman so you're learning ladylike hobbies and etiquette like Chinese calligraphy, tea ceremony, and so on. He loves you but he has a reputation to upkeep.

If you're Dan Heng's darling, you get more freedom I guess? I'm still unsure if he'll isolate you THAT much because there's a chance that he'll let you talk to Stelle and March because they're like siblings to him while Dan Feng only lets your etiquette tutors talk to you. But Dan Heng still has a time division between you and him and you with Stelle and March.

feng kidnaps me and makes me go to school? he's even worse than blade /j

jokes aside i honestly love the concept of etiquette teachers (in the yan context, i'm sorry i couldn't even begin to walk with books on my head). there's a different sort of control these yans have over you - not just forceful restriction of your interactions with people and where you're allowed to go, but also something more passive and sinister, depending on how you see it. do they really love you for you if they insist you have to act a certain way? or are you just a poor vessel through which they channel their delusions?

heng is more tolerable. barely. he allows you wander around, letting you speak to others freely, but hovers over your shoulder watching your every move like an owl, radiating a threatening energy. it eventually gets so uncomfortable for the others to be around you that he ends up isolating you anyway.

[lionmom-svenomverse]

Sharing the concept art for my Chryslestia family! Gonna have to snip a lot of HCs/notes so you can find the full thing over on my dA. Anyways, more info under the cut!

💙 Queen Celestia - Ruler of Equestria. Sun Deity. Royal Batpony Alicorn (With Heliacorn Attributes). Agender (She/he/it/they), Pansexual Demi 💙 Queen Chrysalis - Ruler of Equestria, Former Queen of the Changeling Hive. Reformed/Former Villain. Non-Reformed Queen Changeling. Nonbinary (It/xey/they/she), Bisexual Demi 💙 Princess Antlion Aphid - Princess of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Solar Astronomer/Engineer. Has anxiety. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Nonbinary (It/its and She/her mainly), Lesbian. Likes studying the sun, sundresses, large hats, hosting parties, yoga, calligraphy and diplomacy. Aphie is based off of antlion larvae, not so much aphids but it's a cute lil addition to her name. Special talent is using the sun to power technology! 💙 Princex Hercules Metalmark - Princex of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Armorer. Has autism. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Agender (They/them and xey/xem mainly), Trixic. Likes puzzles/cipher cracking, keeping fit, fruit, fire, sappy movies, giving gifts and winter. Inspired by the Hercules Beetle and the Metalmark Butterfly! Special talent is crafting enchanted armor! 💙 Prince Joro Orb Weaver - Prince of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Seamster at Carousel Boutique. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Transmasculine/Nonbinary (He/him, It/Its, She/her), Bi. Likes designing outfits, spoken word poetry, spiral patterns, fantasy shows/books, posters, journaling and social events. Inspired by the Joro Spider and the common Yellow Garden Spider/Orb-Weaver! Special talent is sewing outfits! 💙 Princex Tsetse Deathwatch "Click" Beetle - Princex of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Nurse. Gravedigger. Mute. Has autism. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Genderfluid (They/them and it/its mainly), Omni. Likes history documentaries, playing the guitar, baggy clothes, cemeteries, volunteering, birds and brownies. It was initially named "Princex Malachite" and based off of the Malachite butterfly, but since I've changed its' name it doesn't really resemble what its' currently named after: the Tsetse Fly and Click/Deathwatch Beetles. Special talent is healing creatures! 💙 Princess Venusta Orchard Mason - Princess of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Gardener. Builder. Farmer. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Transfeminine/Nonbinary (They/them and She/her), Aro/Sapphic. Likes worms, pottery, lemonade, architecture, foraging, climbing trees, falling leaves and making friends. She's mainly inspired by the strikingly blue Orchard Mason Bee, which I first saw around my early high school years iirc and fell in love with it. The other half, Venusta, comes from the Venusta Orchard Spider! The 'Venusta' part of their name actually wasn't initially there, but I thought it'd be a pretty edition, especially since the two bugs share the word 'orchard' in their names. Special talent is building strong structures! 💙 Prince Rosy Maple Brimstone - Prince of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Influencer. Disc Jockey. Party Thrower. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Intersex (He/him), Ace/Queer. Likes hyperpop/house music, makeup, bright colors, flea markets/antique malls, soap carving, blogging and raves. Rosy is mainly based on the Rosy Maple Moth, but the other part of his name comes from the Brimstone Butterfly! Special talent is DJing and music production! 💙 Prince Atlas Adonis Blue - Prince of Equestria. Heir to the Sun. Drag Queen. Royal Alicorn-Changeling Hybrid (With Batpony/Heliacorn Attributes). 35 y/o. Demiboy (He/him and They/them), Gay. Likes singing, the stars, glowsticks, finance, karaoke, collecting mugs, clubbing, glitter and cleaning. Atlas is of course inspired by the Atlas Beetle and the Adonis Blue Butterfly! Special talent is performing!

[atlas-likes-writing]

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

PROLOGUE: He Is

Summary: An alternate universe where Jason Todd never dies to the Joker - but someone else does.

Nothing is truly set in stone. Even meticulously crafted calligraphy on a headstone eventually withers away under the elements until nothing remains legible. It becomes difficult to make out who died, when they did so, and by whom's hand. In times of need, you need to learn who to trust and to what extent. After all, revenge is a dish best served cold. No one ever has any idea who holds the knife at your back.

Word count: 1157

Characters: Jason Todd/Robin, Bruce Wayne/Batman (mentioned), Dick Grayson/Nightwing (mentioned), Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned).

Tags: Long fic, angst if you squint, mentions of prostitution but not for Jason, weaponry (guns), Robin Jason

A/N: The first of many chapters for a long fic I will be working on! Updates may be a little inconsistent, but I am to be posting chapters at least every month or so. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! Asks are always open <3

AO3 | Account Masterlist |

Batman is power.  

He is a god. He is a concept. He is both myth and legend. He is an entity of such destructive prowess that death dare not approach him. He is a bedtime story you tell your children before they go to sleep at night. He is the shadow that darkens the doorsteps of those who harm others. He fights for the safety of the people in his city, his domain, and his family – and he is excellent at it.  

Bruce Wayne is wealth.  

He is human. He is mortal. He is flesh and blood and bones. He is wealthy but does not abuse the power that comes with it. He is the newspaper article on the front page. He is the pair of scissors that cuts the ribbon for the new hospital or library or school or food bank. He fights for the welfare of the people in his city, his domain, and his family – and he is excellent at it.  

Nightwing is strength.  

He is the glue that binds the two. He is the compassionate in-between. He has blood and bones, and he bleeds and breaks but there is something, something in his soul that makes him not entirely human. He is not the shadow like his father before him; instead, he is the opposite. He is the light that keeps the darkness at bay. He makes sure hope exists even when the mighty Dark Knight is consumed by his own demons. Even legends need compassion.  

Dick Grayson is justice.  

He fights for equality in a more legal setting. He is handcuffs and police hats and turn around slowly with your hands on your head! He is donuts and sunglasses and yes ma’am, your cat is fine. I have her here. He is one of the good ones. He is family and love, just like his fathers – both biological and adopted – before him. He is a son and a father and a brother and a husband with the capability of love so profound it shocks his own family. He also has a deafening, cacophonous rage within him. One he keeps hidden away and contained in neat glass bottles that has been carefully brewing since he was eight years old. A rage he keeps in check for his own sake. A rage that drove Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson apart.  

Robin is passion.  

He is youth and childhood wonder. He is backflips and cartwheels and beating up bad guys who did bad things. He works his hardest and sometimes that isn’t enough but that’s okay. He is a child. He is red tunics and yellow capes and green trunks that are borderline underwear but he’s working on a new prototype anyway. He has much to learn.  

Jason Todd is perseverance.  

He is youth that grew up too fast. He is lockpicks and crowbars and a petty criminal reformed. He is Jane Austen and George Orwell and J.R.R Tolkien and the other great minds of literature. He is intelligence and irresponsibility and growth and immaturity. He has the capability to do anything he sets his mind to with the backing of his loved ones behind him. He has much to learn.  

Some debate angrily and with shaking fists that he is a child soldier; a victim manipulated by the Big Bad Bat. Others would calmly point out that he is turning eighteen in a week – a fact that Jason is dreading – and that he has no other family except for the aforementioned “Big Bad Bat” and his butler. He’s been in the vigilante game since he was twelve and it’s taking its toll. The constant juggling of vigilante work, maintaining appearances at the school he’s too intelligent for, and trying (and failing) to be a normal, untraumatised boy is creating cracks in the not-so-impenetrable walls he carefully developed out of crumbling concrete in his mind.   

It’s only when he’s out on patrol with his pseudo-father that he has a clear head. It’s easy to forget what haunts you when you’re in the process of making new ghosts. It’s easy to use fists and fancy bat-gadgets to punch through his problems instead of, y’know, talking about why he has problems in the first place. Therapy failed him as most things do. Psychiatrist after psychiatrist listened to his qualms, but they don’t help when he already understands why he’s the way he is. It’s a catch 22: he’s fucked both mentally and emotionally, and he knows what makes him fucked and what to do to help himself, but he can’t do anything to make it better no matter how hard he tries. He wants to be better – he'd do anything to not be the way he is – he just can’t. It makes him want to run away; to take flight with canary wings and retake his mental freedom.  

On patrol, he’s free. It’s like a video game: point and shoot. Except he’s not allowed to use guns, which sort of sucks. The prostitutes and escorts on the streets where he grew up taught him how to use one safely in case of emergencies. A warning came alongside it, of course. “Don’t you ever use a gun to take a life, darlin’ – only to save it.” It was said by one of the oldest and wisest ladies who had been on the streets since she was his age at the time. Little eight-year-old Jason Todd took that to heart. Those words of wisdom have stuck with him ever since and is the reason why Alfred hasn’t told Bruce about the pistol under his mattress yet. It was originally under his pillow, but the ex-spy pointed out the safety concerns of doing so to pre-teen Jason, so they compromised. Bruce would, of course, lose his shit if he found out – so it’s their little secret for now. It’s not like he would need to use it. Wayne Manor was a fortress. Not even the Man of Steel was able to sneak in without the Dark Knight noticing. It’s more for his own peace of mind. Such a thing is hard to come by for someone like him. A gun nearby puts him at ease, which is a bit backwards but hey – whatever helps.  

The point is: Jason Todd is a boy screwed over by the world and he’s on a war path to retake his freedom no matter the cost.  

“A luxurious cage will eventually wipe out the canary’s yearning for freedom.” That’s what Bruce thinks, at least. If he gives Jason a life better than what he had, he wouldn’t want to run. He wouldn’t want to fly away. Bruce needs him just as much as Jason wants to be needed.  

But even then, a luxurious house will only increase people’s tolerance for suffering. The cage will always be strong enough to imprison freedom. Wealth can’t solve everything, Bruce. Wild things always yearn to be wild.  

--

Reblogs appreciated!

[charliespringsleftconverse]

Kiss Me Again

Word Count: 8,645 | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Writer’s Notes: I was going to have a friend proof this for me but they were busy so I did some multiple self-revisions in the past few days in hopes that I caught as many grammar errors as possible. Apologies if I missed any! Anyway! This is a college AU ACOTAR Feysand fic. The concept was idiots in love. As in, they’ve baaaasically been doing couply stuff but they were too blind to see or acknowledge that they’d been in love and acting as a couple for a while. <3 

I don’t typically write AU fics, so this is a first for me! That being said, it was so much fun to write. It’s actually the longest one-shot I’ve written! A HUGE Happy Holidays to @thegloweringcastle <3 I hope you enjoy it and finally find out who got left at the supermarket! 😂

Thank you to @acotargiftexchange for putting this event together once again! I LOVE participating in this every year! <3

Squinting at the scribbles below, my eyes attempted to decipher the notes I’d borrowed. I had been able to make out the date thanks to the simple fact that it hadn’t been written in cursive like the rest of the details. It was a lost art form for me just like any other calligraphy-related configuration. I would have written down my own notes for the humanities course I was taking, in plain print, had my younger sister not lost the key to her dorm room. With her roommate out of town for the week, there wasn’t much Elain could have done outside of calling her Resident Assistant, which, to her dismay, also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. So, rather than having to face Grayson more than she needed to, she’d called me. 

Lucky for Elain, I kept a spare. All of my sisters and I did, actually. Nesta, Elain, and I all had a key to each other’s place. It had been especially helpful when we all lived on campus last year. We could just walk into each other’s rooms at any time. Like when I needed help with my homework for Calculus with Analytic Geometry and borrowed Nesta’s notes from her sophomore year. Or when Nesta needed to borrow my curling iron for a date. And, of course, how could I forget the night that Elain and her then-boyfriend broke up. She had refused to leave her room for two days. I had never been so grateful to have access to a spare key. Nesta and I had been so worried having not heard from her for more than a day. We spent that entire weekend taking turns bringing her food from her favorite places across town in hopes that they’d brighten her spirits. Thai food from Adriata’s Palace, Italian Cuisine from Neve’s Garden, and Mexican from Rita’s Margaritas. I had never seen my sister so devastated in her life. Although to be fair, Elain had never dated a boy before Grayson. 

I turned the notebook a bit to the side in hopes that the lighting from the new angle would bless me with a hint as to what words hid behind Mor’s beautiful script. Mother above. Shaking my head, I bit my lip. I should have listened to my mother when she said that learning cursive would be an invaluable skill. She was certainly right in thinking that it was a dying skill. It was dead on me for sure. Hell, the only people I knew who still wrote in cursive were sorority recruitment leads when they made their colorful, extravagant banners with fancy lettering and doctors. Which would make sense at the moment given who I had borrowed these notes from. Zeta Tau Alpha’s latest Chapter President. My mother was certainly wagging her finger at me from wherever she was. 

I sighed.

“You look more concentrated than my morning orange juice,” said Rhysand, sitting across the table. His violet eyes studying me, his brows raised in concern. We’d—he’d been studying for the past thirty minutes, meanwhile, I’d just been heavy-breathing and decoding what looked like a cipher like a treasure hunter in search of the coordinates to an ancient Greek secret temple. But unlike an archeologist, my work proved unfruitful.

“I’m trying to decipher Mor’s handwriting,” I said. Leaning back on the chair, I let out another loud sigh. “It’s beautiful. But I can’t read cursive for shit.”

Rhys and I had known each other since freshman year. More specifically, ever since I accidentally dropped a shoe on him from the fourth floor of the residence halls. I had originally been aiming for my roommate Viviane to catch, who to this day still wanted to room with me. She hadn’t wanted to come up again to retrieve the missing shoe and I didn’t want to go downstairs in a towel as I’d just come out of the shower and was still undressed. 

The natural decision was to just fling the sneaker out the window of our dorm room, obviously. What we didn’t account for was my terrible aim and Viviane’s lack of hand-eye coordination. Not only did Rhys get bumped in the head by a single white platform Vans but he also got pushed into a bush by Viviane. She had been so busy looking up, that she forgot to look forward and completely missed the 6-foot man inches from her. It had been a miracle Viviane herself hadn’t impaled the shrubbery along with him. I’ll never forget the mortified look Viviane and I mirrored, eyes wide and hands over mouth. All I could think was, he’s concussed. I concussed a man. 

Personally, if someone had smacked me on the head, I would have at least yelled at them. Maybe even called them a prick. Rhys, however, was a different breed of man. He had certainly groaned on impact but as soon as he realized he had backflipped into a small hedge and held a women’s size 8 shoe on his lap, he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. This man—this stranger—had the audacity to laugh given the circumstances. I suppose I should have realized from that moment that nothing could truly take him by surprise or upend his day. A trait I admired. One I hoped seeped into my bones by osmosis or whatever symbiotic science allows personal characteristics to flow from one person to another. 

I apologized profusely to this man. In a towel from my window. In my pajamas after I ran downstairs. In his residence hall, after Viviane helped me put together an apology basket when we discovered he lived across from her boyfriend Kallias. Even then, this 6-foot-something of a man thought it was funny. Every. Single. Time. To which I convinced myself, I’d more than concussed him. I convinced myself I’d done serious damage for a man to laugh at that level of pain. Although, I suppose that if two people showed up in their dinosaur onesies at 9 pm on a Thursday evening with a basket for me, I’d also laugh. But still.

It wasn’t until that very week that I realized Rhys and I shared similar classes. We were both in English Composition, Principles of Chemistry, and Introduction to Sociology. Which, quite honestly, are more than enough courses for you to figure out if you have the same schedule as another student. What can I say, I’m oblivious—an ongoing theme in my life.

Another thing I’ll never forget, the smug look on Rhys’s face when we were paired together in English Composition for a research paper on the portrayal of minorities in the media. I’d wanted to find the nearest cliff and jump off it but destiny had other plans. No, fate looked me straight in the eye and said, “Hold my drink, bestie” because two years later, here we are. Best friends. 

Rhysand snatched the paper out of my hands. “The Gate of Athena Archegetis was dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena.” 

My hand rushed to jot down what he said. The table vibrated from the ferocity with which I scribbled on my notebook. What I couldn’t crack in thirty minutes took Rhys all of two seconds to read out. Why our professor for that course didn’t allow laptops or tablets for note taking, I’ll never understand. I was just grateful I had something legible transcribed now.

“You can read that? It might as well have been written entirely in Latin,” I said.

“I’ve had practice reading my cousin's handwriting for years. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t, at this point.” Rhysand chuckled. Passing the page, he eyed the notes, likely reviewing the contents from the course he’d taken himself the semester before. 

“I, unfortunately, was blessed with my father’s handwriting.” I tugged at the sleeves of my V-neck indigo cardigan and shyly pointed at my hideous penmanship. It might as well have been written by a third-grader. It was practically childlike. There wasn’t much fixing that could be done at this point in my life when it came to my writing unless I signed up for a calligraphy course. And even then, life had no guarantees.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. An art major who couldn’t read or write a visual art form. Who could paint true-to-life full-body portraits, vivid illustrations of natural landscapes, and dramatic high-colored oil paintings but couldn’t read or write in cursive. I dropped my shoulders, frustrated with myself, and propped my legs up on the tufted dining chair pulling them against my chest with my arms wrapped around. 

Rhys’s eyes were back on me. He had a way of reading me like a billboard sign, and I could tell he was trying to figure out what was going on through my mind, what today’s bold neon letters were. I was never sure how he did it but he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Which either meant my face was easy to read and I had the worst poker face of all time or…he just knew me. 

“The ‘A’ in cursive is not a sharp letter. It’s more rounded and looks the exact same in both upper and lowercase. Similar to the way you’d write it in print,” he said.

There were several traits I admired about Rhys outside of his keen observations and nonchalant perspective on life. Like his level of empathy. I knew what his academic grades looked like but boy did I also want to know what his emotional quotient score was. Whatever it was, that score was certainly high. He never made anyone feel like their shortfalls were a hindrance. Nor would he want to. That wasn’t his style. Rather than point out my flaws and make me feel embarrassed, he read the notes aloud. 

“The Greek language served as a lingua franca,” he continued.

“That last phrase was actual Latin,” he added. Rhys flipped through the pages of Mor’s notes. I could have asked him for his own from last semester since he’d been able to sign up on time. I, on the other hand, had been wait-listed. Hence why I was taking the course in the spring. It was one of the few classes we all needed to graduate as it was one of the general requirements for all offered degrees. I probably should have asked him for his notes since I could his penmanship but I’d been too caught up with Elain yesterday to even consider asking.

“Here’s another one, in vino veritas,” said Mor, raising two bottles of wine toward us. “In wine there is truth.”

“Amen,” said Cassian, lifting a third bottle. 

“I thought you two went out grocery shopping,” said Rhysand. Laying the notes on the table, he crossed his arms eyeing the two figures by the door. The corner of Rhys’s mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at his cousin and roommate. 

“We did. We brought back the essentials,” said Mor. Smiling back at her cousin, she winked at him before closing the door to the apartment with a kick of her red platform heels. 

“Hmm,” Rhys hummed. 

Bringing his eyes back to me, Rhysand continued reading off the notes while the other two flocked into the kitchen. I bit the inside of my lip as I followed along the soothing sound of his voice. His warm tone always calmed me when we studied together. Which was why I was his favorite audience member when he needed to practice his presentations. I’d listen attentively, the first time. I’d even provide feedback, the second time. But I’d almost always fall asleep to the sound of his enchanting mellifluous voice any other time after that. 

“It’s wine night, Rhys. You know the rules,” said Mor from the other room. Every Friday was wine night, the one day of the week our friend group could get together with no interruptions or excuses. No one had an evening class on Fridays or a night shift so things worked out this semester. Most of the extracurriculars each of us participated in typically held events over the weekend so we’d truly lucked out with everyone’s schedules this time. It wasn’t something we were likely to have again so we were taking advantage of every Friday we had before some of us graduated. 

Though, that was one of the rules. No talks about graduation. The point of wine night was to live in the moment and enjoy however many Fridays we had left as the “Inner Circle.” It was a silly name Cassian spewed one night after downing 3 bottles of wine, and it kind of stuck. We didn’t exactly call our group that but we did change our group chat name accordingly. 

“You too, Feyre.” Mor’s voice echoed.

Another rule. No homework. That rule was more of a precaution so none of us would accidentally email professors the wrong file while inebriated. To be fair, I was only taking notes but we all tried to abide by the no homework rule as best as we could. 

“Give me a few minutes, and I’m all yours,” I said. 

“You’re telling me you’ve had all day to write those and you still haven’t?” asked Mor, her voice trailing from deeper in the apartment as she stepped from room to room. She had her apartment across town but, like me, she practically lived here too.

“Yeah, well…there have been some delays,” I said, fidgeting with my pencil. My face began to feel warm as blood rushed into my cheeks. Biting my lip, I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to let Mor know that I hadn’t been able to write her notes because I couldn’t read her notes. Not that she would make fun of me for it but I knew that if I confessed the truth she’d barge me with questions. And I simply did not feel like answering any of that in front of everyone else. All I wanted was for something to distract her from prying right now. Just about anything would do. A pigeon flying in through the window. The fan in the living room mysteriously falling onto the table. A fire alarm. A knock on the door. Anything would do. Please. 

“Weren’t there three of you when you left?” asked Rhysand.

I felt my body relax, and my shoulders dropped. I hadn’t realized the muscles down my back had tightened and tensed so firmly until my body loosened and eased back into the chair. My eyes lifted, meeting Rhysand’s whose amethyst orbs were right on me. He winked. The man knew I’d been on the brink of jumping out a window and needed assistance to divert the tall blonde in the kitchen and I loved him for it. 

“Azriel!” said Cassian and Mor in unison. The sound of shoes running filled the kitchen accompanied by that of drawers shutting in a hurry, and the jingle of keys. The pair dashed around the apartment like parents who’d just forgotten their child at the supermarket, which was exactly what had happened. Somewhat.

A knock sounded at the door. 

The four of us froze and exchanged glances. The only thought I had in my mind was of Azriel, hoping he hadn’t walked all the way back here. Mor took slow steady steps towards the entrance and when she reached the doorknob, she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and pressed her lips together. Ever so delicately, she turned the knob and pulled the door towards her.

"Today was not my best day. I dare say it didn't even make the top five," said Azriel. He had one hand reaching the top of the doorframe, leaning slightly. His handsome face held no clear emotion but his eyes. His cold eyes stared down at Mor, making her smaller than she was. Oh, he is pissed.

“You left something at the grocery store,” said Nesta, pushing past the brooding body. Her heels clicked as she waltzed into the room wearing a black satin sleeveless dress that hugged her in all the right places from her chest to her hips. The slit on the right side exposed her up to her mid-thigh with every step. Cassian’s eyes immediately caught the movement as they slid up her body, stopping once they met her eyes.

“I would never have left you, Nes,” said Cassian. He took a step toward her, almost challenging her gaze. She held it, eyed him up and down sizing him up, and spun to face the rest of the room. With her back to him, she placed a hand on her hip, blatantly ignoring the door-framed-sized man behind her. 

Cassian stepped closer and slid his hands around her body, holding her closer. Nesta didn’t fight him. If I had blinked, I might have missed the slight shift of her body against him, leaning against his chest even closer. It was beyond anyone’s pay grade to understand where they stood in their relationship if it was even that. They’d been on and off for so long that their situationship was like the weather, something that had to be measured in every room. 

“I despise you,” said Nesta, with a hint of a smile on the corner of her lips.

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Cassian.

“Are you headed out tonight, Nesta?” I asked. 

“I only came to deliver the lost puppy,” said Nesta, taking a step forward and away from the figure wrapped around her. Cassian’s jaw ticked as she untangled herself from his embrace. “I’m headed out with the girls.”

Gwyn and Emerie, I thought. That’s who she almost always referred to. They’d been her closest friends since freshman year and they’d been inseparable from the moment they met. It was surprising that they hadn’t come up with her since they all lived together. 

“Gwyn’s downstairs waiting for me, and Emerie is already in the car,” she said. 

There it was. 

“You should take better care of pretty things,” said Nesta, walking towards the door. Elegantly spinning, her eyes met Cassian’s from beneath the doorframe. Her fingers slipped up her thigh to her waist sensually, her eyes never breaking contact as she spoke. “Someone else might steal them.”

She closed the door on her way out, leaving the rest of us too stunned to speak. 

“I’m gonna marry that woman,” said Cassian.

“Wine, anyone?” said Mor.

——

"I almost fist-fought you last night when you took the blanket," I said. Tugging on the dark blue throw-over, I pulled it over myself enough to cover my legs entirely as I sat criss crossed on the couch. The star-filled spread was dark and fluffy like Amren’s black Bombay cat. With three glasses of wine in me, if I closed my eyes and traced my hand down the blanket, I could almost picture Ruby on my lap. She was soft and cud—

A pull on the blanket brought my thoughts back.

“You snore. Loudly," said Rhys.

"I do not snore, you liar." I scoffed, tugging back on the blanket. 

We’d both fallen asleep on his bed last night after an intense studying session. Although our schedules were no longer as identical as they’d been during freshman year, we still shared one or two courses every so often. Like this semester, we had Solar System Astronomy together. We’d stayed up late on the balcony of his apartment looking up at the constellations seeing how many we could name and then placing their locations on a star map.

With 88 constellations in the sky, as recognized by the International Astronomical Union, we’d been able to spot at least seven. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Cassiopeia, Cepheus, Draco, and—my face was beginning to feel very warm. 

"How did the blanket end up on the floor? No wonder I was freezing," said Rhys. He was leaning against the backrest of the couch, one hand on the armrest holding his glass of wine. Rhysand’s dark lilac eyes sparked with mischief. He was baiting me and I was definitely too inebriated to ignore his comments. 

“How could you be freezing? You’re a freaking furnace!” I exclaimed. 

“Then why’d you steal the blanket? I’m basically primed for cuddles.” Rhys’s other hand reached around me and tugged me towards him. I laughed against his chest, and let my body lean into him. 

“Mother above, you two bicker like a married couple,” said Mor. She was leaning against the doorway leading to the balcony. With the door open, the cool breeze blew in, brushing her long golden hair past her shoulder. Her eyes darted between where Rhys and I sat on the couch and then shifted to something behind us. I was too focused on the elegant way she held her glass to glance away from her posture. 

“It’s not bickering if I’m right.” I slapped Rhys against his chest playfully. His chest vibrated with a chuckle.

“Az, play that one song from the other night,” said Amren. With her wine glass inches from her lips in one hand, she pointed at Azriel with her other. There was a lot you learned about a person while under the influence. In Amren’s case, during the day, she was a short-tempered finance major student who ate boys and numbers for breakfast. There was no doubt that she’d be valedictorian of the College of Business Administration. She studied hard, but she also played hard. 

“Thisssisss my jaaaaammm.” Amren’s words slurred. She raised one of her hands as if meaning to touch the ceiling lamp like a fly attracted to a zapper light. Swaying to the rhythm, Amren praised the white light above.

“Oh, she is gone,” said Mor, taking a sip of her wine.

All eyes were on Amren now as she led an interpretive dance to the beat of Dance the Night by Dua Lipa. Her choreography involved a lot of hands swaying in the air. While her claps to the music were slightly off-beat, she was giving it her all. She was the choreographer—the lead dancer. She was Barbie at the giant blow art party and the rest of us were just Ken.

“Here’s another piece of Latin for you, Feyre. Nemo saltat sobrius,” said Mor, nodding at Dance and Flex Barbie™.

“What?” I asked. Clumsily leaning forward, I propped one hand on Rhy’s thigh as I leaned closer to Mor in hopes I could read her lips over the music. I felt a hand steady me from behind. 

“Nobody dances sober,” said Azriel.

“Unless you’re Azriel, then you don’t dance. At all,” said Cassian. The couch bounced as he threw his body on the empty spot on the other side of me. He smiled at Azriel, threw his hand over the sofa's backrest, and leaned back.

“I’ve definitely seen him dance,” said Rhys. 

“No way. In his room?” Cassian chuckled.

I took this as an opportunity to make myself more comfortable, while they were distracted. Shifting my body, I leaned further into Rhys, the shape of his own welcoming me back to my spot. A soft giggle escaped my lips as Cassian grabbed my feet and placed them on his lap. Somehow my body had slid down Rhys’s and I was fully lying across the sofa on top of the boys. I was comfortable. So comfortable, I could fall asleep.

“At a party, actually,” said Rhys, his eyes glanced at Azriel while a small smile edged on his face.

“With a girl?” Cassian’s voice sounded surprised.

“With a girl.” Rhys nodded.

“No fucking way,” said Cassian. He couldn’t help but smile at Az, his mouth gaped. 

I understood Cassian’s reaction, Azriel didn’t dance let alone run or jog for anything. He was an enigma; an unsolvable riddle. The man was calm, cool, and collected at all times. Always unfazed by things that would distress the common Joe. It was slightly unnerving. If someone spilled wine on the carpet, Azriel wouldn’t panic at the thought of a huge red stain on the rug. He’d walk into the kitchen, no questions asked, and come back with a dry cloth, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide, and blot the patch until it made you doubt if anything had actually been spilled. Whereas Mor and I would have stared at the ink-stained rug and exchanged wide-eyed looks before quietly agreeing that the room could do better without a rug.

Azriel shrugged completely unbothered. 

“With wh-

“I don’t kiss and tell,” said Azriel. Cold eyes stared back, silently telling Cassian to back off without any need for words.

“You’re just jealous he didn’t kiss you,” said Rhysand. He was trying to diffuse any rising tension. I could feel the sound of his voice vibrating across his chest. At some point, I’d given him my glass of wine or he’d taken it from me very smoothly. It would have been a disaster if I’d spilled it over the three of us on the sofa. I would have felt especially bad about it considering it was new. Their last one had moved on to a better place after Cassian put a hole in it from jumping on it during a karaoke session two months ago. 

“Hell yeah, I am!” Cassian exclaimed. 

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin on his lips. "Are we about to kiss right now?" 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” said Rhysand. 

“Come here, you,” said Cassian. Throwing my legs off him, he jumped across the room embracing Azriel. The room filled with laughter at the show the two of them were putting on. Even through the loud ruckus, the short-tempered finance major was far too deep into her slumber to awaken. At some point, Amren had tucked herself into the armchair by the window and nodded off. She looked cozy and peaceful with her head lying on the armrest. We’d learned long ago that it was best to leave her alone when she dozed off. A lesson learned the hard way.

Through the open doors leading to the balcony, the sky was briefly illuminated with a bright light followed by a faint sound of thunder. I glanced at the digital clock beneath the TV sitting on the television stand. It was late and I needed to get home. There was still a buzzing feeling that tingled across my body from the earlier drinks but I didn’t live far. It was ten minutes max walking. Plus, if I left now, I could avoid the rain.

Sitting up, I scanned the room looking for my shoes. “I should get going,” I said.

“Let me call you a ride,” said Mor, already taking out her phone.

“Mor, I live within walking distance,” I said, gathering my shoes.

Azriel jumped in, “I barely drank. All I had was a sip earlier. I could give you a ri-

He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes glanced toward the other side of the room at the sound of boots hitting the hardwood and the sofa shuffling. I didn’t think too much about it, not that I could in my current state. I was more focused on figuring out where I’d placed the key to my apartment. 

“Do you want us to walk with you?” asked Mor.

Holding on to the wall, I hooked two fingers into one of my white platform Nike and pushed my foot into the shoe. Was it counterintuitive to own sneakers with shoelaces if I never had any intention of tying them? I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought as I did the same with my other shoe. It was unclear to me if I genuinely found the thought funny or if it was the alcohol coursing through me. Before I could respond to Mor’s question, I felt the close warmth of a tall figure standing near me. 

“I’ll walk her,” said the familiar voice.

“Rhys-

“That wasn’t an offer, darling. That was me making a statement,” he said.

I sighed, looking up at him. It was late, and I didn’t feel like arguing knowing that it would delay my departure before the oncoming storm. Having someone walk you home wasn’t the end of the world. It was an act of the purest love. That someone cared about your well-being enough to ensure you’d made it home safely. That’s what I loved about my friends. The genuine love we all had for each other. 

Sliding my baby blue nylon backpack over my shoulder, I double-checked I’d gathered everything. I went through my mental checklist. Phone, wallet, keys. Patting my pockets, I ensured I had them. I made sure to hug everyone goodbye before heading out. Well, everyone except Amren, who was ever so sweetly tucked in the armchair with a blanket twice her size. Likely one of Cassian’s massive blankets. 

When I turned, Rhysand was already by the door holding it open for me. Slipping his hand over my shoulder, he grabbed my powder blue bag and placed it over his. With the motion, my white plush bear keychain swung against the two baby penguin pins on the cerulean fabric. My backpack had a very soft aesthetic that stood out when held by Rhys who was dressed in dark tones from head to toe. It didn’t fit his aesthetic. At all. I was about to object that I could carry my own bag but his voice interrupted my thoughts. “Don’t put the top lock on the door, I’ll be right back.”

As we headed out, the sky flashed again. The air felt cool against my skin and smelled like dew. It was a calming, fresh scent. It reminded me of potted flowers and succulents like the ones I had by the window in my room. The ones I always forgot to water but always survived, courtesy of one Elain Archeron. She knew I couldn’t keep anything alive, plant or fish, so she’d made sure to get me greenery that required minimal attention, which reminded me that I hadn’t watered them in a week. If it started pouring by the time I got home, I could stick them out the window and have them be watered au naturale. 

I jumped at the sound of thunder and instinctively grabbed Rhys’s hand. His fingers wrapping around mine were warm and rough whereas mine were cold and soft. He squeezed my hand and held on to mine as we continued walking. “It caught me off guard.”

“Mmhm,” he said.

The wind picked up slightly as we headed down the illuminated path amongst the trees and apartment complex gardens that stretched across an open space. Rain was certainly on its way, it was just a matter of when. We likely had a couple of minutes before the downpour began. Thunder sounded all around us, and one, two droplets landed on my cheek. Damn. Other than being way off in my calculations, I’d also forgotten to borrow an umbrella before we left. There was no avoiding that we were going to be caught in this. 

“I’m glad I grabbed this before we left,” said Rhys, opening an umbrella large enough to cover us both. At what point he’d grabbed the umbrella was beyond me. I stepped closer to him as he fumbled opening it. He gave it a slight jiggle with one hand that became more aggressive by the second as he attempted to push the sliding metal piece with his fingers. After about a minute, the section loosened up allowing for more movement. The issue now lay with the broken stretchers that were meant to hold the fabric. 

“Who the hell leaves a broken umbrella in the umbrella stand?” said Rhys. 

“Someone who forgot to throw it out?” 

“That’s why trashcans exist,” he sighed. Rhys let go of my hand and continued fumbling with the umbrella trying to see if the pieces would lock into place. Thunder sounded above us and more drops of water began falling slowly picking up.

“If we pick up the pace, we can make it before it really hits,” said Rhys. His eyes surveyed mine and I could tell he was both disappointed and worried that he’d let me down somehow. But unless he was secretly in cahoots with Mother Nature, there was no way any of this could be his fault or something for him to blame himself for. 

“I’m sorry about the weather,” said Rhys. The way he rubbed his neck and his brows drew together, I couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on his face for something out of his reach. 

I shook my head and smiled up at him. “What are you sorry about? A broken umbrella that you had no idea was broken? The sky? Rhysand, unless you secretly own a weather machine, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Forget the umbrella.”

“In fact,” I continued, “I think this is an opportunity.”

I took my bag and the umbrella from his hands, chucked the latter in the nearest bin, and placed my bag on the ground.

“An opportunity?” 

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but I’d always wanted to dance in the rain like in movies and musicals. I felt bold and giddy at the idea of doing so now. All I could focus on was this tune from the third High School Musical installment. “Take my hand, take a breath.”

Standing in front of him, I stretched out my hand and offered it to Rhys. He looked puzzled but accepted my offer. “Pull me close, and take one step.”

“A song with instructions? I can follow that,” he said. A small smile formed on his lips.  

“Keep your eyes locked on mine,” I continued. 

His violet eyes twinkled beneath the moonlight and it almost looked like stars danced across his eyes as they softened, placing his other hand on my waist. He knew exactly what song I was referencing. After all, I’d made him watch it enough times with me. “And let the music be your guide.”

I nodded, cuing him to step with me. With his eyes wholly fixed on me, we slowly stepped into time, our shoes gently tapping against the pavement.

“Won't you promise me,” Rhys chimed. 

Pulling me closer against his chest, Rhysand guided me across the makeshift dance floor—the walkway between the trees—with a step here and a half turn there. We were dancing through the gardens illuminated by the night sky and lamp posts down the pathway as we waltzed further in. 

“Now won't you promise me, that you'll never forget.” 

“We'll keep dancing,” added Rhys. 

 “To keep dancing.” A smile curved across my lips. 

“Wherever we go next.” Our voices intertwined as we spun together, my hands held on to him tighter as the rain picked up. Swaying through the path of greenery, the scenery around us dissolved. It was just Rhys and I.  

Thunder crashed above, and the true downpour began. 

“It's like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you,” we continued. I couldn’t help but smile brightly up at him as rain trailed down his face. The buzzing feeling from earlier that had coursed through my body now turned into a tingly feeling that reached from where Rhys was holding my hand—my fingers—to my chest. No, my body wasn’t buzzing, it was humming. We might have been dancing but I was floating in his embrace. I couldn’t look away from him. 

With every lyric, raindrops painted our clothes a shade darker. My indigo cardigan was now inked navy as we swayed to the invisible music. My feet splashed against puddles, drenching my white shoes in rainwater. They’d likely be gray by the time I got home but that didn’t matter. As our feet shuffled across the pathway, the sky reflected itself over the water on the trail creating an illusion of stars beneath our feet. We were dancing among the stars. 

We sang the rest of the song, never messing up the lyrics or missing a beat. We might have been recreating a moment by singing a song from one of my favorite films but this waltz was entirely made up by us. Rhys’s hand still grasping mine, spun me around as we brought the sound of the music in our chests to a slow end. His eyes were still on mine as we held our soaking bodies close. Was he always this beautiful?

I couldn’t help but marvel at his handsomeness and let an intrusive thought get the better of me as I ran my fingers across his cheek. He leaned into my warm touch, eyes softening. His eyes glanced from mine down to my lips. Please, I pleaded. I could feel my heart racing and my chest tightening at the thought of his lips on mine. Rhysand cleared his throat as his hands gently let go of mine, breaking the spell. 

Taking a step back, he scanned me from head to toe and chuckled. “I bet we look like drowned rats to anyone looking out their windows.”

I shook my head, holding back a smile.

“I feel like one too,” I said. Looking down at my jeans, there was not a dry spot on them. 

I bit the inside of my cheek. Had we just had a moment? I must have hallucinated it in the dark lighting. There was no way that Rhysand had looked like he’d wanted to kiss me two seconds ago. I wasn’t ignorant, I’d known Rhysand was objectively attractive. He had a strong jawline and he was fit from working out every week with Cassian and Azriel. He had nice cheekbones, luscious lashes, soft lips, and intelligent eyes. He was delightful to look at. He was…

Who was I kidding, he was handsome beyond compare. I just had never seen him in that way until now. Mother above, I was oblivious as they came. And I wished I could have blamed the alcohol for all of it—the way I was feeling, the thoughts I was having—but the truth was, I’d burned it out of my system with that dance. 

‘We should get going,” said Rhys. 

He grabbed my bag off the ground and we walked the rest of the way in awkward silence. I kept glancing sideways at him every so often. I’d definitely hallucinated that moment we’d had for a split second. The rest of the way to my place, I spent it looking at the ground contemplating while Rhysand stared at the stars as if searching for a cosmic answer. 

By the time we made it to my place, we were full-on drenched. I was sure my hair looked like a wet mop attached to my head. I patted my pockets in search of the key and found it in the left back pocket of my jeans. They jingled in my hands as I fumbled looking for the right one.

“I hope you’re not planning to walk back in this. At least let me offer you a towel.” I glanced sideways as I turned the key.

He didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He’d stayed quiet and simply nodded as I led him in. With Viviane at her boyfriend’s for the weekend, there was no one home. All the lights were off as we walked in. I flipped the light switches as we stepped through the place in search of something dry. In the hallway closet, I found some towels for us. Meanwhile, I could hear Rhys in the kitchen opening and closing the cabinets. 

As I turned the corner, I could see him pulling out two teabags from a box before his head turned in my direction. "I'll put the kettle on."

"So sweet of you, you're an angel," I said. 

On top of being handsome, he was very thoughtful. Was I really falling for my best friend? I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on him as he turned on the stove and prepared tea for us. I bit my lower lip and turned towards the dryer that was hidden behind a sliding door. Neither of us was shivering or in any danger of getting frostbite, but a warm towel would certainly go well with tea. After a few minutes, the machine beeped just as the kettle began hissing. I pulled both towels out of the dryer and practically moaned at the warm touch against my skin. 

“Would you like a dry towel?” I offered.

“You don’t want my wet handkerchief to dry your wet face?” He glanced sideways at me as he poured water into each cup with a smirk painted across his face.

I giggled and walked further into the kitchen. As soon as he placed the kettle back on the stove, I threw a towel over my shoulder and placed the other one on his head as he turned around to face me. I ran the towel over his head, drying his hair before sliding it over his shoulders and wrapping it around his body. 

I looked up at him. “My hair is soaked, Rhys.” 

The clothes we were wearing could have easily squeezed out two gallons of water. I could have probably fed my succulents with the amount of liquids soaked into our outfits. If I could have thrown myself in the dryer too, I would have knocked out two birds with one stone. 

Standing in front of me, wrapped around in my towel, he looked adorable. Rhys’s eyes met mine and I could have sworn time stopped. All I could do was stare up at him. Oh gosh, was I staring? I blinked rapidly and dropped my gaze.

“You still look beautiful,” he said.

I felt my heart stop and my breath hitch. My hands stilled on his body still holding on to the light blue towel. Did he mean it in a friendly way? I glanced back up. His eyes peered down at me searching for something in mine. My lips parted as if to speak but I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I closed my mouth and swallowed. 

“Feyre.”

The way he said my name made my heart skip. He took a step, closing the gap between us. My name sounded low like a prayer on his lips. If he was praying, then I wanted to bless him but I needed a sign. I wanted a clear sign that he wasn’t just whispering my name in an empty apartment for no reason. 

“Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” I half whispered.

His eyes glanced from my eyes to my mouth and back in a triangle manner. A small smile painted itself across his lips like a prayer answered. “You caught that.”

It wasn’t a question, he was making a statement.

“I wanted to be sure your head was clear when I kissed you,” said Rhysand.

“Rhys?”

“Yes?”

A pause.

“My head’s clear now,” I said.

Rhysand's head slowly leaned forward, stopping inches from my face, giving me time to take a step back if I wanted to back out. I didn’t. I wanted—needed, to know what his lips felt like on mine. If they were truly as soft as they looked. His fingers titled my chin up and kissed me. Gods, his kiss was more than soft, it was life-changing. His lips were gentle against mine, so sweet and delicately slow like he’d been waiting an eternity for this moment and now that he had it, now that the moment had arrived he wanted to savor it. If I’d been floating earlier when I danced with him beneath the rain, then I was soaring above the clouds and beyond the moon now. 

His hands cupped my face as mine slid into his hair, pulling him closer by the neck. Neither one of us parted to take a breath. I could tell this wasn’t just any kiss, this was the kiss. The one that would change our lives—my life—forever. The kiss I’d compare any other to. I could feel his chest against mine as our legs brushed against each other. Rhysand's hands slowly slid down my shoulders and arms and made their way down and around my waist. We pulled each other closer, our bodies seeking contact where they could as we continued wrapping ourselves against each other. We were two colliding stars, bursting with sparks and ever-changing hues.

After what felt like forever, I pulled back slightly, eyes closed. Blood had rushed into my cheeks, and there was no doubt that the heat against my flushed face had painted them rosy. I could feel his head leaning against mine, both of us breathless. Mother above, I truly was oblivious to everything. That definitely wasn’t a friend kiss. That was an I-want-to-be-more-than-friends kiss. 

Rhysand’s hand came up against my face tucking strands of semi-wet hair behind my ear. It felt like he was looking at me for the first time or trying to memorize every freckle on my face. A beat passed and he broke the silence. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been for a while.”

My heart skipped at those words—at his confession. My mouth gaped. There were no words. I wasn’t sure what to say. All I could focus on was the rising and beating in my chest as I focused on taking the next breath. Had this really just happened? Had we truly just kissed? Did he just say that he—

“I’m hoping you didn’t just kiss me to then break my heart, Feyre, darling.” He cupped my face as he spoke the last two words. 

“I never knew you liked me,” I said, stumbling on the words. 

“Now you do. And correction, I said I love you.” The corners of Rhysand’s mouth turned up. I couldn’t help the way my eyes widened in disbelief. He’d said the words again. 

“You love me?”

Rhys chuckled as he shook his head. He lifted my head with a hand beneath my chin as if inspecting me. “Did you hit yourself with the dryer door? Do I need to kiss you again? Or maybe hold your hand as we walk through a storm? Or dance in the rain while quoting your favorite movie?” 

He loved me. He loved me, and he not only meant it with the words he’d spoken, but Rhys had demonstrated and proved time and time again that he truly meant it, body and soul. A man who could talk the talk and walk the walk. Dare I say, he was a man after my own heart. 

“If you let me, I promise I’ll spend every day making sure you never doubt how worthy of love you are,” said Rhys. The back of his hand caressed my cheek.

“I’ll do anything with you, Rhys. As long as it’s you,” I said. 

His lips met mine again, this time with more passion and intensity. Wrapping my hands around his neck once more, I felt the towel slide off his shoulders and plop to the ground. Rhys's hands traveled around my hips, to the back of my thighs before he lifted me into his arms. Instinctually, I wrapped my legs around him and deepened our kiss. I wanted him closer. I wanted his body against mine without the barriers of our wet clothes. 

As if he’d read my thoughts, I could feel us moving down the hallway to my room. Every kiss turned deeper than the last and I knew I couldn’t deny myself the truth. I was completely and utterly in love with him. And I was a fool for not noticing before that maybe I had loved him longer than my body knew. Longer than I truly knew. He was my safe space, my person, my best friend. He was everything I could want in a man. He was everything. Rhys was everything.

Gently laying me against my bed, he pulled back slightly to look down at me. His eyes were like lilac-blue stars glistening against the moonlight as he marveled at me. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that this was real. I placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb. His lips smiled against my warm touch.

“I can’t stop smiling when I look at you,” said Rhys.

He gazed at me like a painter setting eyes on their muse. Like he’d been seeking inspiration his entire life and now he’d found it. Rhys shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen?” 

The question wasn’t for me to answer, it was rhetorical. He was speaking his thoughts aloud as if waiting for a cosmic answer to shine through the window. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Feyre. 

“When I wake up, when I’m about to fall asleep, even in my dreams I can never stop thinking of you. When you’re not with me, it feels like something is missing. And, gosh, I hate poetry, but when I think of you…I can’t help but imagine that this is what the greats write about. This feeling. It’s like poets are reciting their writings in my head.”

I could feel the corners of my eyes becoming damp. I could spend the rest of this night in his arms simply admiring him. His honest eyes were full of more unspoken words of love. I could feel the wetness of my clothes seeping into the blanket below but I didn’t care. I thumbed his lips, his Apollo’s arched bow, memorizing this moment. I could feel my shaky voice escaping me as I spoke.

“All these years, I thought we were just friends, and I was okay with that…but now I realize that maybe I’ve felt like this for a while about you. That I’ve loved you without knowing that this is what it was.”

“You love me?” A smile spread across his lips.

“Did you hit yourself with the door coming in? Or do I need to kiss you again?” I mimicked his earlier question. 

He gently rubbed his nose against mine, his lips inches from my own.

“Kiss me again,” he whispered.

I moaned against his lips this time. I wanted him to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me, to say my name. I wanted everything and more. We tugged against wet clothes, which were much harder to take off thanks to their added weight. They stuck to our bodies and made it difficult to slide out of them. But we didn’t care. We kissed and laughed our way out of the heavy wet clothing until we were skin to skin. Until we were finally warm in each other's embrace. And for the first time in a while, I prayed.

Rhys.

I prayed the rest of the night as his body melded against mine, pulling prayer after prayer from my lips. His name, the only one I wanted to whisper against the moonlight shining through my window. It was only our names echoing from the other’s lips against soft I love yous with every touch and shift against hips. We were dancing like stars in the night sky, and holding on to each other as if we’d collided into one. Our whispers and sighs grew more uneven. He was my gravity, my center, and I was his. With Rhys’s eyes on mine and a final waltz around the universe, I felt my world burst like a nuclear fission. Like a star reaching its last evolutionary stage. 

Rhys kissed me again, softer this time, and wrapped me in his arms as we lay beneath the comfort of warm blankets, tangled in each other. Pulling me against his chest, he whispered. "Did you know that rainy day cuddles are two times more effective than sunny day cuddles?"

“Don’t you have to tell Cas to lock the door for you,” I said. 

“That can wait,” said Rhys, kissing the top of my head.

[pronglesart]

This is a pretty random one, but how did you design the logo for Ingress?

Little did you know, I love to answer questions about ~design~.

The Ingress logo has gone through about 3 different official versions, but at least 50 different conceptual iterations. I'm a graphic designer by trade and profession, so I approached it any other way I would approach making a logo.

The first iteration of the logo I have less information on the development of, but I was looking at a lot of advertising from the late 1800s to early 1900s. For example, these advertisements have a lot flourishes on the text and warping letters, as was common in that era.

I took that concept and made the first iteration of the ingress logo at the comic's inception in 2017. My graphic design skills weren't as strong then, and I mostly just took a font I thought fit and slapped it around a little bit to try and get the look I wanted.

I wasn't particularly happy with how this one turned out, and it only ended up being used for a few months on the first version of the website and on a single printing of the first chapter of the comic, but I also didn't put a ton of time and energy into making this one. So, I went back to the drawing board soon after I made this first one.

The second iteration of the logo took a lot of inspiration from the same sources, but I first took a lot of time drawing out concepts in my sketchbook to try and get the right visual look for how the logo should be.

At first I played with the idea of including a little picture along with the logo. I thought maybe Toivo's glasses would be a good thing to try to include in the 'g' in Ingress, or that Rocky or Toivo's hat should appear in the logo. These were all discarded for cluttering up the logo, because the words themselves are all pretty long. Eventually, I started playing with the shape of the word itself, which very quickly lead to the last S becoming the signature swirl.

Next was iterating on this concept with fonts.

That lead to the second iteration of the logo, and the longest running version of it.

I chose a textured font to give it that "worn" feeling that was so popular in the design world in 2018. There were a ton of brands doing textured stuff to give their brand an edgy feel, but I did it to make it feel old and like it was from the late 1800s.

This would still be the logo today, but I ran into a problem: the font I used, Goldsmith Vintage, had a limitation on how long you could use their font for free and for printing. Fonts aren't particularly expensive, but if you want to use a font for publishing, you need a special license and those fees can rack up in price pretty quickly. It was unlikely that the people who made the font would come after me for using it, but I decided to not take that chance and instead refresh the logo one more time, this time putting more of my own hand in it.

This time, I took a different approach. I liked the old logo, but I was having a hard time finding a font that I really liked and would get the same feeling as the old logo... So instead, I decided to use calligraphy to draw it myself.

I rewrote the word Ingress Over and Over and Over, and specifically I rewrote the S's to try and get the perfect shape of it. Then, I picked out specific letters that I liked.

From those letters, I picked the ones I thought looked best, and smashed them together into one rough version of the logo that I liked.

And then from here, I made a digital version of the logo in Adobe Illustrator so I could get a nice crisp vector version. Also, I made rough versions of it, so I could keep doing the same 'old' look.

And... that's about it!

Ultimately, I think the new one is really fun, and I really like the fact that the latest one was made with my hand directly. Those aren't letters you can find in any font, they're my letters.

Maybe you can tell but, I have a lot of opinions on letter shapes.

Anyway, thanks for asking, and I hope this was as entertaining for you to read as it was for me to blather on about.

[oolong-strawbby]

I always wondered how my slapdash, dawn-written, hot take essays would get high marks from my english and literature teachers.

It wasn’t until I entered college, helped correct my friends’ and classmates’ essays, that I realised that the reasons why my teachers seemed so relieved when it came to me.

The bar is so low it’s not even off the ground.

When it’s bad, it is so so horrific.

No shit. These essays are not even being re-read by the student writing it themselves. They’re made for an audience of no one. By teens who had to get up, bleary-eyed, at the crack of dawn while juggling assignments from 7-8 other subjects.

I only wrote like that because I had fun writing. Other people would rather die than go through that again in their 20s.

I guess the difference is that quality suffers when what you do is treated more of an obligation. And you, the worker, some product on a shelf, replaceable as the last.

Those Japanese or Thai artisans you respect soooooo much are only able to put their utmost bussy into every facet of their craft because they are making an active choice to pursue it in an era that disregards high quality, in exchange for slop funnelled out as inhumanly fast as possible.

Laud all you want at the overworked barista or teacher because “hey even if you aren’t being paid well, take some pride and do your job well” in lieu of the sweet old Mexican cochineal bug farmer, or the wise calligraphy ink craftsman in Japan’s Nara prefecture.

(yes I have been watching Business Insider channel)

In another life, those coworkers you only know in short glimpses would’ve also liked to be a lovely mentor whose students show obvious progress, or just puts care into whatever shit they like, because they have the time and ability to support themselves.

Capitalism. Yeah that’s pretty much it. It’s been a while since I short circuited back to that lmao,

My boyfriend realises this too. How he saw this metal craftsman sitting on a street in Thailand at night just tinkering with these beautiful, delicate, monstrously difficult sculptures that engulfed the size of his torso, and knew the guy wasn’t even doing it to be paid. He’d just be doing it anyway.

And I told him, how sad it is, that we don’t have that same kind of artisan culture here in Singapore, where someone makes it their life, hell, their family’s trade, to just be good at one thing.

That one thing could either be food, art, tools, growing things, getting materials.

Nature is reduced to a mere concept here.

The lines of hands are not welcome here, instead lined with wire. It’s all wrapped in artifice and hubris. No wonder my friends are so sick of this country.

But if we do have remnants of that culture, it’s all from our elders who descended from China or our neighbours.

We do not cultivate the love of craft.

Or autismos. Oh thank god for them. Autists are universally the only vanguards of culture left. So intensely concentrated with this obsessive drive to catalogue, create and crack solutions to the most minute issues, that they are our modern artisans.

All culture trickles down from them now. Too bad their interests take them usually to just obsessing over locomotives, internet memes, or the average children’s programme.

Oh and being the backbone of Wikipedia in the form of unpaid investigative journaling and editing.

Supremely invaluable to the human race for that. Plus data/record keeping.

[aikoiya]

Any headcanons on Sheikah marriage?

Oohoohoo~… careful, you've opened a floodgate now.

I looove~ speculating on culture! 💖

—

I know that there'd be a lot of eastern influence in the traditions. Primarily Japanese, but possibly also a bit of Chinese & South Korean too.

I know, for sure, that the bride & groom's clothing bears a pattern of or jewelry or just something that features a Sweetheart Orchid due to their symbolism. As they are a symbol of happy couples, love, vivifatility (a word I made up that refers to both fertility & virility), sexuality, & abundance. It's supposed to grant “good luck” on their wedding night & is thought to help increase the likelihood of conception.

Which, Sweetheart Orchids are inspired by the Cupid Arrow Orchid from Gnomeo & Juliet.

I also know that I love imperial collars.

---

While, traditionally speaking, it's expected that the man be the one to propose, it also isn't frowned upon for women to do so instead.

As for how the Sheikah generally propose, they'll get a small wooden box, doesn't matter what kind or what size, fill it with the petals of either Sweetheart Orchids, Lovely Roses, or Valiant Gladioluses in the case of the recipient being a soldier, guard, or hero.

Then, upon those petals would be placed a slip of paper with "結婚して下さい" (Kekkon shite kudasai) written in calligraphy on it. Which is a formal request to marry.

---

Anyway, the grooms are expected to, if not make, then purchase, their bride's first knife block. It's supposed to act as either a wedding gift or a housewarming gift to her for their first home together. I've got a whole thing about it somewhere.

Brides traditionally wear a type of pale foundation made from the petals of the Sweetheart Orchid on their faces. Not thickly as to look sheet white, just enough to pale the skin slightly & give her a feel of fragility. Then they apply a pink, almond set style eyeshadow & layered over that, they also paint the edges of their eyelids red in something similar to the hooded or close set style. (Think certain Geisha eye makeup.) Any eyeliner they wear tends to be delicately applied, except for the outside of their eyes sometimes having dots or circles of eyeliner that create crescents around the eyes. Finally, their lips are painted red.

Something like this:

They also tend to have their hair pulled up into complicated, but beautiful updos decorated with lovely, delicate-looking, floral hairpieces inspired by Chinese bridal hairpieces.

Grooms generally only wear the red eyelid paint if that.

---

During the wedding, the bride & groom are given a bowl of red ink. At which point, they dip the tips of 2 fingers into the ink & paint a pair of dots between each other's brows.

After the wedding, one skilled with tattoos will have these dots driven into their skin & if you look carefully, you can see the shape of their spouse's fingerprint hidden in the dot. This is a sign of fidelity & commitment to their spouse. It's supposed to act as a signal to all that their minds are sealed to one & only one.

Because of this tradition, the gesture that anywhere else means “I'm watching you” in a warning sort of way, to a Sheikah would mean something more along the lines of, “I always have you on my mind” in a more romantic or comforting sense. Same if you tap your own forehead. However, tapping your significant other on the forehead would mean something like, “think of me” or “I'm always close.”

But such gestures are only considered appropriate between romantic partners.

As such, there can sometimes be a bit of cultural confusion at times.

Married Sheikah will also at times press their foreheads together & it's considered very tender.

---

Being a tribe of essentially ninja, Sheikah tend to keep their relationships under wraps or close to their chests. This results in their culture being one that generally frowns upon PDA & prefers to convey closeness when outside the home in a more subtle manner.

If a Sheikah engage in such openly, it's typically due to marrying a non-Sheikah, who doesn't understand the tradition.

However, this doesn't mean that they aren't affectionate.

---

This isn't all, of course, but it's all I have right now.

I'll likely create an entire, separate post on it later when I have more ideas.

Either way, thank you for the question! They help to get my brain thinking. 💖

[noven-warsh]

Was looking through my art files for fun and I felt like posting them here so

have some art I did a long time ago ~~~

"Concept art" of my little nightmares oc Mari that I did back in 2021 (I think??)

some color doodles I did back in january of 2022 (I have 2 fun facts about this- i used the 1st calligraphy brush in MS Paint, and that I vivdly remember listening to a penguin0 vid while drawing these)

this was a small outfit ref based on both my (previous) obsessions over the editor wilbur arg and little nightmares

similar to the one above my mind exploded over tommyinnit's character in bella poarch's "inferno mv" (man I remember listening to rama lama bang bang and my littol brain thinking of villain!bellboy!tommy godbless)

I sketched these while I was on a discord vc (in ivorycello's server btw)

I did these for an art competition (in ivory's server aswell) I'm really proud of how the "finished" product looks on the right

some clothes I drew one time (the one on the left is based off an outfit I saw someone wear while I was at the hospital and the right one is from a dream I had)

fun fact the first one is based off a guy I saw in a dream where I was in court with him

this was actually supposed to be a color palette thing where Id take a color palette and color clothes with it (and I really liked how the head looks so I decided to color it separately and stuff)

also this art is of the fake comfort bursona I based off my dreams

drew these while I was in ivory's server vc (ik i was really active there) also this was where the whole hand apparition concept started

this was also for an art competition (IN IVORY'S SERVER OMGGGG) that I did after I came back home from my granny's house

doodles from Jan 2022 that I don't need the context of since uh- it's in the labels

first ever full drawing I did of Zero (this was before I was debating on whether to make her hair blond or brown)

~~~

anyways that's it

if I feel like it, I'll make more of these where I ramble about old art and reminisce about how I loved doing them back then

[irrigos]

this isnt abt fl but i also occasionally post abt general victoriana on here and also its MY blog and i can post what i want!!!!!

anyway the problem with being into as many old-timey slow hobbies as i am is you gotta be super careful trying to find content abt them. because there are a lot of people who like these things because they also have old-timey slow values.

idk why exactly im interested in the victorian era: i think the fashion is fun (and a lot of the silhouettes look good on me imo), i think it's an interesting period historically and socially (society changed SO MUCH with the advent of mass production, and it's interesting to learn abt how people dealt with and reacted to that, there were so many huge scientific advances and so many weird social rules and everyone thought cigarettes were medicine). it's been an interest of mine since i was a kid!!

some people seem really into it because they want to return to the prelapsarian ideal they imagine that time to be, where they didnt have to hear about minorities and everyone loved eugenics and nobody would get mad at you if you said you didnt trust jews.

and it SUCKS because i LOVE history, i love old literature, i love fountain pens and calligraphy and carefully maintaining my leather shoes. and i hate that all if these benign interests are shared by some of the worst people you can imagine. and i dont even think a lot of them actually LIKE this stuff, so much as they want to signal that theyre a classy historical revisionist. why do the racists get to keep all the fun old timey things!!! why do i have to change!!! they're the ones who suck!!!!

anyway this post brought to you by me having to figure out which calligrapher i followed on instagram resulted in me getting nonstop ads for matt walsh's journalistic abortion about how scary trans women are or whatever. why do the fascists get to call dibs on like. the entire concept of "history". what the fuck

[bleachbleachbleach]

Damnit you just triggered my writers brain. The way I see it is that part of why the Shino Academy takes so long isn't just training the potential shinigami, but also covering things such as literacy. (Aizen had taught a Calligraphy class there before being made Shinji's lieutenant)

Part of that I think would be speach training and language. Think about how in the British army their officers were/are trained to carry themselves like a gentleman, including the king's English. Put simply, they are speeking in a generally agreed upon subset of language so that everyone can understand eachother. There are other languages used in rukon, as well as dialects, and shinigami use their natural language in like company. (It being tokyo Japanese is probably solely for the convenience of the one consuming the media)

[This is in response to musing from this post!]

If we’ve said something that triggered your writerly instincts, when we have carried out our life’s mission! <333333333

As someone who’s spent way too long in school, part of me is like "6 years isn’t that long given that they’re starting from 0" even as I also know that most military training is not that long by any means. One day I’d LOVE to put together a bunch of potential course curricula for the Academy, because 1) I am obsessed with Aizen’s calligraphy class to an unhealthy degree, and 2) I do think they take The History of Soul Society and Hollow Biology 103, etc. though I suspect all of this is sorely lacking in the way that all curricula are—especially because every shinigami we’ve met knows a lot of things while simultaneously knowing absolutely zero things.

Below the cut, some of my thoughts on the Academy's auxiliary curriculum:

Entrance Exam

My co-blogger pointed out that the Academy has an entrance exam, and one that’s difficult enough to fail—though it makes me wonder what the nature of the exam is. Is it rote memorization of concepts? Is it testing your logical and spatial reasoning? What else are they screening for besides reiatsu? Regardless apparently it’s a written exam, which I imagine puts you at a pretty distinct disadvantage with you’re from most of Rukongai, because first you have to go find someone who will teach you how to read and write well enough to sit the exam, before you even get to go to shinigami school.

Calligraphy Class

My headcanon for Aizen’s calligraphy class (besides it being one of the many way he cruises for new recruits) is that it has both practical and artistic components. The artistic part is self-explanatory. The practical part is basically just penmanship training, which comes from the fact that all the handwritten reports we see seem to basically be in the same handwriting, even though we see in Colorful Bleach that if they’re not writing those reports with their inkbrushes, everyone’s handwriting is different. The two pieces of this class are DEEPLY divorced from one another, because one is deeply personal and the other the exact opposite of that. But when Aizen sent his course proposal to the Faculty Executive Committee, he probably said something about how practicing artful calligraphy imbues young potential shinigami with a mindset better suited to successful kidou and zanjutsu training and he's probably not wrong. Everything is utilitarian/practical in the end.

Report Writing 101

It would make sense that everyone take Report Writing 101, but part of me feels like that might be a more on-the-fly skill, or Continuing Education, because most of these guys aren’t writing reports anyway, and the number of reports written increases with rank, and since the Captain is going to have to sign off on everything anyway, they probably ether fix anything that’s amiss or give no fucks about whether anything is amiss before sending it on. So maybe that’s beyond the purview of the Academy. I mean, if most people don’t graduate with shikai, I guess they probably don’t graduate with Report Writing either. Maybe it's one of those "if you get fancy enough, there's one more thing you'll have to learn on your own!" deals.

Language Preserves Hierarchies Class

So that’s penmanship and written language, both things that Soul Society seems very invested in. What of the spoken language? The Gotei, for all their… whole thing, really, seem perhaps more permissive about a lot of things than a company might be IRL. Crazy hair, uniform customization, pretty informal language (though there is definitely still some preservation of language register based on rank). I could definitely see the Gotei wanting their trainees to have at least like, a 1-credit practicum in keigo, just because that helps preserve the power dynamics/hierarchies the Gotei runs on. I could also see them staring imperiously at potential new shinigami until this information was magically pressed into them, LOL.

Maybe my big interest here is "what does the Academy teach" vs. "what does the Academy just expect you to just know" (regardless of how much or how little sense these expectations might make). This is in regards to life skills as well as reiatsu skills. I'm convinced that there's a lot a lo a lot of room for improvement when it comes to this curriculum, 2000+ years in the making or not!

We basically said the same thing re: language variance in Rukongai, though oh MAN now I’m curious about like, to what degree standardization within Soul Society makes it out into Rukongai. Because on some level maybe it shouldn’t at all, because the Seireitei doesn’t seem to really care what’s going on in Rukongai except sometimes when whole swatches of souls go missing, but who’s doing all this teaching? To what end, besides Academy entrance exams? Is this a linear process where the resident Literate Soul needs to train the next one, or are there souls coming in from the Living World with different versions of this knowledge all the time? GAH I LOVE IT.

Unpaid Internship Class

I also wanna know, like, how much of Academy training is in situ vs. ex situ. Like, the Advanced Class leapt up to "field trip" really fast. Are the last year or two basically just Gotei Lite, except you don’t get paid (or get paid a lot less), even though you might die? Do you get TA credits if you’re like Hisagi et al, leading first-year field trips? Honestly I feel like a lot of Academy training is probably JUST learning how to interpret, control, and manipulate your reiatsu, and JUST trying to communicate with your sword and make it a true zanpakutou. Jinzen class is probably the hardest class series. If those two things happen to come easily to you, I imagine that’s mostly what fast-tracks you through the Academy curriculum.

But I’m coming at all this from a very contemporary, more-school-than-military, pretty Westernized perspective. Part of me wants to learn about how "school" has worked across the last 2000 years and part of me just wants to make it up in accordance with my own desires and interests because IT’S MAGIC GHOST MILITARY SCHOOL. 

Truly, I just want fandom’s 370 different versions of how this school works. There are so many great options. I want them all.

Anyone wanna do a "36 Views of Shinoureijutsuin" with me where we all make different potential curriculum plans lol. WHO WANTS TO DO FAKE ADMIN PAPERWORK WITH ME.

[dangermousie]

Has YOUR man continued to be ride or die after you castrated him? If not, does he even love you?

Since @pandorumblue-blog​ is feeling deprived of spike fun, I decided to bring a little compensation (nah, I just want to make a post about the most bonkers part of any drama I’ve seen in ages; I still can’t believe they let them keep that from the novel.) If you feel sad we didn’t get enough of moon supreme torture and seeing Dylan sliced into ribbons and bits removed (they grow back :P), with a side of foot fetish is your sort of thing, boy is Ever Night 2 eps 41-42 a thing for you!

A little explanation for those unfamiliar with story. Ning Que, a feral peasant killer/powerful cultivator has by now married his one true love Sang Sang, his “little maid” - a girl he rescued as an infant from a pile of corpses when he was five himself. Lots of plot but all you need to know is that after wedding she disappeared because it turns out Sang Sang is the human aspect of the terrifying and emotionless goddess Haotian. She came down for a sort of a human trial taking precautions to have her fates tangled with nobody. Enters Ning Que. The concept of him being stubborn enough to eff up a goddess’ mortal trial always sent me!!! Anyway, now they cross paths again and she wants them to sever magic connections so she can be free of ties to the mortal world. He refuses, saying he will turn her back into his Sang Sang. (Spoiler - they did not get to this in s2 - he wins. Because he’s the most stubborn man alive.) She does not take it well. Btw, because it’s hard to do high concepts visually, they have two Sang Sangs in the scene - the one in white is Haotian and in dark is Sang Sang the mortal aspect; nobody except Haotian can see SS, ie that aspect of herself.  Anyway, you are not here for plot, you are here for blood and bare feet so here we go.

Wy yes, she is slowly stripping his clothes.

She does not want to be reminded of being intimate with a filthy ant soooo...

Did I mention in the novel at one point she partway slits his throat and then they bang?!

That’s what he gets for saying stuff like that...

Good luck, dude! (Yup he does. I love the ending of this novel so much! They are both terrifying as hell but they end up living at their calligraphy shop and bickering and cooking.)

And then she chops off his bits. That was in the novel but I can’t believe they got it into the drama!!!!

(Poor human Sang Sang, she enjoyed those bits!!!)

Human Sang Sang aspect that he cannot see. But this story’s foot fetish can be seen by everyone! We spent a LOT of time with NQ warming and holding SS’s feet and now...

Why yes, he wakes up and first thing he does is check if it came back. “Please grow back” - were the censors on smoke break?

Bonus:

You are all very welcome!

PS @mousieta​ a little treat for you too :P

[littlx-songbxrd]

I have a lot of autistic tlh headcanons-

Alastair:

-stims by walking and playing piano. occasionally taps his fingers against any hard surface

-avoids velvet anything. he'd rather die than touch it

-gets sick from anything with the alcohol smell ie most hand sanitizers, perfume, certain cleaning products

-hyperfixates on poems, calligraphy, and his bf

-he doesn't know what his special interest actually is so he just says it's bantering with matthew and hating james

Thomas:

-stims by popping his knuckles, playing guitar, and swinging his legs in opposite circles while sitting on a tree branch or the edge of a roof

-will gag violently if he eats a mushy/soft carrot, squash, cucumber, or a soggy sandwich

-cant stand strawberries or lemons. both a texture and a smell problem

-special interests include alastair, anything to do with his latine heritage, and persian culture

Lucie:

-rarely stims

-she likes to swing her axe around when she's bored, anything that makes her arms move is fun and scratches brain

-is ok with velvet but much prefers it in cake form

-hates silk. h a t e s.

-hyperfixates on persian culture and the paranormal

-special interest is writing

Matthew:

-does not know he's autistic

-thinks he's severely broken inside

-stims by hitting his head and scratching his arms

-gets defensive easily because he's worried that if someone gets too close they'll discover how "broken" he is

-self medicates(canon)

-hyperfiates on fashion and romance

-special interest is oscar wilde

Grace:

-science autistic

-stims by throwing stuff, typically darts and hair pins but occasionally knives

-as much as she hates how many bad memories are tied to her hair, she'll never cut it because n o

-randomly taps her thigh with her palm in various speeds

-special interest is chemistry

Christopher:

-sciene AND math autistic

-plays with his fingers in different ways

-deals with really bad and negative thoughts

-nightmare disorder

-hyperfixates on psychology so he can help grace with her ptsd

-special interests are chemistry, physics, algebra, geometry, engineering

Kamala:

-also doesn't know she's autistic

-is incredibly emotional and sensitive

-she thinks it's because she's a woman

-needs constant touching

-stims by pacing and humming

-special interests are bees, butterflies, doves, and roses

-hyperfixates on how people perceive her and needing to be perfect

I am SO READY OK. Im not autistic so im mostly giving you reactions as i go but fbfjfjjfjfjfjfnf

----

Alastair supremacy pls bantering with mathew and hating james is always the goal here.

P o e m s c a l l i g r a p h y

Actually my friend really got into caligraphy and its so cool to watch them i can imagine alastair

I ALSO LOVE HIM WALKING AS A STIM

-----

Thomas hcs are all so true and so real and can we PLEASE TALK ABOUT HOW HORRIBLE STRAWBERRIES ARE THEY FUCKING SUCK GOD THOMAS IS SO CORRECT FOR THAT OPINION.

Also i know these are your hcs. But for latine heritage thing may i suggest magic realism? Its a latin american literary movement based around bringing fantasy elements to normal settings with little to no explanation that are usually a critic to society. It is one of the funnest most spectacular literary concepts in latin america.

----

ARMS MOVING SCRATCHES BRAIN

Justified hatred

Persian culture and the paranormal is so LUCIE GOD VDJDJD YEA

----

It all very much sounds like mathew. The part where he thinks they'll all just realize how broken he is hurts

----

THROWING STUFF >>

The hair thing damn.

CHEMESTRTYYY

---

Tbh id kill to see you write christopher centric stuff. I dont think ive seen that very much and im so intrigued by this interpretation

---

Kamala 🤝 Isabela Madrigal / lh

BUT ANYWAYS OMG YES I SPECIALLY LOVE THE HUMMING PART

[afaramir]

3, 23, 24, 25, 27 and 30? 💕

hi hi ria!! blessings of rain be upon ye...

3. how you feel about your current wip

i am RATTLING the bars of the cage in my brain!!! by that i mean the faramir goes to rivendell au is possibly my favourite best thing ive ever written i am just stuck in the mudpit of the current conversation and i would like to. not be there. but i really do love working on it it feels like gradually assembling a structure around a framework and when i step back and really look at it its just. jrr tolkien and i are having A Conversation. you know? like yes!! i AM transforming the work!! i AM deciding whether he would fucking say that and i do think i am right at least 92% of the time!! ive had the concept of the au in my head for probably 3-4 years at least and i feel like. well i was never really going to feel Ready to write it. and yet i am grabbing it in my hands and doing it anyway and it IS making me a much better writer and i can Feel it. yeah i love it.

and umbar fic/situationship au is just me pushing the bounds of do it weird/do it horny/do it self-indulgent and it is. SO MUCH FUN. i think there has always been a little block in my head stopping me from doing that i mean like everything i write is kind of like. this is specifically created to cater to me. but the panopticon in my head is a crazy thing. but step by step we are defeating it. this is like the next step up from just so long as this thing's loaded which was kind of my first time pushing those bounds and. i mean there are a lot of things about that one that i think i could improve now (this is my REAL answer to that "would you rewrite anything" question from the other ask meme) but it definitely got me here. never underestimate the power of a rarepair to make you WEIRD. (<- abby rarepairnationcore sentences...)

23. pick three keywords that describe your writing

what is this a job application? LOL just kidding but i do suck at these. um. atmospheric. character-driven (yes this is two words but it is true). interrogative (i am IN THERE with. either the original text. or the minds of the characters. shakes u like a snow globe WHAT is going on in your head).

24. how do you recharge when you're not feeling creative?

im really bad at this. like actually spectacularly abysmal. i mostly sit around feeling sorry for myself for three to nine months. until i eventually buck up the motivation and executive function to actually (re)consume a piece of media and more often than not it will seize me by the throat and lead me out of the pit. yeah this does usually work best with things ive seen before that will awaken a dormant fixation.

25. besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

going to the grocery store. doing my dishes. LOL ok when i am Not Writing A Novel-Length Fic i knit. one day i will start doing it again i want to make. the extensive sweater vest collection of my dreams. but i already have this repetitive stress injury because i type for eight hours at work and then come home and type for four more and i think if i started knitting again on top of that i would immediately crumble to dust. and um. is that it? that can't be it. i do calligraphy sometimes. WAIT LOL I BIND BOOKS. -> @hexagonspress

27. your favourite part of the writing process

omg ok i'm not sure if this is like my Top Number One Favourite but ive recently started really enjoying drafting out ao3 tags and start/end notes it's really fun to work out what things i want people to notice that i might wanna talk about in the end notes and compressing everything down into tags (to varying extents) is also just a neat way to think about like. what was i trying to capture/convey with the fic. e.g. whether i wanna be really wordy with it and get it all out in there or just have the reader go in pretty much blind.

30. share a fic you're especially proud of

maybe i'll never shut up about TO THE VERY DEAR MEMORY OF [ ] but like...you guys. i love it so much. it's so so experimental because the place in my mind that is wrapped around yancy becket is so....complicated and full of grief and fundamentally altering to my brain chemistry and i can only capture it through the world's craziest extended metaphors but i kind of feel like i pulled it off. it is like truly the tip of the iceberg of a LOT of stuff that is really fundamental to honestly a lot of my? lotr work? i mean the way i think about water metaphors...the fundamental dead brother complex baked into my writer's brain...it's all pacific rim in there. this fic marinated in my head for THREE YEARS. that is the longest from inception to completion that any of my (published) work has existed (unpublished is a whole different story. there's a longfic that i created at the beginning of my freshman year of college and has stuck around into postgrad. i mean. girl). i wrote the poem that each first line of every section is extracted from in my parents' house during covid lockdown. and then it just had to sit and develop and develop until the yancy becket death anniversary this year yanked it forcibly out of my head and into a fully-formed format.

fic writer's asks

[saturnsummer]

the fairytale she never had (will you believe again?)

when sol is invited to a wedding, sol doesn’t think her best friend would follow her. 

aka: solhwi attending a wedding

notes: it just struck me one day, and i really wanted them to see each other outside of the law school moments! while law school defines them, they are certainly people with social activities.

 i adapted this from a similar prompt i saw from a fic many years ago for a separate fandom, and i always wanted to write something similar. this was honestly not met to be multi-part, but i write too much anyways. so multi-part it will be.

 also, it might sound depressing in the initial part where sol is talking about the wedding invitation, but it gets explained later on. 

as always, enjoy! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4135 words

I: 我愿变成童话里, 你爱的那个天使 (i am willing to be the angel of that fairytale you love)

--title inspired by fairytale (童话) by Michael Wong!--

Sol absolutely hates weddings. 

She hated the big social crowds, the way drunk men in tuxedos staggered around with women in one arm and a drink in another. She found no purpose in dressing in lavish gowns, then eating dinner for the next two hours without even feeling full. 

Sol couldn’t blame anyone but herself for this. She can’t help but remember her mother’s failed marriages. The way her biological father left them in the middle of the night, with all their hard earned savings. The way her stepfather, Byeol’s father, would come home drunk and violent towards her mother. It was a memory she couldn’t erase. More than a decade later, she still wakes up in a cold sweat, worrying for her mother and small Byeol’s life. 

She long ago gave up on the concept of love back then. She wasn’t opposed to anyone dating or talking about it, and she certainly didn’t mind short flings. But marriage? Eternal love? The fairytale that everyone hopes to achieve? Sol threw those ideas out of the window. 

So when Sol received a thick, cream-coloured card and envelope, embossed with rose gold foil and flowers, a pretty silver wax seal and her name written in careful strokes of a calligraphy brush, she was stumped. 

Her friend, Im Jiyoon, was getting married. Jiyoon was a good friend of Sol’s, and they occasionally met up for quick meals. Jiyoon was an accountant and climbing the ranks in her company. They lost contact for a period when Sol was in juvie, but they reconnected when Sol was just starting law school. It was only polite that Jiyoon extended invitations to her high school classmate. 

Sol had mixed feelings. The wedding was on a Friday night, which made things good since she didn’t have to wake up early, fitting her schedule properly. But she had nothing to wear. She could borrow a dress and shoes from Yeseul, but the last time she borrowed a shoe from Yeseul, she almost broke her ankle. And she had so much work to catch up on. Yet, not showing up felt rude of her. 

Jiyoon was nice, don’t get her wrong. She was smart, resourceful and lovely to be with in high school. Sol wanted nothing more than for her high school friend to marry the love of her life. But she hasn't been to such social events in years, and being so focussed on school, the legal clinic and contributing to her family, she found it difficult to understand why she needed to go, besides doing it out of courtesy. 

“What’s that?” A familiar voice pipes from behind, drawing her out of her thoughts. There’s the familiar shuffling of several pairs of feet as Sol turns her attention to the one who spoke. Behind her, was Han Joon Hwi with his bag just being set on the table. The rest of the group was just settling in for another study session.

“Ah, nothing important.” She monotonously says before sliding the card in her files. Joon Hwi’s hands catch the card before she can slide it fully and stop her from hiding it from him, or the rest of the group. The rest draw their attention to the expensive card and Sol only stays silent. 

“A wedding? Your friend’s?” Yeseul asks as she picks the card up with perfectly manicured fingers. Turning and feeling the thick paper between her fingers, Yeseul knew it was no cheap manufactured paper. This was expensive, premium, and each card looked handmade from the brush calligraphy. 

“Yeah. But I don’t think I’m going.” Sol says as Yeseul returns her the card and successfully stores it away in her bag. 

“Why not? Don’t you want to be there?” Joon Hwi asks, cocking his head to the side in utter confusion.

“There isn’t much point, is there? I have school and the legal clinic and things to revise for. And besides, I don't have anything to attend in. I just rather send her a gift and treat her a meal.” Sol simply explains. Everyone bombards her with more questions, but she diverts their attention to her paper and the cases they are reviewing today.

Joon Hwi, however, couldn’t get Sol’s reasoning out of his head. He knew Sol well enough to know how much she values her friends, and that she would be willing to drop everything for a friend. Her loyalty was unmatched. It didn’t make sense that she would be held back by her vanity or school work that caused her to not attend such a joyous occasion. 

When everyone is done reviewing the cases and the session ends, Sol is the only one who has her books and papers still scattered all over the table. She still has to review her notes and catch up on a few lectures before she can officially end her day. Joon Hwi was long done, but he stayed put, bringing out a past report he’s done and glancing through it, hopeful to catch any mistakes. The others have headed back or gone to the cafeteria for a meal. 

“Han Joon Hwi, you don’t have to stay for me, you know?” Sol says, her eyes not once looking up as she stays concentrated highlighting her book with a fluorescent orange highlight. She sticks it in her hair when she’s done, raising her head to meet Joon Hwi’s eyes. Joon Hwi only smiles, letting his eyes crinkle. 

“Why don’t you want to attend the wedding?” Joon Hwi asks, still smiling. Sol scoffs. 

“I already said. I’m too busy-” Sol is cut off by Joon Hwi with his teasing. 

“You sure? I think it’s about the groom, though.” Joon Hwi smiles brightly, earning an irritated series of clicks of her tongue from Sol, clearly successful in being teased.

“None of that sort! Who do you think I am, Han Joon Hwi?” Sol rebuts back, throwing her eraser across to him in annoyance.

 Joon Hwi catches it with a laugh, but doesn’t lose eye contact with Sol. A few moments of silence follow, as she looks at the file with the card. Slowly, she draws the card from her file, holding it carefully between her fingers. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be there. I… it’s my first time going to such a social event in such a long time. And the last time I met Jiyoon was a year ago, back in our 1L.” She says softly, letting her fingers brush her calligraphed name.

“I just… rather not go, you know? Treat her to a nice meal somewhere, maybe a couple drinks. Besides, I’m sure she’s just doing it out of courtesy.” She lets out a light laugh. 

Joon Hwi’s heart softens. He’s witnessed Sol in her different elements. The courtroom, where she’s a powerful woman in command, dressed professionally in a suit and hair in a perfect ponytail. The day-to-day her, where she’s comfortably dressed in jeans and her tanned coat, hair in a bun and post it notes on her jacket. She was always so bold, so confident and so full of fire. It never occurred to him that she would be uncomfortable in social events. She was always the life during dinners, with Bokgi. She laughed loudly, engaged in conversations and seemed so comfortable. He remembers how she would help out the old halmeonis with her neighbourhood on some days when he sent her home, or the times she bought ice creams for Byeol’s classmates. She seemed so extroverted, yet so closed off. Eying her, Joon Hwi reaches out and clasps his hand over hers in an attempt to comfort. 

“I never went to school events, you know? Especially since juvie made me miss it. When I redid my high school year, I didn’t go too. There wasn’t much of a point, since I didn’t have a date or many friends to begin with. If it was Dan, she would have gone, being the popular girl she was back then.” Sol softly says, a small smile ghosting her face.

She remembers the day prom arrived for her school. She was expectant, hoping that the boy she liked would invite her. Or maybe the girls that she occasionally had lunch with will invite her to hang out. But all she got was a stone cold silence the weeks leading up to prom. When everyone buzzed on what they were wearing to prom night, she silently put on her headphones, drilling herself into her science assignments. Of course, she wouldn’t be invited.

She knew the rumours floating in school. How Dan was the perfect one, how she was the failed one. She knew everyone knew she went to juvie. She knows how the boys snicker at her when she walks past them, or how the girls gossip and whisper when she’s eating her lunch. Besides, it didn't help that she was poor. She can’t even afford a dress of her own, let alone go to the event.

Realising what she’s said, Sol quickly draws her hand away along with the card and slots it away in her file. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to blabber on. You must think it’s stupid, I think so too. Anyways, do you have the notes Professor Kim...” Sol quickly apologises and diverts her attention to her notes. But Joon Hwi was no longer listening. He was shattered by how the woman sitting in front of him has never been treated like how she should be treated. It was no secret to Joon Hwi that he cared for his friends, but cared a little more for Sol. He was the one that left post-it notes on her table and pretended he didn't. She was the only one that he would let steal a mouth or two from his ramyeon. He could read her moods just from her eyes. He wonders sometimes, if he sees her more than a friend. 

He won’t hide that she’s beautiful. The way her eyes slant in an elegant fashion, her smooth, slightly tanned skin, and her winning smile that he always found his heart beating faster for. He loves the way she smiles at her extra pickles, the way her eyes light up when she sees Byeol, or the way she argues and practices. The tenacity and desire she has to improve inspires him to work as hard as her. 

This is why when Sol spilled the beans, he couldn't help but feel all sorts of emotions. Anger, towards the people in her school, for not realising such a wonderful student. Anger towards her for degrading herself. Sadness, for her not being able to experience such events. 

As Joon Hwi ended the session with her and returned to his room, he made a promise to Sol. He’s convinced it will work, and he begins planning in his head. 

He will show her the fairytale. 

-----

A week passed. 

Sol had to give a reply in a few days and she has not figured out what to say. The wedding was in a month. She knew Jiyoon would be busy... Sol figures that she should just treat Jiyoon after her honeymoon, knowing how she would be away with her husband as newlyweds later on. 

“Still thinking about the wedding?” Joon Hwi nods at her, her head in her hands. Sol, looking defeated, nods. So much for trying to hide. They were at their pantry area of their dorms, Sol stirring her ramyeon, as Joon Hwi slurps his. It was 3am, and they just finished studying. The next day was a weekend, so it didn’t really matter if they slept late, since they got the privilege of sleeping in.

“What do I tell Jiyoon? I don’t want to sound rude.” Sol mumbles, lazily stirring her soggy noodles.

“Go to the wedding.” Joon Hwi says suddenly, continuously slurping. 

“What?!”

“Sol, how many weddings can you even go to in your life? Are you sure you want to miss this one? Besides, you said you haven’t been to social events. Don’t you want to experience it?” Joon Hwi says, adrenaline building in his voice. 

Sol falls silent. She can’t deny that she wants to experience the feeling of being dolled up, the fun that everyone talks about, and the enjoyment that everyone goes through. And Joon Hwi is right; she wants to celebrate with Jiyoon. But her fear of social events and the past was holding her back. 

Joon Hwi could tell the change in her eyes. He gives a sweet smile, knowing that he said enough to change her mind. 

“Joon Hwi, but what if she doesn’t even-” Sol begins doubting herself as she shoots off her doubts and worries. Joon Hwi calms her down with logical reasons, calming her nerves in between his mouths of ramyeon. 

“But... I’ll be alone there, right?” Sol asks, her voice so soft, Joon Hwi barely picks it up. Her ramyeon is still untouched, and the noodles have gotten soggy and cold. Sol is silent for a moment, as she realises how right she is, for once. It wasn’t like she could ask a date, she doesn’t even have one. And her friends from the study group were out of the question. They don’t even know Jiyoon. Joon Hwi quickly brings up his bowl to his face, hopefully covering it as he feels the heat rising to his face.

“I’ll be your plus-one.”

Sol’s eyes light up and her head rises. Did she hear that right? Han Joon Hwi, her plus-one? 

“Oh, no! No, I didn’t mean it like that! Joon Hwi, no, I can’t-” Sol can’t find the right words to say. He can't? He shouldn’t? He doesn't need to? Sol can’t deduce her own reasonings for this argument. She knows her roommate likes him, and she definitely doesn’t want to be the target of her roommate’s stares if she catches wind of this. Besides, Joon Hwi doesn’t like her. She knows, and she doesn’t want him to get any wrong ideas. He’s her best friend, and confidante. She knows, deep down, his heart is someone else's. 

“I want to.” 

Sol freezes as Joon Hwi finishes drinking his soup. Placing the bowl down, he does as best as he can to lock eyes with Sol seriously, showing her he wasn’t teasing. No, this was out of his sincere heart. He knows how nervous she gets in a new environment, and him being next to her was bound to calm her nerves just a little more.

Sol could see the genuine care and want in his eyes. She knows this isn’t one of his jokes or teases. For a split second, she catches herself thinking if he meant something more. That going as a date, was more than just keeping her company, but for something to develop… 

Her face is flushed red as she looks at her puffed noodles and lukewarm soup. She picks her chopsticks up but is stopped by Joon Hwi’s hand as he shifts the bowl toward him, away from her. 

“Get yourself a fresh one. This is the first meal all day, isn’t it?” Joon Hwi calls her out, covering her noodles. Sol wants to argue for her soggy noodles, but she falls silent knowing how he revealed her secret. She hasn’t eaten all day after running reports and studying. Grumbling, she does as instructed and boils another bowl of ramyeon. When she’s back at the table with a fresh, hot, spicy and red bowl, she dives into it, wondering how she managed to survive the whole day. 

Joon Hwi only gives a small smile looking at the girl slurping her noodles with delight and looking at her. Joon Hwi wasn’t lying. He did want to be her plus-one for the wedding. He knew that more than just being a comfort for Sol, he wanted to make this one day a day she could look back and smile at. That she could be pretty, relaxed and happy instead of stressing over her grades, exams and family. 

“Fine.” Sol says as she continues slurping the spicy noodles. She blesses the spiciness of the noodles, such that she could blame her pink blush on it. Joon Hwi, clearing the cold noodles and getting water for both of them tilts his head in confusion. 

“Come with me to the wedding, if you want to.” She mutters softly, almost shy to let him know. To hide her blush and hide her confusion, she lifts the still hot bowl to her face. She drinks the soup, but chokes on the spiciness. Joon Hwi lets out a light chuckle before passing her a bottle of cold water. Sol looks at him with narrowed eyes of annoyance, but graciously takes the water. 

As he watches Sol eat her first bowl, then a second, as Joon Hwi munches on some crackers, he only smiles and laughs at whatever Sol was complaining about her reports and her frustrations at her cases that she picked. He lets out comforting words, but is rebutted back with Sol saying he will never get it because he’s smart unlike her. 

As he went to bed that night, he only gave a giddy smile, burying his face in his sheets. He scored his point of taking Sol out on a date, and was already counting down. He officially succeeded in the first step of his plan. 

The rest of it required a little bit of help. But he knew who to ask. 

-----

“Yeseul! What is it that you need to wake me up on a weekend? I was up until 4am last night!” Sol grumbles as she places her phone on speaker, rubbing her eyes. It was 8am, way too early for Sol to process any emergencies. Well, if it was Yeseul, she would do it any time. 

“Sorry, unnie. But it’s urgent. Could you meet me in 10 minutes at the lobby?” Yeseul’s bright voice echos. Sol notices her roomie’s bed made, pillows nicely fluffed and sheets tucked in neatly in pure perfection. She isn’t surprised, considering how she gets up early anyways.

“Fine.” Sol says and hangs up, getting a fresh change of clothes and heading to the bathroom to wash up. She throws on a hoodie, grabbing her only tanned ochre coat and grabs her bag, before jogging downstairs to the lobby. There, Yeseul is standing there, with a sling black bag and with one of the many nude heels she has, hair styled to perfection.

“Unnie!” Yeseul waves her hand over. Walking closer, Sol notices two other familiar friends behind as she scoffs. 

“Joonhwi? Bokgi? What are you doing here?” She asks, her hand playing with the strap of her bag unconsciously. She was surprised to see Joonhwi, but even more Bokgi, who usually spends mornings sleeping in. Joonhwi only gives his usual cheeky smile and drags a drowsy Bokgi with him out towards to the main entrance of the school. Dumbfounded, Yeseul takes this moment to link her arm with Sol’s as she leads her out and catch Sol up to their agenda today. 

“What?! You’re bringing me where?” Sol exclaims, her voice echoing throughout the lobby. Yeseul shushes her as she drags a shocked Sol out of school. Yeseul didn't need the whole school to know where Sol was going. 

“Unnie, please? You need a dress for the wedding, and don’t think you are going to go in one of mine or your old ones! Besides, you promised to go shopping with me one day, right?” Yeseul defends herself as Sol sighs. 

Yeseul wasn’t wrong. The wedding was just a week away and she had absolutely nothing to wear. She owned a couple pairs of flats, but they were so old, it would be embarrassing to attend with those. And her dresses were either too big or too small. She was so caught up with school after submitting her reply to Jiyoon, that she would have forgotten about the wedding if it wasn’t for the post-it on her bedside wall. 

“But...but...” Sol couldn’t find any reasons to counter. She knew Yeseul was right. Besides, it’s a weekend. And they had no upcoming tests or projects, so there was no harm in doing something besides studying in the copy room. She nods, defeated, earning a smile from Yeseul. 

“Wait, then why is Joonhwi and- Who’s car is that?!” Sol’s thoughts are cut off when she sees a familiar black sedan waiting by the entrance as Sol and Yeseul just exit. In the car, she manages to see a Joonhwi in the driver’s seat and Bokgi riding shotgun. 

“Yah! Han Joon Hwi! Isn’t this my roomie’s car?” She shouts as she strides a couple of steps when Joonhwi rolls the window down. 

“She loaned me the car for today. Don’t want you carrying so many things back from shopping today.” He replies curtly. Bokgi opens his passenger side door on the right.

“Bokgi-”

“Noona, sit in front. I’m too tired to watch Joonhwi-hyung drive.” Bokgi mutters before he climbs into the backseat with Yeseul. Sol wordlessly settles into the seat next to Joonhwi, who only looks at her with a smile. Sol catches his odd looks and pauses.

“What?”

“Ready for shopping?” He has his cheeky smile on again. Sol glares in annoyance before turning behind to Yeseul. 

“Did you make him drive?” Yeseul shakes her head and spills out her defensive explanation.

“Oppa called me up yesterday! He just said he needed my help to accompany you shopping for a dress!”

“Then, why is Bokgi here? Trying on dresses too?”

“Noona! I’m listening!” Joonhwi only laughs and shakes his head.

“He’s just accompanying me.” Joonhwi says as he begins to drive off. 

Well, Joonhwi wasn't lying. He waited till their quizzes and projects were over before executing this. He knew Sol was busy, and had waited for the busy season to pass before calling Yeseul. He explained that he knew Sol would not go shop for a dress, and he needs her help to accompany him and her. She willingly, too willingly, agreed. 

Next, he asked Sol B if he could borrow her car, knowing how Sol was not going to go home with just one dress and one pair of shoes when Yeseul was involved. Sol B was skeptical, but just passed the keys over to him. Besides, she was going to be in school studying all day; she didn’t need the car. Bokgi joined in, as Joonhwi couldn’t spend hours on end waiting for the ladies to shop. On further thought, Bokgi just might help him out with something. 

“I could go myself with Yeseul. You didn’t have to wake up for this.” Sol mutters just loud enough for him to hear, fiddling with her fingers. Joonhwi returns with a light scoff.

“As if you’ll do it.” Sol glares at him from the side and is ready to punch him, but retracts her hand, knowing she might literally kill everyone in the car. The ride from the school to the bustling heart of Seoul is a rough twenty minute ride. Bokgi takes this time to catch a wink and Sol does the same, but she can't seem to do it. 

Something about Joonhwi bringing her out to buy a dress specially made her heart flutter a bit more than usual. She knew that Joonhwi cared for her. The ways that he left rolls of gimbaps and energy drinks as opposed to coffee on her table during her tough days. The moments when he would offer his jacket as a pillow wordlessly when she wanted to rest her head after hours of studying. The unspoken synchronisation between them was just a showing of how they understood each other inside and out. 

Sol thought nothing of it. She knew him as long as she stepped into school when he saved her from Professor Yang. They spent almost everyday studying, having classes and eating together. After all, they are best friends, and don’t best friends do this? They look out for each other, right?

He is going to be my plus-one at Jiyoon’s wedding. He’s taking me to shop for a dress. 

Sol wonders, truly for the car ride as she stares outside at the blue skies and empty streets of Seoul, if Han Joonhwi meant more than friends to her. If… she wanted more. 

Deep down, she couldn’t deny hoping for more. She liked the way he looked at her, eyes crinkled and smiling in half moons, the sweet smile that she couldn’t help but return. She has never had many relationships, considering her experience in school and afterwards. She was just too busy; too focussed. Seeing how this man cared for her just made her feel so… special. 

She has never felt that way.