𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆

writing links. ➥ wattpad. ➥ ao3.

fics masterlist. ➥ easiest way to find my fics.

ocs masterlist. ➥ easiest way to find my ocs/ships.

my graphics. ➥ fanfic edits. ➥ fandom edits. ➥ video edits.

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RULES SECTION I.　DUNBONNETS BLOG

✧. ┊ no reading or writing requests. I do not take reading or writing requests of any kind. please do refrain from asking.

✧. ┊ no translations. I do not allow my fics to be translated into other languages. please do refrain from asking.

RULES SECTION II.　GRAPHIC COMMISSIONS

✧. ┊ you will not be guaranteed a graphic commission. whether or not I accept your graphic commission depends not just on my inspiration for the graphic, but the amount of resources you provide for me to use or that I am able to find on my own. if I can't make your graphic commission, you will be notified.

✧. ┊ be as detailed as possible. I can't work with something like "He's a wolf and she's a human, so can you make them look like that?" as that is incredibly vague and not giving me any sort of idea what you're looking for in this graphic. that being said, please be as descriptive as possible when you're leaving your request. the password for graphic commissions is paradis.

✧. ┊ provide a proper colour scheme. it is not entirely necessary to provide me with a colour scheme as this option is marked optional in most of my forms. however, if you require something specific for your graphic, please make a colour palette on colourlovers and include the link to the palette in your form.

✧. ┊ no problematic faceclaims. I will not accept requests associated with problematic faceclaims. kindly do your research before making a request, otherwise you will not get a graphic from me if I see that you are using a problematic faceclaim. I refuse to make graphics with those celebrities and that will never change. you cannot convince me otherwise.

RULES SECTION III.　ART COMMISSIONS

✧. ┊ you will not be guaranteed an art commission. whether or not I accept your art commission depends not just on my inspiration for the art commission, but if I am actually capable of drawing the concept of the art you are looking for. if I can't draw your art commission, you will be notified.

✧. ┊ you must provide references. I can't draw what you want without image references or a detailed character description. image references can include faceclaims (if your oc has one) or other works of art previously made for your oc. if you are choosing to provide a character description, please provide as much detail as possible so that I can accurately draw the oc.

✧. ┊ be as detailed as possible. I can't work with something like "He's a wolf and she's a human, so can you make them look like that?" as that is incredibly vague and not giving me any sort of idea what you're looking for. that being said, please be as descriptive as possible when you're leaving your request. I need to know what they're wearing and even their expression and pose if I am going to draw your oc. the password for art commissions is founder ymir.

RULES SECTION IV.　ALL COMMISSIONS

✧. ┊ do not steal my graphics or art. to commit plagiarism by claiming someone else's work as your own is not only incredibly offensive but also illegal.

✧. ┊ do not dm me your commission forms. if you want to send me your commission request, please do so by email. it is easier for me to keep track of commissions this way. just contact me via dm to receive my email as I would prefer not to include it here.

✧. ┊ please remain patient and polite. if you are rude to me and don't follow any of my rules, you will not only be denied requests from me, but blocked and blacklisted as well. I'm a nice person, but I won't tolerate any crude behaviour around here. also, I do have a life outside of tumblr, so even if I do accept your request, it could take me weeks or possibly a month to complete. therefore, please do not rush me and remain kind.

✧. ┊ your fanfic must be published. if you want a commission from me, please make sure that you are requesting for a fanfic that is currently published and has chapters posted. I will not make graphics for fanfics that are not currently published or that "eventually will be." the only exception for this rule are my vips. y'all know who you are 🖤

✧. ┊ all payments must be made before delivery. once you have been notified that your commission is complete, you will be required to pay the amount due via venmo. no payment, no commission. it's that simple. you will not be required to pay at the time you submit your commission on the off chance I am unable to complete your request and a refund will not have to be made. a permanent follow, a like on this pinned post and a reblog of your commission would also be appreciated.

✧. ┊ do not forget the password. to ensure you have read over all these rules, you must include the password in your commission form. the password is different for both graphic commissions and art commissions, so I hope that you were paying close attention to these rules.

✧. ┊ there is no limit. as long as you were polite to me and to others, you followed my rules and didn't do anything wrong, you are permitted to return for as many commissions as you'd like.

✧. ┊ do not break any of my rules. if I notice that you have broken my rules, you will not only be blocked but blacklisted as well. blacklisted users are people who are forbidden from ever requesting something from me again, on both here and wattpad.

The fluorescent lights of Clover Metropolitan General Hospital's pediatric ward hummed with a sterile, relentless frequency, their cool glow washing over polished tile floors that reflected the movement of nurses and physicians passing through the corridors with practiced efficiency. Beyond the reinforced windows, the sprawling skyline of Clover City had all but disappeared behind sheets of relentless autumn rain, the towering buildings reduced to blurred silhouettes beneath charcoal clouds while ribbons of neon from distant storefronts shimmered across rain-slicked streets below. Every few moments, a low rumble of thunder rolled somewhere in the distance, softened by layers of glass and steel until it became little more than a comforting reminder that there was an entire world continuing outside these walls. Yet within the pediatrics ward, that storm felt impossibly far away.

Here, the atmosphere had been carefully cultivated to be something entirely different from the sterile image most people associated with hospitals. Soft murals of blue skies stretched across the ceilings, fluffy white clouds drifted lazily over painted walls, and colourful hot-air balloons floated above cartoon forests where smiling foxes, rabbits, and birds welcomed every ill child who entered. The children's playroom—lovingly nicknamed the Cumulus Den by both staff and patients years ago—was filled with tiny tables scattered with crayons, puzzle pieces, half-finished crafts, and towers of well-loved picture books whose corners had softened from countless eager hands turning their pages. The familiar scents of antiseptic wipes and fresh linens lingered in the air, mingling unexpectedly with the warm aroma of vanilla drifting upward from the cafeteria's afternoon baking, creating a strange but comforting combination that somehow felt uniquely like home to everyone who worked there.

At the very heart of that warmth was Vetra Stormont.

Dressed in crisp navy blue scrubs with cartoon storm clouds that perfectly mirrored the painted sky above her, the Head Nurse of Pediatric Care knelt beside seven-year-old Marie Adlai with the sort of patience that couldn't be taught in nursing school. Marie had just finished another chemotherapy treatment, and while the brave little girl wore a smile far bigger than anyone her age should have been expected to muster after such an exhausting morning, Vetra knew from the tiny wince she'd hidden moments earlier that the dressing around her access site still felt tender. With practiced gentleness, Vetra peeled away the plain white adhesive bandage and replaced it with a brightly coloured one decorated with tiny smiling clouds and stars, smoothing each edge carefully against the child's skin so it wouldn't tug later. From the pocket of her scrub top she retrieved a small sheet of reward stickers, pretending to inspect it with exaggerated seriousness before finally selecting a glittering silver cloud.

“There we are, sweetheart,” Vetra murmured, her voice carrying that same soft, calming warmth the entire pediatric floor had come to know so well. She pressed the sticker carefully onto the fresh bandage before giving Marie's arm one last gentle pat, her storm-gray eyes lifting to meet the little girl's bright green ones as a reassuring smile spread effortlessly across her face. A few loose strands of blonde hair had escaped the practical bun pinned neatly at the nape of her neck hours earlier, framing features that somehow always looked kind no matter how exhausted she felt.

“All finished. Nice and secure. And because you were so incredibly brave today…” She paused dramatically before producing another sticker—a shimmering gold star this time—and placed it proudly on the front of Marie's hospital gown. “You get promoted from Cloud Cadet to Super Star Patient.”

Marie gasped dramatically before looking down at the star as though Vetra had just pinned an Olympic medal to her chest. “Really?” she asked, her entire face lighting up with excitement.

“Mmhmm,” Vetra replied with a solemn nod, as though she were confirming the most important medical decision ever made within the walls of Clover Metropolitan General Hospital. ‘It's a very exclusive promotion. Only the bravest patients on this floor earn one.”

The little girl practically bounced in her chair despite the IV tubing still carefully secured to her arm, her excitement completely overpowering the exhaustion that had followed her treatment. Her small fingers immediately reached up to touch the glittering star sticker on her pink gown, admiring the way it caught beneath the soft lights of the playroom.

“I'm going to show big brother!” Marie announced proudly, her face lighting up with the kind of pure happiness that reminded Vetra exactly why she had chosen this profession.

“I think he'll be very impressed,” Vetra replied warmly.

And Vetra knew he would be.

Because Marie's big brother was one of the most devoted family members she had ever met in her time as a nurse at Clover Metropolitan General Hospital.

Gauche Adlai was not the type of person most people would immediately describe as easy to read. To those who only knew him casually, he could come across as distant, serious, and almost intimidating in his quiet determination. He wasn't someone who filled rooms with conversation or easily expressed his emotions through words. But Vetra had learned a long time ago that love did not always announce itself loudly. Sometimes, it appeared in the small things—the things people did when nobody was watching.

And Gauche did everything for Marie.

As her legal guardian and older brother, he had taken on a responsibility far beyond what anyone should have expected from him. He worked exhausting hours, often juggling multiple shifts and responsibilities just to ensure Marie received the best possible care. He was constantly asking questions about her treatments, researching new options, keeping track of every procedure, every medication, and every small change in her condition. He knew which foods she could tolerate after difficult treatment days, which stories made her laugh when she felt scared, and which stuffed animals needed to accompany her to every procedure. And he never missed a procedure unless there was absolutely no other choice. And even when exhaustion showed in the dark circles beneath his eyes or the way he quietly leaned against the hallway walls after particularly long days, he never allowed Marie to see him as anything other than strong.

Vetra had seen countless parents and guardians walk through the pediatrics ward doors carrying fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak. She had seen people struggle under the weight of watching someone they loved fight an illness they couldn't take away. But Gauche had always been different ever since Marie came into their ward a year ago. His fear was there—Vetra could see it in the way his eye followed every doctor, in the way his hands tightened whenever test results were discussed, in the way he stayed just a little too close whenever Marie looked tired. But he never let that fear stop him. If anything, it made him fight harder. Vetra admired him for that.

Because being someone's caregiver wasn't easy. It required patience on the hardest days, strength when you felt like breaking, and a willingness to put someone else's needs before your own over and over again. And Gauche did that without hesitation. For Marie, he would do anything. Vetra had no doubt about that.

The thought brought a soft smile to her face as she watched the little girl proudly admire her new sticker. “I'm sure your brother is going to love it.”

Marie nodded enthusiastically. “He's going to say it's the best one yet.”

“I believe him.”

Because Vetra knew Gauche would never care about the sticker itself. He would only care because Marie was happy. And that was what mattered most.

Marie admired the star for another moment before suddenly looking toward the nearby craft table, her eyes widening as though she had just remembered something incredibly important. Sitting there was the cardboard rocket she had been working on earlier, its pink construction-paper wings only halfway attached and several pieces of glitter scattered around the table from her previous decorating attempts. She grabbed the tube of pink glitter glue she'd been using earlier and looked back at Vetra with renewed determination. “Can we finish the rocket now? It still has to fly to the moon.”

Vetra laughed softly, the sound gentle enough not to disturb the children napping in nearby rooms. “Of course we can. Astronauts can't leave for the moon without finishing their spacecraft first.”

“Thanks, Miss Vetra!” Marie chirped happily as she hurried back toward the tiny table. “You're the best!”

“I just do my best,” Vetra answered with an affectionate smile as she slowly rose to her feet, stretching one hand against the small of her back to work out the familiar ache that came from spending twelve-hour shifts constantly bending, lifting, kneeling, and running from room to room. Being Head Nurse meant her days rarely slowed down long enough to notice how tired she truly was. There were medications to prepare, charts to review, specialists to coordinate with, frightened parents to comfort, and children who deserved every ounce of patience and encouragement she could possibly give them. The responsibility was enormous, often emotionally draining in ways words could never fully describe, but moments like watching little Marie Adlai proudly glue glitter onto a cardboard rocket somehow made every sleepless night and every aching muscle feel worthwhile.

The quiet rhythm of the playroom shifted ever so slightly as the automated doors slid open with their familiar whisper, drawing Vetra's attention toward the entrance just as a figure stepped gracefully inside.

Anyone unfamiliar with Dr. Solara Equinox might have mistaken the subtle pause that rippled through the nearby staff for intimidation, because the hospital's Chief Pathologist possessed a presence that naturally commanded respect without ever asking for it. Her long golden hair flowed over her shoulders like strands of captured sunlight, contrasting beautifully against the immaculate white coat draped over a deep crimson blouse and neatly pressed khaki trousers. Every movement she made seemed measured and purposeful, carrying the quiet confidence of someone whose expertise had saved countless lives from behind the microscope. Her green eyes swept across the pediatric ward with practiced precision, missing nothing—not the nurse quietly restocking supplies near the medication cart, not the intern trying very hard to look busy after nearly walking into the wrong patient room, and certainly not the half-finished paperwork sitting abandoned beside the nurses’ station. It was the kind of gaze that had become legendary throughout Clover Metropolitan General Hospital. Residents often joked that Dr. Equinox could diagnose poor decision-making simply by looking at someone long enough.

Yet the instant those same discerning eyes settled upon Vetra, every trace of that formidable reputation softened. The corners of Solara's lips curved upward into a smile so warm it felt almost capable of rivaling the dreary weather raging outside, transforming the intimidating pathologist into simply Solara—the woman Vetra had long since come to think of as one of her dearest friends.

“Marie,” Solara called as she approached, her voice carrying the easy warmth she reserved for the pediatric floor, “I see Nurse Stormont has already started handing out bravery stickers today. At this rate, I think we're going to have to invent an entirely new award just for you.”

Marie looked up from her rocket ship with an enormous grin. “Miss Vetra said I'm already superhero level.”

Solara placed one hand dramatically over her heart, feigning complete astonishment. “Well… if Nurse Stormont herself declared it, then who am I to argue? I suppose I'll have to speak with administration about ordering you a proper superhero medal.”

The little girl's eyes widened so much they seemed ready to sparkle brighter than the glitter spread across her craft table. “A real medal?”

“The shiniest one we can find,” Solara promised with complete sincerity.

Satisfied with that answer, Marie returned happily to decorating her rocket ship, humming to herself as though she'd already begun imagining where she'd display her future medal.

Vetra watched the exchange with an amused smile before resting her hands lightly on her hips. “Excuse me, Dr. Equinox,” she said with playful indignation. “Some of us are trying very hard not to inflate our patients’ egos too much.”

Solara's expression remained perfectly composed, though the mischievous glimmer dancing in her eyes betrayed her immediately. “I'm simply reinforcing your excellent nursing judgment,” she replied smoothly. “After all, if anyone has earned superhero status around here, I'd say Marie certainly qualifies.”

“I suppose I can allow that.”

“You'll have to. Pathology has officially approved it.”

Vetra shook her head softly, unable to hide the fond amusement that settled across her features as she watched Solara interact with Marie. That was the thing most people never expected when they first met Dr. Equinox. The reputation always came first—the brilliant pathologist with the intimidating stare, the woman whose evaluations could make experienced doctors double-check their own findings before submitting a report, the scientist who could spend hours studying the smallest details beneath a microscope until she uncovered answers everyone else had missed. To most of the hospital, Solara was a force of nature in her own right. Brilliant, unwavering, and almost impossible to intimidate. But Vetra had always known the person beneath the reputation. She knew the woman who kept extra snacks in her office because she rarely left the company of her microscope and often forgot to eat during long shifts. She knew the woman who pretended not to care when a patient passed away but stayed late afterward to personally finish every report because that person deserved the dignity of having their story understood. She knew the woman who could analyze a complicated pathology case with frightening precision but would still stop everything she was doing to kneel beside a frightened child and promise them that their stuffed animal was absolutely qualified to be part of the medical team.

“You know,” Vetra finally said, crossing her arms loosely as Solara stepped out of the playroom and closer to the nurses’ station, “for someone who claims to spend most of her life buried in the pathology department, you seem to have a surprising amount of knowledge about pediatric bribery techniques.”

Solara looked mildly offended by the accusation, placing one hand against her chest. “Bribery is a very harsh word.”

Vetra raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I prefer strategic encouragement.”

“With glitter stickers?”

“Especially with glitter stickers.”

Vetra laughed quietly, the sound drawing a small smile from Solara. Their friendship had always been like that—an effortless balance between teasing and understanding. They were different in almost every possible way. Vetra carried herself like a calm breeze before a storm, gentle and patient but with an unmistakable strength hidden beneath the surface. Solara, on the other hand, was sunlight sharpened into something brilliant, a person whose intensity could overwhelm a room but whose warmth was undeniable once someone earned their trust. Somehow, those differences had always made them fit together perfectly.

“So, what are you doing wandering all the way up here to pediatrics, anyway?” Vetra asked, tilting her head with a gentle, teasing warmth. “Did you miss me, or did you just want an excuse to leave the basement morgue?”

“A little of column A,” Solara admitted with a yawn, “and an alarming amount of column B.” She rubbed one eye before continuing. “I was actually looking for Fuegoleon. Have you seen the great lion prowling around, or is he still imprisoned in that three-hour meeting about grant allocations?”

“He came through about twenty minutes ago,” Vetra replied. “He had enough patient files tucked under one arm to qualify as a structural support beam.”

Solara smiled knowingly. “He takes new oncology trials very personally.”

“That he does,” Vetra agreed.

“I swear he looks at cancer cells as though they've insulted his ancestors.”

“Takes one to know one,” Vetra teased lightly. “I hear rumors you haven't seen natural sunlight in three days because you've been buried in biopsy reports.”

“My microscope misses me when I leave.”

Vetra looked at her with one brow raised, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It told you that?”

“We have an understanding.”

The two women shared an easy laugh before settling beside the nurses’ station, quietly watching Marie proudly attach glitter-covered wings to her cardboard rocket.

As they stood there, Solara noticed Vetra absently twisting the diamond engagement ring resting on her left hand. It wasn't nervous fidgeting—not quite. It was the unconscious habit Vetra always slipped into whenever her thoughts wandered toward someone she loved.

A knowing smile tugged at Solara's lips.

“So…”

Vetra glanced sideways. “So?”

“How's your fiancé?”

The question immediately coaxed a softer smile onto Vetra's face. “He's wonderful.”

“How's he handling things now that the wedding planning has officially begun?” Solara asked, the faintest hint of amusement coloring her voice.

Vetra immediately let out a small laugh, shaking her head as though she had been expecting the question. “With a mixture of excitement, panic, and about twenty different lists.”

Solara's eyebrow lifted. “Twenty?”

“At least.”

“That sounds excessive.”

“It is excessive,” Vetra admitted, though the fondness in her voice made it clear she didn't actually mind. “He has a list for the venue, a list for the guest list, a list of possible decorations, a list of songs, and somehow he has a separate list dedicated entirely to the first four lists.”

Solara stared at her. “That is impressively unnecessary.”

“That's what I told him.”

“And his response?”

Vetra smiled. “He said, and I quote, ‘A wedding only happens once and I need to make sure everything is perfect for you.’”

For a moment, Solara's teasing expression softened.

Because that sounded exactly like Finral.

He had always been someone who felt things deeply. Sometimes too deeply. He cared so much about making people happy that he often forgot his own needs in the process. But with Vetra, that devotion was different. It wasn't desperation or an attempt to prove himself. It was love. Simple as that.

“He really does adore you,” Solara said quietly.

Vetra looked down at her ring again, her thumb brushing over the blue gemstone. “I know.”

There was no hesitation. No uncertainty. Just a quiet certainty that came from years of knowing someone completely.

“He still acts like he can't believe I'm saying yes.”

Solara smiled. “Honestly, I can see why.”

Vetra immediately looked at her with furrowed brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean because you are terrifying.”

The nurse scoffed. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“I'm literally a pediatric nurse.”

“Who can silence an entire hallway of doctors with one look.”

Vetra huffed. “That's different.”

Solara raised a brow and continued. “Who once convinced a surgeon twice her age to apologize to a child's parents because they were being impatient—and rightfully so.”

“He needed to apologize.”

“Exactly my point.”

Vetra tried to hide her smile but failed.

Before they could continue, the sliding doors opened with a swish once more, and a tall, imposing figure with striking crimson hair and a tailored white lab coat strode in. Fuegoleon Vermillion paused, scanning the room with sharp, commanding eyes before locking onto Solara.

“Dr. Equinox,” Fuegoleon's deep, resonant voice carried across the room, carrying the weight of absolute authority mixed with an unmistakable undercurrent of personal warmth. “There you are.”

Solara met Fuegoleon's intense gaze with one of her own—a silent, unspoken dialogue between two incredibly strong-willed individuals who understood each other down to their DNA. It was something that had become almost second nature between them over the years. They didn't need long explanations or unnecessary words to understand what the other was thinking. A single glance could communicate concern, agreement, frustration, or the simple acknowledgment that one of them had once again worked far too long without taking a proper break.

Vetra watched the exchange from beside the nurses’ station with a small, knowing smile.

There was something almost amusing about watching two people who were so incredibly similar attempt to pretend they weren't.

Fuegoleon Vermillion, head of the oncology department at Clover Metropolitan General Hospital, had built his reputation on discipline, intelligence, and an unwavering dedication to his patients. He was the kind of physician who stayed late after his shift ended because one more chart needed reviewing, one more treatment plan needed adjusting, one more patient deserved another option. He carried the weight of every diagnosis he delivered and every family he comforted, but somehow he always managed to approach each case with the same determination and compassion.

Solara was no different. She simply carried her burdens beneath a different title.

“You look like you haven't slept,” Solara finally said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she examined him.

Fuegoleon glanced down at himself before looking back at her. “I slept.”

“When?”

“Adequately.”

“That is not a time.”

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Somewhere between yesterday evening and this morning.”

Solara stared at him. “Very funny.”

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I wanted to discuss the upcoming clinical trials with you, if you have a moment.”

Immediately, Solara's playful expression faded into professionalism. It was one of the things Fuegoleon respected most about her. No matter how much she teased him, no matter how casual their conversations became, the moment a patient was involved, Solara was entirely focused.

“What specifically?” she asked.

Fuegoleon reached into the folder he carried and pulled out several documents, carefully organized with highlighted sections and handwritten notes in the margins. “The trial for the advanced treatment protocol begins next month.”

Solara nodded slowly. “The immunotherapy combination?”

“Precisely.”

Her eyes scanned the pages quickly, absorbing the information with the same precision she used when examining microscopic samples. “You want additional pathology support before enrollment.”

“I do.” Fuegoleon's expression became more serious. “Specifically, I want your department involved in the biomarker analysis and tissue response evaluations.”

Solara looked back up at him. “You're concerned about patient compatibility.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. “There have been promising results in early trials, but I do not want to move forward simply because the numbers look encouraging.” His voice lowered slightly, but still, Vetra heard him, standing only a few feet away. “These are people's lives.”

The statement was simple, but Solara knew him well enough to understand the weight behind it.

Fuegoleon wasn't interested in being the first. He wasn't interested in recognition or having his name attached to a breakthrough. He wanted something that worked. Something safe. Something that gave his patients a real chance.

Solara flipped through another page of the documents. “How many candidates?”

“Six initially.”

“Six?”

“Six who meet the current criteria.”

She nodded, studying the reports. “And you believe pathology can help determine which patients are most likely to respond.”

“I believe your analysis can provide additional information we cannot obtain through imaging and standard testing alone.”

A small smile touched Solara's lips. “You always know how to flatter a girl.”

Fuegoleon's expression softened for only a moment, and Vetra could have sworn he was even blushing a little bit as found his shoes incredibly interesting all of a sudden.

“Alright,” Solara said after another moment, closing the folder. “I'll have my team prepare the necessary protocols.”

“Thank you.”

“You don't need to thank me, Doctor Vermillion.”

“I do.”

Solara looked at him. “For what? Doing my job?”

“For always being willing to help,” Fuegoleon corrected.

Solara looked down briefly before clearing her throat. “Well.” A small smile appeared—which did not go unnoticed by Vetra who was now watching them, entirely amused by their conversation. “Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally start a medical trial without remembering the importance of pathology.”

Fuegoleon raised an eyebrow, a small smile working its way onto his face. “I would never forget.”

The doors slid open once more, the soft sound immediately drawing everyone's attention as they turned toward the entrance. For a brief moment, Vetra's eyes moved instinctively around the two doctors standing near her, wondering if it was another family member arriving to visit a patient or perhaps another member of the hospital staff coming in with an update. But the second her gaze landed on the familiar figure standing just beyond the doorway, her entire expression softened.

A smile appeared instantly.

It was Finral Roulacase.

Her fiancé stood there with a visitor's badge clipped neatly to the pocket of his green jacket, looking slightly too pleased with himself as he held a reusable insulated lunch bag in one hand. In the other was a small paper sack from Charmy's Sweets, the bakery Vetra had once casually mentioned loving and that Finral somehow remembered every single time he passed by. It was such a small thing, something most people would overlook, but that was always how Finral showed his affection. He remembered the little things. The things that mattered.

His eyes immediately found hers, and he smiled. “There you are.”

Vetra's entire expression brightened, the exhaustion that had settled over her throughout the day seeming to fade just a little. “Hi.”

Finral stepped further into the ward, lifting the lunch bag proudly like he was presenting a priceless treasure. “I come bearing lunch.” Then he lifted the small paper sack. “And dessert.”

A soft laugh escaped Vetra before she could stop it. “You didn't have to.”

“It's no trouble,” Finral assured her.

And knowing him, she believed it.

Finral had never treated caring for her like an obligation or something he had to do. He did these things because he wanted to. Because loving her was something that came naturally to him.

He crossed the room until he was standing beside her, offering her a quick kiss on the forehead before carefully stepping back, mindful that she was still working and that the pediatric ward was not the place for distractions. “I figured you would've forgotten to eat again.”

“I did not forget.”

Finral raised an eyebrow. “But you sometimes forget,” he pointed out.

Vetra glanced away. “...Maybe.”

The small admission caused Finral to grin triumphantly, as though he had just won a very important argument. “You know I'm right.”

Vetra shook her head, laughing quietly as she reached out and gently squeezed his hand. “Give me about fifteen more minutes and I'm all yours,” she said softly. “I promised a patient we'd finish reading a story together until his mother gets back to be with him.” Her gaze moved toward the nearby room where little Henry Legolant waited patiently, his favourite dinosaur book tucked securely beneath his arm as he sat curled up in his bed. “Then I'll be all yours.”

Finral followed her gaze, and his expression immediately softened. He understood. That was one of the reasons Vetra loved him. He never made her choose between him and the people who needed her. He never saw her patients as competition for her time. Instead, he admired the very thing that made her who she was.

“Take your time,” Finral said warmly. His eyes moved back toward her, a gentle smile forming on his face. “I'll wait.”

Then, after a moment, he glanced around the colourful pediatric ward before lowering his voice slightly. “Besides…” he began, his smile becoming a little more playful, “I think I can survive fifteen minutes if it means I get to have lunch with the most beautiful nurse in the world.”

Vetra immediately felt warmth rise into her cheeks. Even after all this time, even after knowing exactly how much he loved her, Finral still managed to catch her off guard.

“You are such a charmer.”

He smiled proudly. “Only for you.”

The faint blush remained on her cheeks as Vetra shook her head, though she couldn't hide the happiness in her storm-grey eyes. She leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against his lips, brief but filled with all the affection she carried for him. It wasn't a grand gesture. It wasn't dramatic. It was simply them. A quiet moment between two people who had found comfort in one another.

Across the room, Solara watched the exchange with a knowing smile, her sharp eyes missing none of the genuine tenderness passing between her friend and her fiancé. The pathologist had always been observant—perhaps more than most people realized—but moments like this were impossible to overlook. She saw the way Finral looked at Vetra as though she were the most important person in the world, the way every small gesture he made was filled with effortless devotion, and she saw the way Vetra softened around him in a way she rarely allowed herself to do with anyone else.

For someone who spent so much of her life carrying the weight of others, it was comforting to see that Vetra had someone willing to carry some of hers.

A small, affectionate smile tugged at Solara's lips as she leaned slightly against the nurses’ station while Fuegoleon continued briefing her on the trial. The oncologist continued speaking, his calm voice explaining important pathology evaluations that would be required, though he allowed the quiet moment between Vetra and Finral to exist without interruption. He understood, perhaps better than anyone, that some moments were just as important as the medicine they practiced.

Outside, the rain continued to fall against the hospital windows, the storm clouds lingering over Clover City while warmth and light continued to exist within the walls of the hospital.

By far one of my favorite pieces to draw yet!! I have always loved this pose concept for Vanessa and Sideris, so I knew I had to draw it eventually. And I'm not disappointed in the slightest, because it turned out exactly how I wanted. I really couldn't be happier with the end result

I also included my first ever time lapse video of my rendering. As mentioned in the video, I cut out some chunks because it was a really long video and I didn't want to bore anyone, so I tried to keep it as short as possible. Anyways, hope you enjoy watching my process. I was really nervous to post a time lapse video because I feel like I draw really weird in comparison to other videos I've watched, but hey, I wanna show how MY process goes, so please no negativity or judgment. We all have our own ways of doing things 🥰