#my brain is rooting for its worthy
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st4rlady · 2 years ago
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Working on a COD men nsfw audios for the girlies out there 'cause I want to contribute to this horny community 👀
I actually did it :)
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bubblegumgothglados · 2 months ago
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This is my RACK focused judgment free primer for heavy impact play. It covers every part of the body from head to toe and at no point does it say you can’t do something just the risks of doing so. I don't normally put warnings on my posts but most of my writing is fantasy, this isn't. I'm going to talk about any number of painful deaths and heaps more ways of becoming disabled.
In this primer "you" means the one doing the hitting, "victim" is the one being hit, and "tool" is the thing you're hitting with which could be a fist, foot, hammer, bat, anything. I'm writing it this way because its fun for me.
This primer also assumes you know the different types of impacts and how they affect the body, if you don't go look at my other writings.
Finally i take no responsibility for anything you do. All this information is what i could put together from medical journals and car crash reports if I've got anything wrong (and you can prove it) please let me know.
Enjoy
Head. With hits to the head, the two major concerns are concussions and neck injuries. A concussion occurs when a person’s brain impacts with the inside of their skull, this happens because the brain is suspended in fluid so if the skull stops or starts moving suddenly the brain will move out of sync with the skull. Symptoms of concussions can include headaches, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, sleepiness, and excessive fatigue. If your victim lost consciousness for any length of time and is having trouble speaking or understanding your words, you need to get them to the ER. There is no cure for a concussion but the best treatment is pain medication and activities that won’t tax the brain to give it time to recover. There are any number of ways to damage a neck, but generally it happens when a person’s neck is moved suddenly and violently or pushed past its limit. Minor injuries should heal by themselves within a few weeks but if unlucky pain and stiffness can last months or even years. For more major injuries, physical therapy or a neck brace might be necessary but only if the pain lasts longer than a few weeks. It’s also possible to hit someone hard enough to break their neck or fracture their skull but that takes a lot of force. All of these injuries can be avoided by supporting your victim’s head and neck by bracing their head against a surface or holding their head with your hand.
Jaw. It takes surprisingly little force to dislocate a jaw, you can do so with a good slap Dislocations are talked about in Note 3 at the bottom of this primer. Heavy bleeding from gums or a tooth that feels loose could indicate a fractured root. This is a fairly minor issue and if you see a dentist quickly they should be able to fix it back in place with no lasting damage. A tooth that has been knocked out completely should survive; get your victim to rinse their mouth out and rinse the tooth off and shove it back into the gap, and then have them see a dentist to make sure it’s properly seated and avoid chewing with it for a while.
Eyes. A fun combination of fragile and complicated. There's no first aid tips I can give you and it'll be real obvious if something is wrong. I will say you don't have to hit someones eye to give them a black eye, it’s bruising around the eye socket that matters. Also check Note 1 about the use of ice when treating injuries.
Nose. It’s more difficult than you think to break a nose. You definitely can with a good punch but you'll have to really commit. A broken nose isn't that serious (I've broken mine twice now) and isn't even ER worthy. If your victim is leaning backwards after breaking their nose the blood will run down the back of their throat potentially making them vomit or very sick. There is a chance a broken nose will heal in a way that restricts breathing in which case your victim may need surgery.
Cheek bone. Below the temple but above the gum line, running from just bellow their ear to their nose. Special mention to this spot because it’s the best place to hit your victim in the head (in my opinion). This piece of bone is very sturdy and not that risky to fracture. Plus, when you hit them here they have to watch it coming.
Neck. The windpipe, jugular, cranial nerves, vagus nerve, carotid arteries, and spine all live here and damage to any of these can cause permanent disability or death. Seek medical attention if your victim has trouble breathing or swallowing, or a lot of pain or swelling. Stingy tools are far less risky here than thuddy tools.
Shoulders. Note 2 on joints. The shoulder blades can either be an ideal impact location or one of the most risky depending on how it’s sitting. If the shoulder blade is jutting out away from the rest of the back, it’s very easy to damage If it’s laying flat against the back, it’s protected by a thick layer of fat and muscle.
Biceps. Top 4 impact location. The main concern is damaging the elbow and shoulder joints, if hitting in a way that will pull on those joints. Much like with the head, bracing the impact area against a surface will minimize the risk. Repeated hits to this area can temporarily disable the arm, which is fun.
Forearm. As above, the main risk is damaging the adjoining joints. There are also several important blood vessels and nerves running through this area and not a lot of fat an muscle to protect them.
Hands. Very little fat or muscle, mostly tendons, nerves, and cartilage. See Note 2 on joints. Special note to the palm, which hurts like hell but is relatively safe because of the extra muscle and fat in that area, great for punishment. Once again, stingy tools are much less risky than thuddy tools.
Breasts/ biceps. Top 4 impact locations. Thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone protect anything vital.
Sternum. That is the bone running down the center of a person’s chest that connects to their ribs. Not in itself very fragile but the cartilage that connects it to the ribs is easily damaged and will take a long time to heal. A fractured sternum will likely cause shortness of breath and pain when taking deep breaths. There's not much to be done about these injuries just rest and avoiding strenuous activity.
Spine. The single most risky impact location. Any damage to the spine risks permanent paralysis of everything below that point. As ever, stingy tools present less risk than thuddy tools.
Rib cage. Designed to protect a person’s most vital organs, the rib cage is very strong. Fractured ribs will cause pain breathing but aren't particularly serious. Snapped ribs can pierce organs If this happens, it'll be immediately obvious and medical intervention is required to prevent painful death. Special note to the 'floating' ribs at the bottom of a persons rib cage which don't connect to the sternum and are therefore much less resilient. Second special note to the spot right above a persons heart. A significantly hard impact at exactly the wrong moment in their cardiac cycle can stop their heart. They will loose consciousness and you will need to give them CPR until they can be defibrillated. This is ridiculously unlikely but better to mention just in case.
Abdomen. If you feel around your victim’s belly, you can figure out the line where their abdominal muscles sit. If you have them tense these muscles, you can hit them fairly hard with relatively little risk because the muscles plus the fat in that area create a thick layer of protection. (Pro tip: "Stay tense or this will might kill you" is not only true but hot and terrifying). Outside of that area or if they don't tense, there's real risk of bruising or even rupturing their intestines, which carries a 50-70% survival rate depending on how quickly you can get them to the ER. Symptoms to look out for are bloating, diarrhea, loss of appetite, and fatigue. Special note to the kidneys, which sit next to the backbone just below the rib cage and are very easily bruised. The primary symptom to look for is blood when peeing. As always, stingy tools carry less risk than thuddy tools.
Gluteus maximus. That's their butt. Hit it as hard as your victim will let you. Enough has been said about this region; I don't feel the need to recover that ground. Note 4 on bruises.
Genitals. I'm not going to get into CBT, that's a separate kink. But the vagina is very durable as it’s pretty much just flesh and fat on the outside Minimal risk, go to town.
Thigh. Top 4 impact location. Outer thigh will hurt more and bruise more. As with the head and arms, the primary risk is damaging the adjoining joints. Note 4 on bruises because this is the primary place for DVT.
Calf. As above. Shins are also a great location for punishment because they hurt like hell.
Feet. Very similar to hands. The soles of a person’s foot are intended to impact with the ground frequently and with some force, so they can take a fair bit of punishment.
Note 1. Ice. It is no longer suggested injury procedure to use ice to reduce swelling. Yes, it is effective at reducing swelling but we now understand swelling is an important part of the healing process and although ice might make it feel and look better in the short term, it actually increases the amount of time the injury will take to heal. You want the blood to be able to flow to the injury to take away dead cells and bring nutrients and energy.
Note 2. Joints. Neck, spine, shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, hips, knees, ankles, and toes. The reason these are almost always labeled "red" or "no go" on impact play body maps is because these are choke points for blood vessels and nerves; they are made of fragile tendons and cartilage, and they have very little padding for protection. They're also important for movement day to day and very difficult to heal properly. If a joint is damaged, you can buy braces for every joint from most pharmacies.
Note 3. Dislocations. If you're lucky, a partial dislocation will relocate by itself if you move the joint around as you normally would, not forcing it or trying to manipulate it with your hand, just moving it with its own muscles. If it does naturally relocate but you still have pain a few weeks later seek a medical professional. If you're unlucky or if it’s a total dislocation, you will have to see a medical professional. DO NOT TRY TO FORCE IT BACK INTO PLACE!
Note 4. Bruises. Normally, bruises are nothing to worry about but there are situations where a deep bruise can be a health concern. If the bruise continues to get worse after a week, there could be a hematoma under the skin, which is like a blood clot, and might need to be removed. The other possible complication is Deep Vein Thrombosis, which is a blood clot and can be lethal, if not treated quickly. With DVT, the symptoms are tenderness, warmth, and a "pulling sensation" which are pretty normal impact play symptoms. But if you're doing impact play at the level that could cause DVT, then you and your victim should know their healing process intimately, so if something feels off or isn't healing right, get them to a medical professional; better safe than dead.
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awful-little-goose · 6 months ago
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Ya know after that little headcanon thing with shamura my thoughts just spiralled from there so please allow me to propose something.
This was inspired by this image by the by:
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Not sure if this is actually legit as I never encountered this sprite in game however it was one the wiki so I’m gonna be so free and assume.
Anyway-
With the idea that the crowns aid the bishops with their disabilities(Leshy being able to see through his, Hekets crown speaking for her ect ect). Allow me to propose a what if:
what if Shamuras crown appears to be rooted into their brain because it’s what’s keeping them from being even worse off than they already are? They can no longer get any prophecies because the crown is too busy keeping their mind intact, stopping all their memories from slowly fading away.
It also shows just how bad the damage done by Narinder truly was, even with all it’s power to grant near infinite knowledge
it still isn’t enough, Shamuras mind is still broken and the purple crown will never be able to restore them to their former glory.
And to really hammer home how close Shamura was with their crown, what if it even goes as far as rejecting new bearers the lamb chooses? It wants Shamura to pick a bearer, their opinion on who is worthy enough to bear it is far more important to it. And it will straight up refuse to give anything to those chosen without their blessing.
And it’s not like the Lamb can just destroy it, If it was that easy they would have been destroyed eons ago. Nah they really just went „it’s either my way or the highway.“ and proceed to become as useful as a door stopper-
Anyway just some food for thought, thank you for coming to my ted talk!:DD
If you’ll excuse me I will go ahead and sketch ideas of this and of my Shamura passing the crown onto an eight year old cause that is definitely not gonna go south-
I ABSOLUTELY love that HC and agree with it, to me the crown is like- the one thing keeping Sha alive. And the connection is what makes Shamura like- ramble, as it disorients them greatly (imagine your brain being Directly POWERED BY GODLY POWERS- my thoughts would get a bit scrambled too)
Kinda leads me to think that the crown just- would NOT let Shamura died. Which in itself has a lotta implications: did it care? Did it just want its host to survive? Are the other crowns this way too?
I guess that’s
food for thoughts HEHEHE
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traumatizeddfox · 9 months ago
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we seriously need to change the language when it comes to abuse. narc abuse does not exist. abusers can have mental disorders, triggers, or traumas but that does not mean people with the same disorder is abusive.
when i first realized i was abused i fell down the narcissistic abuse tiktok trail, i started to believe the only reason my ex was abusive was because he had NPD (he is diagnosed) but then after more of my own research, and conversations with people who are diagnosed with NPD, I realized that abusers are just abusers, and that a lot of people with this disorder are the ones being abused, ostracized from society and not taken serious.
The thing about abusers is they all share the same brain cell, which is why you can list off 10 things most abusers do and a lot of victims will relate. I get countless anons of victims telling me things their abusers did, and I can usually 8/10 times relate on some kind of level, because abusers, again literally only share one brain cell.
The issue with this is abuse has been almost synonymous with the word "narcissist". The amount of shit you see with "Narc abuse", when it's really just abuse. People making countless posts about "how to spot a narcissist, how to fix the narc", etc and I can guarantee you that not all of these abusers have NPD.
BUT we live in such a world of "what about me", so when people try to break the stigma of NPD, victims assume you're telling them they weren't abused. They mention x y z thing that their abuser did, they bring up their mother who maybe was one and maybe their abuser does have NPD, but then these same people want to scream about mental health awareness. They want to say that "Your disorder is not your story", or that everyone with a disorder deserves love, respect, therapy and help but once anyone with a disorder that isn't socially acceptable, it's as if these people turn a blind eye to anyone with a disorder that isn’t classified as worthy. No one is telling you to respect or love the piece of shit who abused you, hurt you, bullied you. Fuck that, but we HAVE to stop associating abuse with npd. if we want to make a change to mental health and the stigma, we need to do with all disorders.
People make these videos, blogs, books, posts, etc on narcissists like they arent...human. The stigma has turned anyone with cluster B personality disorders into something hideous, when really, most of these people are born this way, or deep rooted trauma. BUT when people hear this, they think its giving an excuse. No one is telling you that you have to love ur abuser who might be a narcissist, or that mental disorders = pass. No. Your abuser can have NPD, OCD, depression, etc and be a completely terrible person, and no one is giving them a pass. (Maybe some might but thats a completely different story.) but to just assume NPD = abuser and abuser = npd, is incredibly ableist, but people aren't ready for that one.
The way people talk about people with NPD like they are monsters, and ghouls waiting in the dark corners of the street, waiting to snatch their next victim (who they always describe as being an empath because these people think having empathy = being a good person, when most people aren't even empaths.) They like to romanticize their abuse as well. Talking about how narcissists spot victims who are so "kind, loving, wonderful, special." They try to make it this thing that it's not. Abusers do not abuse you because you are special. they abuse you because they are abusers. Your abuser is a piece of shit who deserves to die because they are an abuser. not because they have a disorder.
period.
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pocketjoong · 1 year ago
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â„đ“‚ƒđ“§Intertwined Destinies
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ê•„đ“‚ƒđ“§ (SYNOPSIS) "There will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears, and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears..." After The Storm, Mumford & Sons
ê•„đ“‚ƒđ“§ (PAIRING) idol!seonghwa x gn!reader
ê•„đ“‚ƒđ“§ (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): angst to fluff. soulmates.
ê•„đ“‚ƒđ“§ (WARNINGS) Angst. It ends in fluff though? Sad and frustrated Seonghwa. Sad you. Mentions of broken hearts. Lmk if I missed anything ksksks
ê•„đ“‚ƒđ“§ (WORD COUNT) 1.4k
ê•„đ“‚ƒđ“§ (A/N) @hwaightme my loveeeeeeee~ happy birthday! I love you as much as there are stars (hwas) in the night sky. thank you for being you and for being such a kind and warm person. wishing you lots of love from the bottom of my hwart. I hope this is not too angsty asdfghjkl, I was planning on fluff, but my brain didn't want to listen... :) Anyways, I hope you like this little rollercoaster of tears, and i'm sorry in advance!
Shoutout to @armysantiny for reading this beforehand!
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Seonghwa runs his fingers through his already tousled ebony hair, groaning as he pauses the track sent to him by the producers at KQ. In the dimly lit studio, the neon glow from the computer screen casts a dreamy glow around him. Seonghwa’s brows furrow as he stares down at the pages of his leather-bound notebook. Each scribbled lyric within its pages doesn’t seem to fit the melody given to him.
For Seonghwa, writing lyrics is a territory he’s still exploring and learning. But he wanted to challenge himself this time around, especially since he had received help from Hongjoong while writing lyrics for his rap verse in Bouncy. That experience ignited the desire to create something that will not only awe atinys but also the composers too. But till now, every word he has penned down seems like a discordant note in what he would consider a masterpiece.
With a deep, exasperated sigh, Seonghwa slumps back in his chair. The leather creaks in protest, adding another irritating voice to the cacophony of his own rapidly darkening thoughts. Seonghwa groans again, frustration etched across his features as he tugs at the roots of his hair as though trying to yank inspiration from the depths of his mind.
“You will rip out all your hair if you keep that up,” Hongjoong deadpans from the doorway, causing the elder male to slowly swivel in his chair, exhausted eyes meeting the former’s figure. “You need help?”
Seonghwa’s response is a weary shake of his head, his lips parting, about to reassure his friend, but Hongjoong interjects, his voice laced with concern.
“You need to take a break, Hwa,” Hongjoong implores. “You’ve been cooped up for so long in the studio. That’s my thing, not yours. We’re worried about you, especially since
” He trails off, his gaze shifting to Seonghwa’s forearm, which remains fully concealed by his full-sleeved shirt.
“Oh, it's fine, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa smiles, though anyone can see the fakeness of it. “I'm—”
“—If you say fine once more, I swear,” unable to bear his friend’s hollow reassurances any longer, Hongjoong cuts him off with a firm tone and sits on the vacant chair next to Seonghwa. “I've known you for years, Hwa. And even if I didn't, I would still be able to know that you are not fine.”
Seonghwa's weary sigh seems to echo in the dimly lit room as his gaze drifts up to the false ceiling as if searching for answers among the shadows. 
“I’m not
” he begins, words weighed down by the gravity of his emotions. “How can I be? I was supposed to get my soulmate tattoo on my birthday. And I didn’t.” The words spill from his lips like a lament, each syllable tinged with the bitterness of disappointment. His voice begins to quiver as he continues to speak, “Out of every single person in this world, why is it me who doesn't have a soulmate? Am I not worthy of one? I know I’m not perfect, but
” Seonghwa’s voice breaks, and he finally turns to look at Hongjoong with tear-filled eyes. “Out of everyone, why me?”
“Seonghwa
” Hongjoong begins, but the weight of Seonghwa’s words leaves him momentarily speechless.
Seonghwa lets out a bitter chuckle and shakes his head as if trying to shake off the sorrow that clings to him like a shroud. He rises from his seat, “You won't understand, Joong. You have an amazing soulmate; please take care of them.”
With that, Seonghwa leaves the room, leaving Hongjoong alone in the dimly lit studio. As the door closes behind the taller male, his eyes fall on the lyrics Seonghwa had penned.
Mournful thunder rips the skiesIt’s much too bright for me to hideAnd purples lie beneath my eyesAnother crash as clouds collide
“You're right,” Hongjoong whispers in the studio, his voice blending in with the shadows. I don't understand. But I wish from the bottom of my heart that the universe gives you your soulmate. If anyone deserves one, it’s you,” his words hand in the air, lingering like an unspoken prayer, even though he knows that Seonghwa can’t hear him.
As he speaks, a soft breeze gently rustles the curtains, casting patterns of light and shadow on the walls. The room itself seems to hold its breath as if in reverence for the longing that envelopes Seonghwa’s heart.
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The world has always worked in peculiar ways as it tries to unite each soulmate pair. On the day one turned 22, the universe would bestow an individual with soulmate marks. Each mark, in one way or another, had the power to help the bearer to contact their soulmate, either through dreams, thoughts, or writing. It is different for everyone but similar in that it all led to one destination: the union of souls.
You had always believed in the concept of soulmates, for it was a belief etched deep into your heart as you couldn’t help but be captivated by the concept. You loved to read about soulmates and heard stories from people about how they met their soulmates. Hearing all the stories from different people, you started fantasising about how you’d meet yours. And by the time you turned 22, there wasn’t a thing you didn't know about soulmates. You had read almost every book you could lay hands on and talked to whoever had met their soulmates. There were some cases where someone didn’t get their soulmate tattoo, but that was extremely rare, and in one generation, not more than one or two people didn’t get their tattoos. But since you had read everything and knew a lot, you thought you were ready for anything.
But nothing could have prepared you for the disaster that struck on the day of your 22nd birthday, a day that was meant for a celebration of destiny. You were happy as you saw the beautiful musical note that was engraved on the skin of your wrist that morning. There was a skip in your step that day until the evening. As you were returning from your classes at the university while listening to ATEEZ, a K-Pop group that you loved for their deep and meaningful music, you became aware of the stinging pain in your wrist. Like a nightmare, you saw the newly acquired music note fade, and the world was enveloped in darkness. When you awoke, you found yourself in the sterile confines of a hospital room, surrounded by your family, who bore expressions of sympathy and sorrow.
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A year has passed since that fateful day that shattered your dreams, leaving you grappling with the wreckage of your heart. In a bid to start life anew, you move to South Korea, taking on the role of a translator for a broadcasting network.
As you navigate your new life in a foreign land, the pain of your lost soulmate remains a constant companion, an indelible mark on your heart. The wound is far from healed, but a sense of contentment begins to seep into your life. South Korea, with its bustling cityscape, offers you solace and a chance to rebuild your life.
The rain pelts against the coffee shop’s misty windowpanes, creating a soothing melody of its own. Inside the warmth of the coffee shop, you sit perched upon a cushioned stool, your hand cradling a cup of warm hot chocolate in your hands. The cafe is quite crowded today due to individuals seeking shelter from the rain. The soft chatter of conversations swirls in the air, punctuated by the distant hum of espresso machines and the occasional clinking of cutlery.
As you gaze out at the deserted street, a tranquil feeling settles within you, the raindrops serving as a lullaby to your thoughts. It allows you a brief respite from the storm, both literal and metaphorical, that had rages within your soul.
The sound of the bell, which signals the door’s opening, shakes you out of your reverie. You look up, curiosity piqued by the arrival of a masked figure. The male surveys the room, eyes scanning the available seating options, and his gaze settles upon the only vacant spot next to you. 
With each step the mysterious figure takes to walk toward you, you can’t help but feel that you know them from somewhere. Your pulse quickens when realisation dawns upon you. It hits you like lightning that the mysterious figure is Park Seonghwa.
Your breath is caught in your throat as he approaches. His sultry, brown eyes meet yours, and something clicks inside you. As if controlled by an unseen force, he reaches a hand out for you, and as your fingers meet his, a beautiful star engraves itself on both your and his wrists, a symbol of your intertwined destinies.
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thisisangiesworld · 4 months ago
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Sparkling red
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In which you fight against the fate of the Valkyries.
Cassian x sister!reader
Warnings : blood, death, injuries, mention of vomiting
Word count : 8,4k
Author note : Posting this for the last day of @cassianappreciationweek as it's what inspired me to finish and post it as my first ACOTAR writing!
✩✧✩✧✩✧✩✧
- Present time - 
It was somewhat pretty. 
From where you were, you couldn’t see the sky. But you could picture its color; according to the reflections in the snow, the sun was slowly rising, a wonderful show of fire for whoever had the chance to watch. Maybe there were clouds too. You closed your eyes, and wooly forms danced behind your eyelids. A shallow breath, two, and you opened your eyes again. 
Moving your head was nearly impossible. It felt like a farrier was hitting your skull with a hammer. Almost as if the hits reverberated in your bones, shaking and irritating every single nerve of your body. And the cold had dug its claws in you, making you lose the feeling of your legs and your wings. No, you couldn’t move. But you really wanted to see the sky, and the branches above your head were blocking the view.
You had been staring at the snow for what felt like hours, and you still couldn’t understand what those things were. It was everywhere - dripping down the trunks of the trees, splattered over the snow, on your hand that was half buried in the wet coldness. 
The light soon became too bright, the snow too blinding, and you found yourself looking for the mysterious things. The sight of them was easier to bear, and you soon became accustomed to their soothing color. Red, brighter than the dawn, almost as dark as the wine Mor loved to drink. It reminded you of Cassian’s siphons. 
A color soft for the eyes, yes, but not really comforting, though. 
It held a threat, a menace, and the more you looked at the things, the more you knew it wasn’t supposed to be somewhat pretty or soothing. If your brain was cloudy, the feeling in your gut eventually became so strong that you moved. In spite of the pain in your limbs, you brought your arms closer to you, pushed with the palms of your hands on the frozen ground and, with groans that seemed to rip your throat apart, you stood on your feet. 
Your eyes took in all that they couldn’t see before; the sun, the clouds, the high branches with no leaves, standing around you like rusty weapons on a battlefield. 
A battlefield. 
That single word triggered something in you. A rush of adrenaline, a heartbeat so quick that  became chaotic, muscles tensed, on the verge of breaking. 
The soldier in you was back, and with it, the realization of what those things, this thing, was. 
Blood. 
___________
- Earlier -
War meant that your family was threatened, that much Cassian and you knew quite well. You were warriors, born and raised to be soldiers because a stubborn bastard and his stubborn sister weren’t worthy of anything else. Your family was probably the strongest in Prythian, each member being more dangerous than the last. Rhysand was the most powerful Fae that you had ever met, Azriel had the shadows for him and that unfaltering determination. Even Morrigan, who thankfully wasn’t fighting in this war, had that deep rooted instinct that made her someone you better not underestimate. 
And of course there was Tanwyn. If you had to describe her in a few words, you would say that Tanwyn was a Cassian made woman. That was probably why the two of them had gotten along so well since the beginning, and why they had fallen in love with each other. She was the leader of the Valkyries, these brave females from all Prythian who had decided that they were as worthy of their sword as males could be. You had always admired them, and you had the honor to have shared training with the warriors and to be considered as an honorary member of their group. 
It had helped you survive all the battles you had fought already in this damned war, and in this damned place that had become your home.
Your camp was in one of the only plains of the Winter Court. Through the years, it had become a small city, sometimes teeming with life, sometimes haunted by death. 
It was one of those days, where the screams and the dim of the weapons still resonated between the barracks. A freezing wind was blowing, and even though the tents were barely a comfort, few were willing to get out of them. As a result, Cassian and you felt like you were in a ghost town, alone to share some hours for the first time in almost a year. 
The first thing you had noticed was Cassian’s limp. He had tried to hide it from you of course, but you had seen right through it. Then your brother had called you out on the scar that was running on the side of your neck, and you were now sharing the few pieces of information you had about your family. 
“I’ve heard that Azriel can’t leave the High Lord’s side,”  grumbled Cassian. “Even Rhys has no word from him. From what I know he hasn’t even been on the battlefield in months.”
“That’s good news,” you answered. “Though I’m not sure his place is less dangerous than ours.”
“All I know is that he better have a good excuse for giving no word for years. I think I’ll beat his sorry ass for good measure, maybe to remind him of us once this is all over.”
You chuckled. 
“I’m pretty sure he hasn’t forgotten about us - about me at least. We all know I’m his favorite.”
“You’re everyone’s favorite, you little brat.”
You stuck your elbow playfully on your brother’s side. A silence settled - at the moment, you cursed yourself for not using every little second you had with Cassian to make sure he knew everything, that you wanted him safe, that you missed him, that you loved him. But sometimes, it was so overwhelming that you couldn’t find anything to say. 
It was a chance that you were passing by the camp-lord’s tent at that very moment, when he was in the heat of the conversation with what sounded like an envoy. 
“The Gollian Mountains?” Lord Olwahld exclaimed. “But- that’s the eastern part of the court!”
“I know my Lord, but that’s what the lady said.”
You stopped as something had struck a chord. Unlike what Olwahld seemed to believe, the Gollian Mountains weren’t that far from the camp, and if something happened out there, odds were that you would be sent to fight. 
“She said help is needed as soon as possible,” the man insisted. He almost had a pleading tone, and that made your blood freeze in your veins. “My Lord, your camp is the closest from the Mountains, and-”
“No.”
The Lord’s voice thundered, and even though he didn’t know what was happening, Cassian growled. The door-like fabric moved swiftly, and a boy that couldn’t be older than sixteen or seventeen appeared. His face was distorted with anger, and something that looked an awful lot like grief. He didn’t realize you and your brother were here until he almost knocked into you. 
“What’s happening, boy?” asked Cassian. “What news do you have from the Mountains?”
“Death is what is going to happen.” the boy answered darkly. “These females stand no chance against whatever army they’ll face. The Valkyries, they call themselves. After all it doesn’t matter, I’m not even sure there’ll be a single grave to write their name on.”
With that, he turned tails and disappeared between the tents. 
You didn’t remember having ever seen Cassian in such a state of shock. He was there, looking blankly in the void in front of him, his mouth still open as if he was ready to give an answer to the now gone young man. You could only imagine how his brain was working hard, trying to figure out how he could be of any help for Tanwyn - no, how Tanwyn could even be in such grave danger. You weren’t sure yourself of how great the danger was, actually. 
Some courts were actively supporting Hybern’s side; they were ready to do absolutely anything to keep the human race as slaves, even going as far as annihilating the courts ruled by High Lords sympathetic to the human cause. Spring and Autumn were known to unconditionally support for Hybern, and Dawn and Day’s implication in the war was blur. Anyways, strong rumors had circulated in your camps, and Rhysand had confirmed it last time you had seen him a few months ago: Clythia, one of Hybern’s officers, was suspected to be trying to join the Middle, where she could try to rally ancestral creatures to her cause. It was a dangerous bet, thoughtless even, but it could surely tip the balance. 
This was why the Winter court, though will-driven by neutrality since the beginning of the war, had recently agreed to let Illyrian camps be installed in their snowy territory. 
“What am I going to do?”
It was Cassian, and the barely audible tremor of his voice interrupted your train of thoughts. It almost sounded as if he was mourning Tanwyn already, as if he was already holding her lifeless body in his arms and was facing the consequences of a terrible loss. 
“We’re going to help them, Cassian. This is what we are going to do.”
With that, you grabbed your brother’s arm and pulled him forward, forcing him to follow your pace through half of the camp. Your first impulse would have been to barge in Lord Olwahld’s tent and demand soldiers to send to the Valkyries’ side. But the rational part of your mind knew that the Lord would never accept, not for the sake of a group of females and especially not if the little female bastard was the one formulating said demand. No, it would have only thrown away any chance of helping the Valkyries - you needed to think of something else. 
Cassian was silent, almost obediently walking behind you and with no doubts lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even react to the few whispers and whistles on their passage, when he would usually throw a few punches to make sure nothing bad was if only thought about his sister. The only sign that he was still in that head of his was the storm in his hazel eyes. 
By the time you got to your tent, you had already thought of some rudimentary plan. And you hoped that Cassian would come to his senses, because he would be the key to your success. 
“We don’t know much, but the one thing we can be sure of is that Tanwyn will need backup,” you started. It seemed to get Cassian out of his stupor, because he changed his slumped posture for an alert attitude. Your heart felt a bit lighter - your brother would be with you in this. “I think either Spring or Autumn have soldiers ready to take a pass in the mountains to get an easier access to the Middle. It’s only rumors, but it could explain why invading the Winter court when they have stayed out of this. As far as we know, the Valkyries are the only rampart against them.”
“They are about fifty,” Cassian spoke up. “The Gollian Mountains are a hell of a place, and at this period of the year there won’t be a lot of the passages that will be practicable. That leaves four, maybe five key positions that need to be defended. Plus at least two groups placed before and after every passage to make sure they can’t get past the mountains.” Cassian had come to the same conclusion as you. “We need soldiers.”
“We do.”
“Y/N, Olwahld wouldn’t even give us a sword, what makes you think he’ll give us soldiers?”
That was the hardest part of the plan. You knew perfectly that if it was you or Cassian formulating the demand, Olwahld would have you rotting in one of those rudimentary cells for a week before even considering alerting the higher officers, those who were in charge of the discipline in the camps. No, you needed someone else. Someone more important than you. 
The ideal would have been Rhysand’s father, of course. But that wasn’t possible; even though you were closer to him than anyone could think, the High Lord of the Night Court wouldn’t have put a soldier’s life on the line for what he would see as a lost cause. You needed someone who would act on his belief but who would be on your side. 
“We need Rhysand for this,” you said. “One of us needs to alert Rhys, and the other has to go to the Mountains as quickly as possible, because as far as we know, the Valkyries might-”
“I know.” Cassian cut you off with a stern voice. “But what you’re saying is that I will have to warn Rhys while you sneak off the camp to join Tan and the others. Am I right?”
“You are,” you confirmed. “I know you don’t like it,” you added as your brother was on the verge of protesting, “but we both know my word counts for nothing. My presence is only accepted because I’m what they call an easily replaceable sword, because if I’m killed, it means a male isn’t.” Cassian growled, the same reaction he had whenever he was confronted with the treatment his little sister suffered. “Cass, I know you don’t like it, but you know as well as I do that the only way we have to contact Rhys quickly is by sending an official message. Olwahld will simply refuse if I’m the one asking for it, but maybe if it’s you
”
Your voice died in your throat as you realized how fragile that plan was. 
“This looks an awful lot like a desperate attempt,” commented Cassian. “Y/N, do you really believe this is going to work?”
“What other option do we have?” you snapped. “The Valkyries are going to be facing an army on their own, Gods, they could be fighting right as we speak! Cassian, why does it look like you don’t care?”
That was a low blow, you knew it very well. But you had thought that your brother would knock out anyone willing to get between him and Tanwyn. Cassian had never been the voice of reason, definitely not when someone he loved was endangered. And Tanwyn
 He loved her. You both loved her. You both cared deeply for her and the Valkyries, these amazing warriors you admired so much. You couldn’t comprehend why Cassian would let such a thing as doubt prevent him from doing what was right. 
Your last words had hurt him. He had looked down, almost ashamed for a second. Only now did you notice the way he was triturating his hands. You were used to seeing Rhys do this, but not Cassian. Never Cassian. 
“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t have-”
“I care.” Cassian whispered. “I love her, I love her so much
” 
He stayed silent for a few seconds, and you waited. Of course he loved Tanwyn, obviously he cared, and you felt your cheeks burn with shame. Your brother had a reason for being so hesitant. He always had a reason. 
“But what you’re telling me is to let you leave for a fight you’ll likely lose. I just can’t do that, Y/N. I can’t.”
“But if I don’t go-”
“Only one more warrior, no matter how good they are, will not make any difference against an army.”
The voice of reason. 
“We don’t know when Rhys will be able to come,” you objected. “I know they are damned skilled, but I can’t imagine that fifty of them against what could be a whole army could end well. Cassian, I won’t make any difference, but- they need to know help is coming. I might not be able to change the outcome of the fight, but hope could do just that, don’t you think?”
Cassian stayed silent. You could almost see the twirling of his thoughts. Deep down, you hoped he would think of something else, maybe a solution you hadn’t considered yet that would be better than your extremely flawed plan. But when his shoulders dropped, you knew he hadn’t found anything. Your mind wandered and you imagined Cassian agreeing with you, you both parting ways, each gone for a mission you probably wouldn’t be able to fulfill. 
“You better be careful,” he simply said, “or you can be sure I’ll kick your sorry ass when you come back.”
As you discovered a few hours later, leaving an Illyrian war camp readying for another battle was surprisingly easy, especially for someone as insignificant as you. Following Cassian’s instructions, you had gone to the crowded infirmary and pretended to be looking for an injured friend of yours. When you had obviously found out that your friend wasn’t among the wounded, you had used the back door. The latter, which led to a kind of glade where the bodies of the fallen soldiers were left until they were burnt, was barely watched. All you had had to do was to wait until the guards’ attention decreased, and you had sneaked off in the woods. 
Just like Cassian, you couldn’t winnow to the Mountains. Usually, your wings were more than enough and you prided yourself in being able to fly quite fast. But, no matter how fast you were, it was still a few hours long flight to get to the Gollian Mountains. All that you could hope was that the enemy would wait until the next day to attack. Given how capricious the weather could be in that part of Prythian, it wasn’t impossible. 
If everything went as you hoped, Rhys would be aware of the situation by the time you joined the Valkyries. He would follow Cassian back to the camp immediately, order Olwahld to send soldiers and a few hours later, the help your friends needed would be there. 
However, you weren’t an optimistic person, and it was hard to keep hoping everything would go as you so desperately wanted. 
___
The sky was bathed in a soft orange when you finally identified the rugged ridges of the Gollian Mountains. You had been flying close to the ground for almost an hour; you hadn’t wanted to risk being seen by eventual enemies, and the air streams were stronger higher in the sky. The muscles of your whole body were burning - you hadn’t been able to fly for that long in ages. It felt good. 
The roaring of the wind covered the sound of the snow crunching under your feet when you finally landed on the Mountains. You folded your wings tightly and drew your sword, even though you couldn’t see anything alarming. No sign of battle, no sign of the Valkyries. Only the storm was disturbing the peacefulness of the place. 
“It’s been a while, little one.”
It took all of your remaining strength not to jump at the voice that was coming from behind, saving yourself from the humiliation of having been surprised that easily. 
“One could have thought you too old to play hide and seek, Tan.”
Tanwyn chuckled, and took the dozen steps that were still separating her from you. The Valkyrie’s hand was resting nonchalantly on the pommel of her sword, and as far as you could see, she seemed to be unharmed. 
“Did anything happen to Cassian?” she enquired, her voice laced with worry. You hurriedly shook your head. “Then is it possible that my plea for help has been heard?” she asked before you could add anything, to which you nodded. “Good, because my situation is desperate.”
“How could it be? Aren’t you with the Valkyries?”
“I am, but it’s a dozen sailboats that are coming at the very least, we’re not enough,” she sighed. Her eyes were lost somewhere behind you. Only now did you realize how exhausted Tanwyn looked. “All the remaining Valkyries are here, the twenty-six of us. But among them are our youngest recruits and- I can’t let them fight. Eveana is barely sixteen! I won't have those kids’ blood on my hands,” she added after another sight. 
Your blood froze in your veins. Twenty-six. You didn’t dare to ask why half of the Valkyries were missing.
Tanwyn’s eyes were dark, clouded by what looked an awfully lot like fear. They didn’t lighten up when you explained your plan, not even when you mentioned that Cassian would most probably join you to fight with Rhys’ soldiers. She wasn’t even arboring her usual smirk, the one that gave her this permanently cocky expression Cassian loved so much. You had never seen her so unlike herself - so defeated. 
“They know things aren’t looking good.” Tanwyn turned tails, and nodded in the direction of a snowed grove below. You followed her, swallowing the thousand questions that were  burning your throat. “I’ve told the youngest I wanted them back to the Day court. I have an agreement with Kiheera’s parents, they’ll take them in if they protect the domain. They all refuse to leave.” 
“How many are they?”
“Four. Eveana and Melody are promising, but they don’t even have the ribbon yet. Kiheera and Attala have had theirs for barely three months. But none of them really know what war is, and they don't understand that it would be a suicide to stay with us. If your soldiers don’t arrive soon
”
As Tanwyn was telling you more about the conflict between the youngest recruits and herself along with the desperate situation they were in, she guided you through the trees. Eventually, the camp appeared in front of you; it was barely a cluster of tents, probably not efficient against the icy wind but invisible from the sky and, as you would bet, from the valley below. 
The very few Valkyries that you could see were wrapped up in thick furs; one of them, that you had never seen before, brought Tanwyn her cloak. The girl had the dark skin of the Day court, and you wondered if it was Kiheera. Tanwyn confirmed silently. 
Then the both of you crossed the camp and reached a slightly off-centered tent. 
“I haven’t thanked you yet for coming here,” said Tanwyn as she followed you inside. “I’m afraid of the outcome of this for all of us, but it truly means a lot that you came.”
“You know I would never let you down.”
“I know. This is why I’ve promised you that a white ribbon would always be waiting for you.”
You often wondered why you had declined her offer all those years ago. It was just after the Blood Rite, that you had completed with Cassian, Azriel and Rhysand despite the strict interdiction you had received. It had earned you a punishment that the Night Court’s High Lord had tried his best to lessen; even though being forced to leave Windhaven and your brothers for a year had felt like a trip in hell. It was pure chance that the Valkyries had found you in the last couple months of your exile, and the training you had received had been your anchor when you had gotten back to the Illyrian camp. Before you had left, Tanwyn had handed you the ribbon; and it was still in her hand when you had given her your back and had started your journey to join your brothers. 
A silence followed her statement. 
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet,” murmured Tanwyn. 
You knew very well what she was talking about, but you still raised the question, feeling like she needed it to give you the answer. 
“Tanwyn, what happened?” 
“Hybern happened. Did you know that Amarantha and Clythia have brought their army? We found out but
 No one came to help,” she muttered. Her face was veiled, her teeth gritted. “I- I realized too late that it was a trap. I led twenty-five Valkyries to their death.”
She sucked in a harsh breath, and you did your best to keep a hold on yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask who. You clenched your jaw, your fists, everything to help you overcome the wave of grief that was hitting you. You kept repeating to yourself that Tanwyn needed you, that now wasn’t the time or place to grieve. 
“I don’t understand why they still follow me,” she continued with a quieter voice. “Why the youngest left the camp in Day to join us here, why they keep placing their faith in me when I’ve failed them so badly.”
“Because they know that what happened wasn’t your fault,” you answered. “Because they remember all the victories you have offered them, all the times you’d have given your life for theirs.”
“But they are dead!” she exclaimed, and her voice broke.
She looked down, her shoulders slumped and hands shaking. You slowly got closer; you didn’t want her to retreat, as if she were a wounded animal that you were trying to approach. Eventually, you grabbed her forearm and she allowed you to pull her against you. You hugged her, squeezing your arms around her waist and allowing her to grieve in the comfort of a friend’s embrace. She didn’t shed a tear - after all, it was Tanwyn, and Tanwyn never cried. She just let you provide some comfort, perfectly still until you asked the question that was bothering you. 
“Why didn’t you tell us? Cassian or I, I mean.”
Tanwyn slipped out of your arms and gave you her back, probably in order to get a hold her herself before replying with a steady voice:
“Because it happened too quickly. And then
 I didn’t want to worry any of you, not when you are continuously throwed in those bloody battles.”
You nodded, not wanting to scold her when she seemed to be in such a complex and torturous state of mind. Instead, you waited until she spoke up again. 
“I didn’t even ask you - how is Cassian? We haven’t been able to communicate in a while and- well, I know he’s alive, and if something bad had happened to him you’d have told me earlier, but still
”
“He’s okay, as much as he can be with that war going on. He’s been hurt a few days ago- nothing too bad, don’t worry!” you said when Tanwyn’s eyes widened. “A nasty thrust on his leg, it earned him a temporary limp and a few days of leave. He’s arrived at my camp early this morning.”
“And he still wants to fight?”
Tanwyn’s reaction took you aback. 
“Well, you know as well as I do that there’s no stopping him,” you mumbled. 
She rolled her eyes, but there was a ghost of a soft smile on her face.
“That imbecile.”
A loud call for Tanwyn echoed suddenly somewhere in the camp. The piece of fabric that served as a door opened brutally and a familiar face appeared. You’d recognize those vibrant green eyes and the crown of fiery hair anywhere - Idril, Tanwyn’s second. She was the one who had found you near their camp and dragged you to the rest of the Valkyries. If she had been reluctant to your presence at the beginning, she had become one of your closest friends in the group, and your favorite hand-to-hand fight partner. 
For a second, Idril seemed to hesitate between acknowledging your presence, which was visibly a good surprise as her eyes were almost sparkling, and the pressing news she undoubtedly had to give to Tanwyn. But she settled for a nod in your direction before urging Tanwyn and you to follow her outside. 
The three of you joined the group formed by all the Valkyries gathered around a fire. The flames seemed brighter than ever in the snowy mountains now plunged into the darkness of the night. You noticed that everyone was armed, as if the fight was imminent. A wave of panic crashed into you, almost making you stumble and stealing your breath. If Hybern’s soldiers were here already
 There was no way the twenty-seven of you would repel hundreds of men, even if you had home advantage. Your mind wandered to Cassian and his own mission. You had refrained yourself from thinking of what would happen if he couldn’t contact Rhys, pushing all of your worries behind thick barriers and focusing on your next step. But the outcome of this desperate attempt would be known sooner than you’d like, and you couldn’t keep hiding from reality. 
Even when your trust in your future was slowly crumbling, you still managed to keep an ear in the conversation that was conducted next to you. From what you had gathered, one of the two sentinels that were keeping an eye on the northern part of the pass had come back a few minutes ago, announcing that five boats displaying sails in Hybern colors were following the coast toward the small beach. According to Idril, disembarking the soldiers and having them trudge in the snow and across the forest to reach the pass wouldn’t take more than three hours. 
There was no sign of an Illyrian detachment coming to help. 
You glanced at Tanwyn, who was giving orders. 
The battle was for soon. 
___
You could hear Eveana’s heavy breath somewhere on your left. When you glanced at her, you noticed that she was trembling, and even in the dim light of the full moon you could see her white knuckles gripping her spear tightly. No breathing exercise could help her overcome the terror that was creeping up her spine; just like you knew it couldn’t help you either. On your right, Ylva, the only Illyrian female of the Valkyries, was crouched down, her sword laid on the snow and her lips moving silently. You had never gotten along well with Ylva, and if she had never told you why she didn’t want to have to deal with you, you knew that odds were that she envied you for having kept your wings intact. She hadn’t been given the same chance. Now, in the dead of the night, you felt closer to her. The last member of your little group was Tanwyn herself. She had refused to let Eveana or you out of her sight, the first because she wanted to be able to send her away if things went south and you
 Probably for the same reason. 
You were on the front line, even though it was far from being like the one you were used to. Tanwyn and Idril had agreed with the plan Cassian had enunciated what felt like years ago : only four passages connecting the beach and the pass were usable, and each of them was defended by a group of four. The remaining Valkyries were after the pass, meant to be the last rampart between Prythian and Hybern. 
You were terrified - that was the least you could say. It was unlike any other battle you had fought, unlike any training you ever had. You couldn’t stay as still as Tanwyn, your breath was caught in your throat, your hands didn’t even respond to you and you couldn’t keep a good grip on your sword. Suddenly, there were so many things that you regretted - not saying goodbye to Cassian, not giving him a message for Azriel, Mor, Rhys and his family. You had never properly thanked Cassian for all his sacrifices, for all those years he had fought alone against the world to make sure you had food and clothes. You never had the chance to mourn the fallen Valkyries, you had never told Tanwyn how important she was to you, how you knew that Cassian and her were made for each other. 
If you wanted a chance to do it, you’d have to fight your way to the sunrise. 
Positioned like this, four against the Mother knew how many soldiers, you could only pray that Cassian and Rhysand would come to your rescue. 
They never came. 
___________
- Present time -
The realization hit you and brought your knees back to the ground. You were surrounded by blood, crimson rivers that were shining under the sun and contrasting violently with the snow. A disgustingly sweet and metallic smell was brought to your nostrils in waves carried by the wind. It was overwhelming and, soon enough, you found yourself unable to even think past this abominable scent. It made you sick, made you desperate to expel all the air of this universe so that you would stop being surrounded by this atrocity. It turned your stomach and you whimpered as you emptied its meager content on the snow. Tears were burning your eyes and you got on your feet again, almost thankful for the putrid smell that was now covering the scent of the blood.
Looking around, all you could see was an abandoned shield near a tree. You didn’t recognize the place - even though you were unable to recall any memory of the battle, you still had in mind a vivid picture of your waiting in the dark before the beginning of the fight, and you were then surrounded by many more trees than this. 
Slowly, you made your way to the shield to grab it. You were unable to lift your left wing and left it dragging on the snow. You looked around once more - and immediately regretted it. 
You felt sick again. You couldn’t miss them. Bodies lying on the ground, some half buried under the snow, some awfully mutilated. Your eyes stopped on the fragile frame of the girl Tanwyn had wanted safe, away from this butchery. Eveana, from her sixteen years of life,  had fought this battle and had died spear in hand. 
You found Tanwyn only a few meters away from Eveana. Her skin was cold, covered with the blood of so many soldiers that her scent had disappeared. You fell to your knees and cradled her body against you. 
Her head resting against your shoulder, her hand crushed in yours, you cried all the tears you had left and all the tears she had never shed. 
You cried for your friend, for Cassian’s lover, for the warrior and for the woman who had believed in you. 
You cried for that fucking ribbon that you had declined, for the day you had chosen to leave her to go back to your own family. 
You cried for all the following visits to the Valkyries, for all these times that had brought you closer and closer to Tanwyn. 
You cried in hope to expel all the pain she had accumulated in her life; because you couldn’t imagine a world without her, because the Valkyries would mourn her forever. 
You cried until you had no tears and no voice left, until your heart was numb and its broken pieces buried in this cursed snow. 
And when you stopped crying, you carefully untied the white ribbon that was still adorning Tanwyn’s forehead. Using your sword, you cut the piece of fabric in two, stuffed a part in your leathers and tied the other to the pommel of the blade she was still gripping. You laid her body delicately on the ground and crawled away, unable to bear the weight of the loss, until your arms gave up on you and you fell face first in the snow. 
You closed your eyes. 
___________
His blood was boiling. 
Cassian wasn’t even feeling stupid for that mistake that put him in this miserable cell. No, his clouded mind was wholly focused on how he had been unable to help his sister and his lover, how both were risking their lives and counting on him. And he? He was rotting behind those bars because he couldn’t control his own fucking tongue. 
Olwahld had listened to him. He had agreed to let him leave the camp to alert Rhys of that dangerous threat and, may the Mother be his witness, Cassian had believed that the Lord wasn’t such a bastard as he had first thought. He had felt like he could finally breathe - he would soon join you, join Tanwyn and the Valkyries, and you would all fight side to side. 
Then it had slipped out of his mouth - the Valkyries. Olwahld, when he had realized what it was all about, had erupted in rage before sending Cassian in this damned cell. 
It had been days. 
Rumors went fast in the camps, especially when it concerned Prythian and the war. And he had heard the most terrifying ones: some said that Hybern armies had invaded the eastern part of the Winter Court, that the scout sailboats had wiped out all resistance to make the path clear for the thousand of following ones. 
He didn’t know what the truth was, and it was driving him crazy. 
He had tried everything. Negotiation - hours of pleas and propositions of punishment in compensation for any problem him contacting Rhys could cause had been lost in the night. When he had realized it was pointless, he had tried corruption - he had promised luxurious rewards from the High Lord himself for the help of anyone willing to let him out of his cell. He had been met with laughs, and the few curious Illyrians had been put on burning duty, a nice word to say that the mounds of dead bodies were getting too big and needed to be reduced to ashes. Corruption wasn’t the solution, so he decided to try something that was more like him -  destruction. He had screamed, let his rage ignite his veins and unleashed all he had left on those damned bars. 
All he had gained was bruised fists and a stake made of ash wood wedged in his shoulder, which might have been another reason for his boiling blood.
But on the morning of the eighth day in that cell, he woke up from his agitated sleep with a strong feeling in his guts. It was as if the Cauldron had spilled its burning content in his stomach; he knew that something would happen soon with such certainty that it physically hurt to wait for it. 
He waited for hours, and nothing happened. 
He waited for so long that he started to wonder if his feverish state wasn’t playing tricks on his mind - it had worsened considerably the previous days, up to the point that his vision was almost permanently blurry and his skin hot enough to heat all the cells adjacent to his.
And then, suddenly, it happened. 
It started with an unusual noise outside - on the other side of the jail, that the little opening in the wall didn’t allow him to see. It sounded like half of the Illyrians of the camp were having a heated argument, though Cassian couldn’t hear any sound indicating anyone had come to blows. The growing turmoil abruptly stopped - at this moment, a few Illyrians ran past his cell toward what had caught Cassian’s attention. 
Someone roared virulent insults, and Cassian’s heart leaped in his ribcage. 
It was Rhysand. 
___
Less than an hour later, the door of his cell swiftly opened, but it wasn’t his brother who was standing in the opening. Lord Olwahld looked down at him with a carefully neutral face, and the struggle to stay cordial to a bastard he despised had his voice laced with disgust. 
“Lord Rhysand has brought to my attention that you shouldn’t be locked up in this cell,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “He asked me to offer my full apologies to you, and to lead you to his tent.” 
Cassian jumped on his feet - and stumbled miserably when dizziness hit him. However, no matter how bad he felt, he wouldn’t give Olwahld the pleasure to have him asking for help - so he squared his jaw and followed the Lord. 
The first thing he noticed was the total absence of people in front of Rhys’ tent. Then, when Olwahld opened the door of the tent for Cassian to enter, the smell hit him and almost brought him to his knees. It was blood. 
Fearing for his brother’s life, his heart racing disorderly, Cassian rushed inside. He was met with a seemingly furious Rhysand, and above all a Rhysand who was walking on his two feet. 
“Rhys-”
He wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but there were so many things happening all at once in that tent that his dizzy brain couldn’t process it all. First, Rhys. Then he realized that the bright yellow spot behind his brother was attached to the body of a female he knew all too well - he wanted to ask what could have brought Mor here, but then the horde of healers, among which he recognized Madja - who was supposed to be with the High Lord - interrupted his disordered thoughts. He barely noticed the envoy who had begged for help what felt like centuries ago - the young man was standing in a corner of the tent.
Cassian stuttered words even he didn’t understand, but his voice died in his throat when Rhys engulfed him in a strong embrace. It felt like they hadn’t seen each other in centuries. 
“He didn’t tell me- this Olwahld bastard is going to pay,” growled Rhysand. “For you and for Y/N.”
Your name rang a bell in Cassian’s sick mind - and this time, even though it tore his throat apart, he managed to articulate a comprehensible question. 
“What happened to her?”
Rhys’ breath seemed to get suddenly caught in his throat, and he looked away from Cassian. He looked away, that was something that Cassian had never seen and it terrified him. 
Rhys took a step aside, and Cassian made a shattered noise. 
You were barely recognizable. The healers gathered around your unconscious body were hiding most of your injuries, but Cassian could see your face - bruised, gaunt, devastatingly broken. 
The sight brought him to his knees. 
Rhys took a step, but Mor emerged from the group of healers and rushed to his side. Gently, silently, as if he were a wounded animal, she approached her hands from his arm and helped him up, not faltering once under his weight. 
Cassian didn’t realize that the silent exchange between Rhys and his cousin was about him; he only reacted when Mor pulled him to the exit of the tent, which made him tear his eyes off your broken frame. 
“No- no!” 
He tried to fight, but, weakened as he was with the fever and his own wound, Mor had no trouble forcing him to follow her to another tent. 
His mind was grappling with the last image it had of you. Hurt, unconscious, suffering, alone. He didn’t want to know what it meant for Tanwyn, for the Valkyries; he didn’t even want to think of the possibility of losing you. 
Falling unconscious felt like a benediction from the Cauldron itself.
___
When he woke up again, the camp was plunged into the dark. A fire was bathing the inside of the tent in a comforting light, and it warmed the air enough for him to remain shirtless without being cold. 
The fever was gone, and so was the dull pain in his shoulder he had almost gotten used to. 
He closed his eyes again, and the image of your unconscious body appeared in his mind. The sight sent a jolt of electricity in his body, and he jumped on his feet. No faltering came to bother him, and he promptly left the tent, rushing to go back to where he had seen you
 When was it? A few hours ago? A few days? 
When he finally reached the tent and rushed in, he wasn’t expecting the peaceful atmosphere. You were still unconscious, still gaunt and pale and bruised, but there was no blood anymore. Your hair was clean, the bandages he could see were pristine white, your features seemed more relaxed than the last time he had seen you. 
There were no healers anymore, only Mor and Rhys, both snuggled against each other on the floor at the foot of your bed. Mor was sleeping soundly, but Rhys’ eyes were staring at Cassian full of worry for him, as the latter realized when his brother spoke up. 
“Are you feeling better?” Cassian nodded, his own gaze fixed on you. “Then take the chair, the sun will only be up in a few hours.” 
Indeed, a single chair had been placed next to your bed, as if someone knew that Cassian wouldn’t leave your side ever again. Knowing fully well who had had that attention, the latter felt a knot forming in his throat. He couldn’t even speak, even though he wanted to know what the bloody hell was happening. 
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, brother,” murmured Rhysand. “It will be a long day. You should rest.”
Cassian nodded again and sat, wincing when his rigid muscles reminded him of the last few days. When he realized that he was still shirtless, he grabbed a blanket that was still folded on your bed and wrapped himself in it, getting ready for an unknown amount of time without sleeping. 
He wouldn’t close an eye before you woke up. 
___
No one had expected that you would come back to consciousness so quickly. Despite all his resolutions, Cassian had dozed off at some point and he jolted awake at the soft noise of crumpling fabric just next to him. 
“Y/N!” he shouted when his eyes found yours open. “Oh, thank Gods you’re awake, Y/N- Gods!” 
And with all the restraint he could manage, all the delicacy he knew you needed, he pulled you to his chest and broke down when your arms wrapped around him. He broke down like a kid and sobbed loudly, his face hidden in your neck to smell your scent. He was completely oblivious to Mor and Rhys’ presence. The rest of Prythian could have been burning, he didn’t care. 
He had almost lost you, his little sister, the only being in this damn world who shared his blood. He had agreed to that reckless plan, had let you leave on your own, then he had failed you and you had come back injured, almost dead. 
Cassian felt a hand on his shoulder, and then Rhys was hugging you both, and Mor joined him. 
You all stayed like this for what felt like hours. 
You didn’t say a word, and fell asleep again soon after Cassian let you go. 
___________
You had been awake for some time, but you hadn’t opened your eyes yet. 
You remembered little from the previous days - you truly had no idea of how you had come back to that camp. You didn’t know why or how Rhys and Mor, whose scents were mixed with Cassian’s and impregnating everything around you, had come over here. 
All you could remember was the little piece of fabric you had hidden in the leathers you were still wearing, the magnificent fire you had lighted for the Valkyries, two silhouettes disappearing in the night. You had a faint memory of Cassian’s voice in your ear, of his sobs that had wrecked your already damaged heart. 
And now, the tent and your family around you. 
You would have so many things to tell them, and yet you had so little restraint on the grief that was striking you

Calloused fingers brushed against your forehead, stopping all of sudden your train of thoughts. You opened your eyes. Cassian was sitting next to you, his hand still close to your face, his gaze fixed on you. His frown lessened and he even managed a weak smile. 
“You scared me,” he croaked out. 
In his bloodshot eyes, you could see all that he didn’t tell you. All that he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead, he helped you sit and only murmured soothing words when you winced in pain. 
“Why-”, you tried to ask, but a coughing fit that burned your entire being interrupted you. 
Cassian’s hand only left your back when your breathing stabilized. 
“I believe it will be better to wait to have this conversation,” said a voice that you hadn’t heard in months. 
Rhys had indeed stepped into the tent, and was holding the fabric for Mor to follow him. The latter rushed to your side and engulfed you in a hug. Rhys had stopped next to Cassian, but he was smiling warmly in your direction. 
You knew what they were trying to do; whether it was Mor with her sweet words or Rhys with this smile that didn’t reach his eyes, they were desperately trying to break the lingering tension around you. Cassian obviously couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and it was more than understandable - he knew. 
Of course he knew, and nothing would ever be the same again. 
You felt a soft brush against your mental shields, and opened a tiny door for Rhys to whisper in your mind. 
I found you among the bodies. I know how it ended, but not how it happened. Do you want to show me?
He didn’t elaborate - he didn’t need to. It was a kind proposition, one made for you to avoid all the suffering that would be brought by the necessity to tell them what happened in the mountains. You wanted to accept, even though you felt like it would make you a coward. 
But you realized something that made you change your mind and refuse Rhys’ offer: those two silhouettes that you remembered, you knew you would never see them again. No one would. 
And it made you the only person able to pass on the Valkyries’ legacy like they deserved. 
So, one day, you would tell them. 
You knew that you would eventually remember it all - your nightmares would be plagued with scenes of the horror you had endured in the Mountains. You would never forget the crimson rivers in the snow, the weapons stuck in the frozen ground, the dozen corpses surrounding you. The putrid smell of the funeral pyre would stay engraved in your mind, just like your muscles would always feel the weight of Tanwyn’s lifeless body in your arms. The sharp guilt would keep twisting your insided every time you would picture the silhouette of the two Valkyries that had left after the pyre was lit up. You didn’t even know their name. 
One day, you promised yourself, you would tell them. 
But, as cowardly as it probably made you look, you were unable to tell them now. 
You didn’t dare to look at your family. In your mind, Rhys whispered that they understood - they all knew how painful the wounds left to the survivors could be. 
Still, there was one thing you had to do. 
A sharp pain shot through your arm as you slipped your hand under your blanket. You searched through your leather for a second, and met Cassian’s gaze as you handed him the ribbon. 
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violetsiren90 · 1 year ago
Text
All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader
💜 Chapter 2 💜
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Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)
Pairing: idol!Namjoon x f!Reader
Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured
Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?
Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; Talk and depictions of cancer, its treatment, and the symptoms of both; implication of some disregard for personal agency by entertainment and medical industries; MC is diagnosed with asthma and experiences symptoms; flashbacks of a distressing situation; soulmate first touch & subsequent skinship; partial disrobing for medical purposes; medical setting and minor treatments; some social awkwardness; talk of food, eating, and alcohol consumption in the context of a soulmate AU
Author's Note: Chapter 2 is here! I tried my best to write Namjoon's response under the circumstances, but honestly I don't know how well it was executed. Let me know what you think in the comments/asks! I'm super open to constructive criticism and feedback. Also, I did my best with the Korean phrases and medical jargon. If anyone has more extensive knowledge on those subjects and wants to fact-check, please let me know!
P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or ask!
P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! đŸ§œâ€â™€ïžđŸ’œ
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"At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.”
~ Pablo Neruda
Chapter 2: Touching Me, Touching You
    When you touched down at Incheon International Airport, you and Matt were greeted by a rather unnecessarily large party of Hybe personnel in black plainclothes wearing masks who snatched up your baggage and ushered you into the first of a small fleet of black SUV's. The member of the legal advisory team who had visited you in the states, Choi Kang Dae, was riding shotgun and speaking into a cell phone that had not left his ear since departing the baggage claim. In the row behind you was another man you assumed to be a translator, given his fluency in English, but who was currently chopping it up with Matt in Korean, and beside him a large, serious, silent man whose eyes kept traveling to you every now and again. You assumed that meant that the rest of the ensemble filling the vehicles behind you were security, which somehow made you feel less rather than more at ease.
The further you advanced in traffic through the busy streets of Seoul, the more anxious you became. A thousand questions began to flood your brain as your heart began to hammer in your chest. If all these people had come to meet you, were you headed to the hospital now? Weren't you supposed stop at your accommodations first? If you didn't, would you even have a chance to shower a day's worth of airport off before meeting your soulmate? Were you about to bond right now? Would people be watching? Would it hurt? Why hadn't you ever thought of these things before? You felt a familiar tightness in your chest and pulled out your inhaler. An asthma attack right now? They always seemed to strike at the most inopportune times.
Matt was suddenly turning to you.
    "Hey, you okay?" he asked, looking at the inhaler you were shaking for a second puff.
You slowly exhaled and nodded.
    "I'm fine. But where are we going right now, can you ask them?"
The translator asked the Kang Dae something in Korean, and after he responded, the other man turned to you.
    "We're going to the hospital. Namjoon-ssi had a seizure last night due to a prolonged high-grade fever, so we are trying to act as quickly as possible to avoid further complications."
Matt turned to the translator.
    "This should have been the first thing we heard when we stepped off that plane. I'm not trying to play hardball here, but we're going to have to be communicated with about every step of this process so we can decide how we're going to respond. This was in the contract, communication and a chance to speak with me before she makes any step in this process..."
Matt slipped in and out of English as the attorney apologetically reassured him through the translator of their full intent to follow the contractual specifications. You felt sick, and your heart continued to hammer - though now for different reasons. You had been worried about a shower while he was fighting for his life. This was no time for nerves. You had to fight for his life too.
    When the vehicle pulled into the ambulance bay, you and Matt were handed surgical masks and ushered, with security and other Hybe personnel in tow, through the ICU and into a massive steel elevator. You watched the round button number "5" light up red as Kang Dae pushed it with a gloved hand. After the brief assent, the doors opened into a space that looked like it was straight out of a Star Trek episode - floor to ceiling white, blinding fluorescent lights, and hospital workers covered from head to toe in sterile garments ebbing and flowing in urgent silence to and fro to the rhythmic serenading hums and beeps of medical equipment. You blinked in the offending brightness.
Your party was immediately approached by a small woman with a tablet and stylus who addressed Kang Dae. You heard your name mentioned. You heard Matt's. After a brief exchange with the Hybe attorney, Matt relayed that you were going to meet with Namjoon's oncologist. Kang Dae turned to address the security staff, and his words were met with nods and murmurs of acknowledgment except by the tall, serious man from the SUV, who responded to the attorney in a low but firm tone, his eyes flashing over to you as he spoke. You looked over to Matt, your brow creased in question. He watched as Kang Dae concluded the exchange and lead your now small group of four to follow the petite woman down a long, wide hall. As you walked, Matt leaned down to whisper in your ear.
    "It appears the indignant gentleman is your personal bodyguard. Seems he's reluctant to stay behind with the rest of security."
You glanced in surprised curiosity over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of the guard seated beside the rest of the team, elbows propped on his knees and hands clasped under his chin, a pensive expression on his rugged features, before he disappeared from view as you rounded a bend.
    The hall connected to a labyrinth of others, snaking off left and right, and punctuated with massive, heavy doors. Your guide abruptly swung left to face one of the entrees, flashing a badge card across a sensor which beeped, allowing her to push it inward. It opened into a suite of rooms much homier than the atmosphere behind you, though every bit as sterile.
In the vestibule was a small acrylic table surrounded by matching chairs. As you passed through you noted to the right, a small kitchenette, and to the left a rather large bathroom. At the end of the suite, you shuffled into a large room, separated on the far left end by a curtain. The space in which you stood was fitted with grey leather furniture, a tall bamboo plant in the corner, and a low acrylic coffee-table. An older, distinguished looking man in a white jacket stood from where he had been seated in one of the arm chairs and bowed. Your group bowed in return, and the translator asked that you be seated.
Dr. Na, as the man in the coat was introduced, would run through some last matters with you before you were to meet your soulmate. He relayed through the translator that this hospital was state of the art, Korea's finest, and a frontrunner in successful experimental treatments for cancer and other genetic diseases. The room you were occupying, he said, was a suite meant for long-term inpatient care, and would be nearly identical to the space you would share with Namjoon for the remainder of his inpatient treatment. He explained that Namjoon's condition has been detected far later than was desirable, and that treatments had included invasive surgery and aggressive rounds of chemotherapy, which had slowed, but not stopped the spread of tumors throughout his body. He said that Namjoon had displayed extreme physical and emotional resilience, but that his will to fight the disease overtaking his body had begun to wane with his strength and increasingly burdensome symptoms from both the cancer and its treatment.
At this point, Dr. Na turned to face Matt full on, and earnestly imparted to him while gesticulating at you. Matt's brow furrowed, and he nodded as he listened to the oncologist before turning serious eyes toward you. Kang Dae began to say something, but the doctor held up his hand while also turning his eyes toward you with an expectant gaze. 
    "Y/n," Matt began, interlacing his fingers as he often did when trying to choose his words carefully, "Dr. Na says that there is not a lot of research around treating cancer, especially at such an advanced stage, with the soulmate bond. There are accounts of it having seemingly miraculous effects on injury and illness, but none that have been objectively measured. It has been scientifically proven to a degree that soulmates bring about peak physical conditions in one another through the bond...over time. The thing the good doctor here really wants you to understand is that there is no guarantee that there is enough time in our situation. He says that bonding with him is going to be a major risk. If the treatment isn't successful and Namjoon should pass, that would mean your ultimate death soon after."
Matt's face had lost most of its stoicism. He looked deeply worried. He looked like he wanted you to get on a plane with him back to the States. He looked like he knew what you were going to do instead. You see, you had already thought about it - the possibility of death. You nodded.
     "Tell him I understand, Matt," you said calmly, "Tell him I'd like to meet Namjoon-ssi."
Matt stared at you for a beat, as if debating with himself before turning back to relay your message to Dr. Na. The oncologist nodded, and then turned to you and asked another question in Korean. The translator explained that the doctor wanted to know if you understood the basic implications of the soul-bond. You sighed. You did.  You knew that once bonded you would be reliant on each other for nourishment and survival until the end of your natural lives, and that the bond once established was irreversible. You knew the bond was initiated and maintained through skin-to-skin contact. You knew that the bond changed your body chemistry to no longer need food or water, and that food would eventually be rejected by the body like poison. You knew these things because you had done extensive research, not because anyone in the company asking for you to give over your body and soul had tried to make you aware. They had been interested in matters of signatures and compensation. How considerate of someone to ask you now, you thought with some contempt. You wondered what Namjoon knew, what he had been told, what he had been asked. 
     "I would like to meet my soulmate now," you said suddenly, cutting through the exchange between Dr. Na and Kang Dae.
All eyes turned on you, leaving in half-finished sentences a wake of mild surprise. "I know what I'm getting into on my end of things. You had expressed before that time was of the essence and I would like to be brought to him now."
Matt relayed your response to the group, and the doctor nodded. Soon you were being handed a hospital gown, and a sports bra, underwear, and socks from your suitcase - that you realized with a bit of alarm and indignation, you had not given anyone permission to retrieve - and were instructed to shower and change into these items. 
     You slipped into the bathroom and sank down on the closed toilet, dropping your head onto the little bundle of clothes in your arms.  In your first few moments alone in over twenty-four hours, everything was beginning to hit like a volley of arrows. Agendas, agendas. Hybe wanted your soulmate. The hospital wanted to beat his cancer. You wanted to help him live. But what did he want? Had anyone asked? Would he be honest, if they did? Not for the first time, something squeezed in your chest at the thought of him. But this time, it was stronger. Your head shot up from your lap. You had somewhere to be.
    After a quick and thorough wash-up, you padded into the hall where the little group awaited you. You were self-conscious in your limited attire, and you stood awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the next as people murmured in Korean. A nurse, who had joined the small throng, approached you, slipping a hospital bracelet with your name and Hangul characters and little numbers around your wrist and handing you a pair of grey slippers. Matt turned to you.
    "This is it, kiddo. You're going to go with Dr. Na and have your vitals taken, have some blood drawn, and then you'll go meet him."
Matt sighed deeply, his eyes searching yours. He took a backward glance and stepped just a bit closer, placing a hand on your shoulder.
"You sure about this?"
You nodded.
    "Yes, Matt, I'm sure."
He pulled his mouth in into a tense line, his brows drawing together.
    "That face you're making, that defiance in your eyes," his hand fell from your shoulder, "You could be his twin. I know I can't change your mind now. Nothing could."
You gave a knowing smile. He wasn't wrong. 
    "I'm gonna be okay, Matt. I'll see you tomorrow. Call my mom and tell her things went fine. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Matt scratched the back of his head, regarding you thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. He bent to press a kiss to your forehead, and turned to make his polite goodbyes.
    The nurse ushered you down the hall and into a room that looked a little more like a typical hospital room with a gauze-covered table, a scale, and other vaguely familiar machines and equipment. After she had collected the desired data and taken a vial of your blood, she made a page in Korean, and then motioned for you to follow her. She took you down another series of passages and finally, when you were sure Theseus himself couldn't have found his way back, she stopped in front of a large steel door and scanned her badge.
Room number 594.
The door opened on its heavy hinges, swinging slowly inward. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You realized the moment you crossed the threshold  that you didn't have your things. You didn't have your phone, or your bag, or the book that was inside it, or what was between the pages of the book.
You thought about pear-shaped Italian cheese as you crossed through the kitchen area.
You thought about little Diana trying to stop your mother from crying as she lay on the floor of the kitchen, body shaking with sobs, as you moved into large open room at the end of the suite.
And then, there he was. It was all you could do not to gasp.
    You would never have recognized him for the man in the photo Diana had shoved into your face last week. Sitting propped up in a large hospital bed, he was covered up to the waist in blankets. His frame, though unmistakably large, was gaunt, and his white tee draped around him like something that used to fit - patches and wires visible across his chest through the cotton fabric. His long arms were thinner than they should have been, ashy, and littered with bruises. His head leaned back against the pillows, he wore a black beanie low on his brow, but not low enough to hide the naked skin where his eyebrows had been. His full lips were chapped and parted as he labored somewhat to breathe. The doctor was speaking to a tall man in a black tee and jeans beside the bed. Namjoon was watching them, until, suddenly, his gaze flicked to you. Your breath caught in your chest. His eyes were unchanged. Something flooded your veins.
    "I need to speak with Namjoon-ssi, please," you said abruptly, turning to the doctor and the man beside him.
They looked at you, quizzically. You cleared your throat to speak again, slower and more firmly.
"Could I be alone with him, for a moment? I need to speak with him before we begin."
The doctor turned to say something to the tall man, but a voice from the hospital bed addressed them in a soft, deep timbre. The tall man glanced at you and then at Namjoon and replied. They held a short exchange before both he and the doctor filed reluctantly out of the room, taking the nurse with them.
Namjoon sat further up in the bed, his face contorting in pain as you approached him. You stood a few feet from where he sat, your hands inexplicably itching to reach out for him. You clasped them behind your back.
    "Hello," he, rasped.
Even the hoarseness couldn't hide the warmth of his voice. You thought his eyes and his voice must be made of the very same stuff. You were suddenly a different kind of nervous. You didn't even register your own initiative to speak as the question came tumbling out.
    "Do you want to live?"
Your soulmate blinked in surprise.
    "What?"
You took a breath and repeated yourself, this time with intention.
    "Do you want to live?" You asked again. "I know there are plenty of people who want you too, but I want to know what you want."
He regarded you in intent silence for a long moment.
    "Yes," he said finally, his cadence thoughtful and deliberate, "Yes, I want to live. I wasn't sure I did, but I do. I do now."
You exhaled a little breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. 
    "Okay, good," you nodded, looking away from his intent gaze as you fought, again, the surging urge to reach for him.
His lips quirked into a little smirk at your reaction.
    "I was going to ask you a question too, but after introductions," those eyes caught yours again, teasingly, and the little smile deepened just a bit, pressing a dimple into his sunken cheek.
The misery he was living in and he was teasing you? You felt something flutter a little in your chest which you willed yourself to ignore.
    "I'm sorry," you bit back a smile, glancing away a bit bashfully, "I just needed to know that you had agency over what was happening here, that it was what you wanted. If no one else was going to give you that choice...well, I was."
He regarded you silently again before addressing you.
    "It's good to meet you, Y/n-ssi. I'm Kim Namjoon."
You couldn't suppress a smirk at his stubbornness, and at the fact that he already knew your name, like you knew his.
    "It's good to meet you, too, Namjoon-ssi," you replied softly.
He suddenly leaned back in the bed, wincing, his chest heaving a bit. You looked over at the heart monitor that beeped beside him to see that his pulse was rising.
    "Should I call in the doctor?" You asked in concern.
He shook his head weakly. 
    "Not yet," he pressed out, with effort. "I...need...to know..."
You stepped closer to hear him.
    "Know what?" He closed his eyes , bringing a hand over his chest as the beeping slowed.
    "You...could...die...trying to..." he broke into a bought of coughs that was obviously painful. Once he had caught his breath, he rasped, "Are you sure, Y/n-ssi?"
    "Yes," you answered without hesitation. "Yes, I'm sure. This is my choice. I'm sure."
He opened his eyes. You held each other in a silent gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something. He didn't. He merely nodded and asked,
    "You ready, then?"
You met his questioning gaze with a wry smile and what you hoped were steady eyes as you answered.
    "Ready as I'll ever be."
    After the staff had returned to the room, the tall man in plainclothes introduced himself as Sejin, Namjoon's manager. He gave you a deep bow, which you returned, thanking you in practiced English for agreeing to bond with the idol - something that made you uncomfortable all the way down to your bones, and which you tried to dismiss without being impolite. The doctor spoke to Namjoon at some length, gesticulating to you several times. Sejin nodded along as the nurse typed notes onto her tablet.
You felt a bit frustrated, being on the outside of what so immediately concerned you. You were on the verge of asking for Matt to be brought in when Namjoon turned to you. 
    "The doctor says that while he understands first touch is an intimate experience, that he and two nurses will need to be present to monitor my vitals. My heart is on the weaker side these days."
He looked almost contrite as he said it and your chest squeezed. You nodded understandingly. He might be your soulmate, but you knew this wasn't a meet-cute. This was clinical. What was about to happen between you was a treatment. The doctor continued, and a nurse came around the bed to where you stood and waited expectantly as Namjoon turned to you, this time with an unmistakably apologetic look on his drawn features.
    "Dr. Na says that if first contact goes smoothly, we'll need to begin treatments aggressively, which means as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. I guess they want us both in just undergarments."
Ah, hence the hospital gown.
You felt heat creep up your neck. Under any other circumstances you would have been upset at the lack of privacy of it all, but these weren't like any circumstances you had ever been prepared to anticipate. You were going to have to figure the boundaries out as you went.
The nurse beside you rolled up a chair for you to sit in beside the bed, facing Namjoon. She untied and tugged the top of your hospital gown down to place a heart monitor on your chest, your soulmate respectfully averting his gaze.
When all the necessary preparations had been made, you found yourself sitting in a swivel chair cranked up to reach the height of the hospital bed, socked feet not touching the ground. You were facing Namjoon, who kept sitting forward, much to the chagrin of the nurses who kept gently but impatiently guiding him back against the pillows. You felt a sick feeling creep into the pit of your stomach as you glanced at the second nurse wheel in a defibrillator. How bad could this possibly be? Would it hurt? You steeled yourself as Namjoon sat forward again, turning up the palm of his large right hand which rested on the covers beside you.
    "It's time," he murmured softly, eyes on you as you gave one more glance to the doctor, who nodded, and giving in to an urge you had kept at bay since you entered the room you slipped your hand into his.
    A jolt shot through your body like an intense electric pulse. It hurt, like relentless aftershocks of overstimulation to sensitive flesh...and yet if felt good. So good. You had instinctively pulled to yank your hand away from the pure surprise of it, but you had tugged yourself back to no avail. You opened your eyes (you hadn't remembered closing them) to see Namjoon, head thrown back against the pillows, lips parted and eyes screwed shut as he clutched your hand in a vice grip. You glanced at the heart monitor spitting out beeps consistent with well over a hundred beats per minute. Was that yours or his? But you couldn't very well hold a coherent thought in your mind as warmth began to flood your body, followed by a tingling sensation that seemed to fizzle up from the base of your spine and trickle down your limbs.
Raising suddenly heavy eyes, you realized that you were swaying a bit on your feet. When did you stand? And you were much, much closer to Namjoon - your hand was curling around the base of his bicep, your elbow in his palm, as you pressed every possible square centimeter of your bare arm to his. His eyes were open now and he was looking at you as his chest rose and fell. You returned his gaze, unfocused, drunk on the sensations spreading through your being.
You blinked as you heard the doctor speak, but neither of you tore your eyes away, and as if in a trace, as the nurses helped you out of your clothes, and you crawled into the bed and slotted yourself against his side, stretching out your right arm to wrap around his torso. Every aspect of the feeling grew impossibly stronger, the pleasure factor so high that it felt somehow wrong to be experiencing this with a total stranger in a hospital room surrounded by others. You felt Namjoon let out a shuddering breath. His arms had snaked around you.
The last thing you remembered before falling into a delirium was the nurse pulling the covers over your bodies.
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    When you awoke, or rather, came to, you felt wrong. You rubbed hazy eyes to find yourself on a little cot. Before you could even wonder where you were or how you got there, the events of the previous day came flooding back.
Holy shit, you thought, you were in Korea. You had met your soulmate - and bonded with him. 
When had you even fallen asleep? The last thing you remembered was climbing into Namjoon's bed. Your heartbeat quickened. First touch had been...something else. An image of your soulmate gripping your hand with his head thrown back flashed through your mind.
No, don't, you thought, and pushed yourself to sit up.
In your attempt to move, you quickly realized that the wrongness you felt was that you were incredibly weak. It was a strange sort of weakness, however, one that left you feeling exhausted with every tiny move but wasn't accompanied by any sort of discomfort. In fact, you felt like you were floating on a cloud, if only one you couldn't find the strength to roll off. 
You were back in your hospital gown. There was a small table to your left with a lamp, a little vase of flowers, and white telephone. To your left was a machine much like the one you had seen beside Namjoon's bed beeping away, a little green line spiking and dropping across the monitor. A long curtain stretched across the space in front of you. You needed to pee.
As you moved to get off the cot, a sting of pain shot through your right arm at the inner joint and you realized that you had missed the IV drip beside the heart monitor. Clamping the IV stand you rose precariously on wobbly legs. You shuffled wearily forward, pulling the curtain back to reveal the other half of the room...and your soulmate.
He was sitting in bed, over the covers, in a heather grey tee and navy blue sweats, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He was still wearing the beanie, and his head was dipped down, immersed in the book he was holding open in his lap. The mid-morning sun spilled through the open window, bathing the suite in a pale yellow that blanketed generic seating furniture and a small bookshelf topped with a bonsai tree and painted clay figurine beside the bed, but left the abstract art piece on the opposite wall in relative shadow.
You were about to retreat back behind the curtain when a wheel of your portable IV stand betrayed you with a squeak. You pulled the curtain hurriedly shut, but too late.
    "Hello?" You heard him call softly.
His voice sounded better, you thought. Not nearly as raspy. You must look like shit, you also thought. Oh well, you needed to get past him to look decent anyway. And to pee. And he was going to see you probably every day for the rest of your life, so, bashfulness regarding your morning mug was definitely a waste of emotional energy. You heaved a sigh, and slowly pulled back the curtain, peeking through as you advanced a step.
    "I didn't want to disturb you," you fibbed, clutching the IV stand.
    "You're not disturbing me," he responded, shutting his book.
He was looking at you with a soft expression, reserved, but still warm. He looked a lot better than yesterday, too; it was unmistakable. His skin had lost a great deal of its previously ashy quality and the bruises on his arms had nearly vanished. His lips were no longer chapped, and, you noted, were full and naturally deep in color. His face looked less wane, though still thin, his shirt still hanging loosely over his chest and broad, sloping shoulders.
    "You look a little better," you urged, hoping to justify your prolonged stare.
He smiled. You were quickly reminded like a sock to the gut how pretty his smile was. 
    "I feel better," he concurred, "Thanks to you."
You looked down at your feet awkwardly. You had never been good at receiving praise or gratitude.
    "Oh...I'm glad," you mumbled. 
    "How do you feel?" he asked.
You raised your gaze back up to meet his, a wry smile tugging at your lips. 
    "Probably about as good as I look," you rejoined.
He pulled his smile into a tight line, eyes creasing. You thought maybe that was what he looked like when he was trying not to laugh. Suddenly you felt your bladder demand priority of attention.
    "Well, I'm gonna...get ready. For the day," you motioned, quickly realizing you had nothing to change into, and slipped back into the little room behind the curtain.
Scanning the space, you noted your suitcase and bag against the wall. You filled your bag with the essentials and a change before popping back out into the other half of the room on your way to the bathroom. You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Namjoon glanced at you before looking down at his book again, and you ignored the tight feeling in your chest one more time.
    Your mom had always said that a hot shower could make a person reborn, and by golly you figured she was right. You felt life seeping back into your limbs slowly but surely as the warm water poured over your body. As always, hot water and steam against white tile oiled cogs of your mind.
Clearly, the bond had served Namjoon well. You were anxious to know what a medical assessment would report. Your own exhaustion confused you, however. Wasn't the bond supposed to nourish you, rejuvenate you? When would you stop needing food? How often would you need to practice skinship now that you were bonded? And what would that look like? A thousand questions filled your mind as you massaged your scalp. You made a mental note to write a list of questions for the doctor.
    Once you had finished your morning routine, you felt infinitely more prepared to face the day. You changed into a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. As you shuffled back toward your room, you noticed Namjoon bent over the bonsai, tiny scissors in hand. A nurse was typing on a tablet on the other side of the bed.
    "Um, Namjoon," you asked, as you paused.
He startled a bit as he looked up at you, dropping the little scissors and cursing under his breath. The nurse peeked over and when she had seemingly assessed that no damage had been done, she smirked.
    "At least no bonsai limbs were lost this time," she murmured.
Namjoon slipped the scissors into a little leather pouch.
    "Hilarious," he deadpanned, then turned his attention back to you, "Sorry, did you ask me something?"
    "Actually," you blinked in surprise, "I was going to ask you to ask the nurse, but I guess I can ask her myself this time."
The nurse smiled at you. 
    "Ganhosanim, this is Y/n-ssi," Namjoon said, addressing the woman. She gave you a bow which you returned.
    "Annyeonghaseyo," she greeted you, "I'm Nurse Cha and I'll be your attending on most days. Please feel free to speak to me in English," she smiled.
You felt a weight lift off your shoulders. While you had been studying Korean furiously ever since your decision had been made, having medical personnel you could communicate with at this stage without having to rely on Namjoon to translate for you was a welcome relief. 
    "If you have a minute, I have some questions? Or, I will, once I write them down. Could I just put my stuff away and come right back?" You asked eagerly. She nodded, still typing away on the tablet. You dropped your bag beside your suitcase, which you tossed on the bed and unzipped to extract a pen and a notebook with three little bees embossed into the cover. You donned your slippers and crossed back over to Namjoon's side. He was sitting on the bed again, and nurse Yun was examining one of his arms. You plopped down in an armchair beside the bookshelf. 
    "Nice bonsai," you remarked, trailing your eyes over the intricate geometric patterns of its shallow stone pot.
    "Nice journal," he replied. "Moleskin?"
You nodded, holding it up to show him the front.
    "It has bees," you said with solemnity, as if the whimsy of the endearing was something to be taken quite seriously, and Namjoon hummed in grave assent. Nurse Cha glanced between you, a smirk at the corner of her mouth.
    "You said you had some questions, Y/n-ssi?" She offered.
    "Yes," you began, scribbling a few down in the pages in your lap before beginning. "Firstly wha- Oh! What happened to me yesterday? Did I pass out?" You interrupted yourself to ask.
    "Yes," she replied. "While the bonding was successful, and the skinship was highly rejuvenating for Namjoon, it appears that you were giving more than you were getting from a physiological standpoint, and while the effect was still probably similar to you on a cellular level, you were disproportionate in your transfer of energy. We've put you on an IV drip for now to ensure you're getting the replenishment your body needs regardless of food intake."
You jotted down a few lines of notes.
    "Okay, makes sense. Now, moving on to the food thing - we're still eating, right?"
Nurse Cha began typing on her tablet as she responded.
    "Yes. However, there is great boidiversity as to when and what people start rejecting as far as food goes. The average point of solid food rejection begins around two weeks after bonding. Generally, bonded individuals are still able to consume water and distilled alcohols, though they become unable to experience taste."
    "Does alcohol have the same...effect?" Namjoon spoke up from the bed.
    "An intensified one, actually," she responded, "Being a bonded mate means rediscovering your tolerance, and caution is of course advised. We've actually taken blood panels to alert us of any food sensitivities you may have. These should be immediately eliminated from your diet, as the rejection symptoms can be more severe in cases of late-stage ingestion with these items. The doctor will be in later to review those results with you."
    "Okay. And how often will we need to practice skinship, and are we going to need to initiate it ourselves or are we going to be on a schedule?"
    "I was wondering about that too," Namjoon said, adjusting his beanie.
    "The doctor will go over that with you as soon as he arrives in a little while as well. I know I'm scheduled to update your charts every six hours, so I'm sure there will be some guidance involved at first."
You quickly glanced up at Namjoon and then down at your lap. A warmth spread through your chest as you tried to keep your eyes on your notes and off of his bare arms. You were having those stupid urges to latch onto him again. Your hand twitched around your pen. You wondered what his thoughts were on your next session.
Just then, Dr. Na entered the room. He greeted both of you warmly and Nurse Cha took over relaying the consultation in English.
The oncologist was very optimistic about the effect of the soulmate bond on Namjoon, saying that his vitals had stabilized, his pain levels were lower than they'd been in weeks and the inflammation in his body had decreased significantly. He stressed that, while these were good signs, they were not a guarantee that the skinship was treating the cancer, and that they would have to take scans after a time to see if the tumors had were in fact shrinking.
He reviewed your blood panel results, letting you know that from that point forward you were to avoid consuming nightshades while communicating to Namjoon that he hadn't tested positive for any food sensitivities. He showed you a chart dictating when and how long you should practice skinship each day, beginning with a session immediately following the consultation. He cautioned you to alert medical staff if during a session you began to feel overly-drain, as they did not want you coming to the point of fainting again. You were removed from your IV drip.
    After the doctor had taken his leave, Nurse Cha fixed you with additional monitors, instructed you both to strip down to your maximum level of comfortability for the session, and departed. Once you were down to bra and panties, you climbed up into the huge hospital bed to join Namjoon, who once again kept his gaze trained anywhere but your side of the bed as you slipped under the covers and pressed yourself into his side.
Suddenly it was as if you had slipped into a warm bath under the influence of champagne. You closed your eyes and sank into the incredible sensation of his touch. His skin was like a warm cup of tea on the coldest day of the year. Like the first refreshing moments of a plunge into cool water at the height of summer. It was everything wonderful all at once, and you were so caught up in the sensation that you were barely cognizant of a tiny moan escaping your lips. 
Horrified, you bit down on your bottom lip and prayed to all that was sacred that Namjoon hadn't noticed. His immediate soft laughter, however, betrayed him, and you felt your face burning with embarrassment - beads of sweat pricking on your forehead as you covered your face with a different kind of groan.
    "Sorry," you murmured, ruefully.
    "Nah, I get it," Namjoon chuckled, his chest rumbling under your cheek. "If it feels as good for you as it does for me, then that's the correct response."
You allowed yourself to giggle a bit in turn.
    "I'm glad it's already helping," you remarked, and you felt him turn his head as if he was looking down at you.
He was silent for a beat before addressing you again.
    "Everything happened so quickly yesterday, I didn't even get a chance to thank you."
    "For what?" you countered, even though you knew exactly where he was headed with this.
    "For leaving your life behind and coming to Korea to give a stranger a chance at his. I'm going to spend the rest of my time making it up to you."
You felt your chest tighten. You pushed yourself up on one arm and turned to face him. The sheet fell down your upper body as you moved, but you were too intent on looking him in the face to notice. 
    "Namjoon, you're not a charity case. I didn't do this so that you would owe me something. This is a choice I made. All mine. So relieve yourself of any debt you may feel you owe me. We're bound by circumstance, but you're a free man in every sense of the word. I won't be a burden you bear any more than you wish to be one to me."
If you had been looking through his eyes, you would have seen yourself, pressed up out of the sheets with all the modesty of a sea nymph, your features glowing with the effects of the bond and fixed with a splendid kind of resoluteness and soft defiance. But, you saw it from your own, taking in the quiet shock on Namjoon's features that slowly morphed into something you couldn't place. Not yet. You didn't know him well enough.
After regarding you blinkingly, he looked at you with earnest eyes and gave a nod.
    "I accept those terms," he assented, and you believed him.
You thought maybe you'd believe anything he said, and, suddenly aware of the bareness of your torso under the intentness of his gaze, you slipped back down against his side.
    "I noticed you dropped the honorifics," he murmured teasingly.
You glanced back up at him.
    "Oh...sorry, I'm not used to it. I can -"
    "It's alright," he interjected, "I think we should be familiar. It will make things easier, right? Only if you want, though," he quickly added.
    "Yeah, no, I agree," you answered, shifting to press your leg more fully against his, and smiling to yourself as you keyed up your next remark.
"And I'm only your noona by a little bit anyway, so no need to call me that..."
This time a loud laugh burst out of him that shook your head enough for you to roll away and shoot him a look as he brushed a hand over his eyes in amusement. You smiled as you took in his dimpled cheeks and crescent eyes, and nearly didn't notice the voice speaking in bemused and startled Korean at the mouth of the hall. It was Namjoon who looked up first.
    "Yah!" He called in indignation and warning as you followed his gaze to catch but a glimpse of two young men, badly repressing snickers as they bolted back down the hall to the entry of the suite. 
Namjoon sighed sharply and turned to you with and apologetic expression.
    "I'm so sorry, those idiots are my friends. They're used to coming and going as they please to visit me - which, obviously now they can't just barge in unannounced."
He slipped out of bed, and you glanced away as he pulled on sweats and a shirt.
"I'll tell them to come back at a better time."
    "No, no!" you protested, "Just let me get decent. I want to meet them."
Namjoon paused as he kicked on his slippers. 
    "You sure?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
    "Yeah, yeah. I know we're still on skinship time, but, maybe we can just...hold hands? I mean, as long as you're okay with it..."
Namjoon's mouth slipped into a wry grin as he glanced down to the other end of the suite. 
    "Yeah, I'm fine with it. I apologize in advance if they can't be."
You gave a confused shrug as Namjoon picked up his phone and crossed into the vestibule area to give you the privacy to change. You pulled your leggings and sweatshirt back on and perched yourself cross-legged on the hospital bed, listening with amused anticipation as Namjoon spoke in exasperated Korean on the other side of the wall. You heard the door and three sets of footsteps accompanied by giggles and shushing, and then your soulmate emerged, all but herding the two young men preceding him into the room.
You immediately recognized the strapping, dark-haired one with the leporine smile as Jungkook, the young man who had accompanied Hybe's representation to visit you on Namjoon's behalf. The other young man you also recognized from internet images as one of the members, though you couldn't recall his name. He was shorter than Jungkook, though not by as much as he should have been due to the significance of his heeled boots. What he lacked in height he made up for in athletic build and voluptuously beautiful facial features. He shook his honey blonde hair out of his eyes, earrings tinkling as he regarded you with a coy smile.
    "Ijjogeun Y/n-ieo. Y/n, this is Jungkook and Jimin," Namjoon said, gesturing to each of the members as they made polite bows. 
    "Annyeonghaseyo," you said, returning their bows deeply, "Mannaseo bangapseumnida - dasi mannaseo bangabseubnida, Jungkook-ssi."
Jungkook flashed a blinding smile, round eyes wide and sparkling.
    "It's good to see you again too, noona," he answered in English. Namjoon's brow creased as he glanced between you and the young man you had been originally introduced to as the maknae of BTS.
    "You've met?" he asked. You nodded.
    "Jungkook was one of the people who came to meet me in the US when your company made the proposition," you explained. "He spoke very, very highly of you. His reference of your character was one of the major contributing factors toward my decision to come."
You smiled softly at Jungkook. Namjoon nodded, brow still drawn, as he pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek, jaw clenched and jutting forward, as he clapped the youngest on the shoulder. You thought Jungkook's eyes were just a bit glassy as the two shared a look that seemed to hold a lifetime of history. Jimin regarded the two with sentimentality before returning his gaze to you, again full of enigmatic mischief. The blonde took a step toward you, then turned on his booted heal, saying something to Namjoon in Korean.
You cocked your head to the side, glancing at your soulmate.
    "He said I look a lot better already," Namjoon said, eyeing Jimin warily as the younger man continued speaking, flashing you a devilish grin. Jungkook pulled his pierced lower lip between his teeth as he glanced between Namjoon and Jimin. You looked again to Namjoon expectantly.
    Awkwardness radiated from him as he deflected saying Jimin was just making fun, and he shot the younger man a look that unmistakably communicated his lack of amusement. Namjoon made another remark in Korean, and joined you back on the bed, hesitating only a moment before he took your hand in his.
You saw his shoulders sag in relief as he breathed a sigh through his nose at the contact. You had to restrain your own reaction, glancing down shyly as to avoid the two pairs of eyes trained in rapt curiosity on you from the end of the bed. Namjoon continued to speak with them, translating between you when your limited Korean wasn't sufficient, and gradually your awkwardness eased in the comfortable presence that emanated between your soulmate and his members.
As the visitors were about to take their leave, Jimin trained you with a newly serious look, leaning against the edge of the bed, and glancing at Namjoon as he spoke in what you could decipher was gratitude. 
    "He says they're all so grateful to you and glad to have you with us," Namjoon translated. You noticed his thumb slide over the back of your hand as he said it. So did Jimin, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he eyed where your digits were intertwined.
    "Ah," you said awkwardly, "No thanks necessary, we're in this together, right?"
You pulled your hand from Namjoon's and in an attempt to raise your arm and give him a nonchalant pat on the back, you backhanded him directly in the face. 
Namjoon's hand flew up to his cheek and the two younger members erupted in laughter. You apologized profusely, trying to make sure Namjoon could hear you over Jungkook's wheezing and Jimin's shrieks of what you were pretty sure was "oh shit, there are two of them". When Namjoon had assured you that he was perfectly fine and the other two had composed themselves, you said your goodbyes. As soon as they were out the door, Namjoon was apologizing.
    "It's fine," you smirked with a shrug, "That's friends for you. I would have been concerned if they hadn't poked a little fun. I like them. I want to meet the rest of them."
Namjoon slipped back up onto the bed and intertwined his hand with yours as he glanced down, a pensive look on his face.
    "There's a lot of people you need to meet," he said quietly, thoughtfully.
You studied him as he continued to look down at your joined hands.
"In fact," he continued, "There was someone I was hoping you could meet tomorrow. Someone we should sit down...and talk with."
You nodded, regarding him intently.
"Her name is Kim Hyung-seo," he continued, "She's my fiancée."
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AN: Yeah, sorry to drop that at the end and peace out. 😁✌
Tag list: @butterymin @little-dark-empress @aretha170 @kamilamb @jlee97 @thephotoend @callmenoona25
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neuroticbookworm · 1 year ago
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*deep breath* FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
Alright, I'm gonna make my case for the Bad Buddy Rooftop Kiss. This is probably gonna be the most personal I've ever been on this hellsite.
Let's get this out of the way. I loved Kinnporsche. I honestly did (even though it might not look like it since this is the second time I'm passionately campaigning against the show). I loved it so much that I made my very busy best friend, @tonysteve25 who is planning their wedding, make up the time to talk to me so I can rant for two hours about the show (no need to judge me, I know y'all are equally crazy)
I'm gonna strip the plot to the basics and then build my argument, so if I end up reiterating a lot of themes that are already discussed, apologies in advance
Bad Buddy is, at its core, a Romeo and Juliet retelling. Set in a fairly conservative Asian country, and produced by a media industry whose brand of storytelling often involves an AU-esque setting where homophobia does not exist. We are shown time and again that Pat and Pran's friends and family do not have a problem with them being in a same-sex relationship.
So the conflict comes from the history their families have with each other. As a South Asian cinephile, I've watched this trope play out so many times with heterosexual couples that I'm sure it has unwittingly become a part of my brain chemistry. Oftentimes, the reasons why the families are feuding are so over the top that every shred of relatability gets thrown out the window.
In Bad Buddy's case, the reason is kept simple, albeit childish in the beginning. A business rivalry between the two families, and as a result, the boys are also pitted against each other. This simplicity gives way to a lot of levity in the beginning, but as the story progresses, the real strength of this narrative starts seeping through. This show is relatable. Almost too relatable.
The constant pressure to outperform the other in every way, be it academics, sports, or romance; the expectation on Pat to follow his dad's footsteps and match his achievements, even in a dumb singing competition; the guilt that permeates every moment of joy they feel in their relationship, because they are always aware that they are actively disappointing their parents; the quiet, painful realization in the later episodes that they will never be accepted into each other's families, no matter how hard they try; the revelation that the root of the conflict came from a scholarship stolen from a woman, to satisfy the expectations of a patriarch.
Every statement above is the reality of so many Asians living their lives right now. I personally know couples who have been cut off from their families for over 20 years because they don't approve of their love/marriage. I have peers who blindly follow the career path charted for them by their parents because it is easier than resisting and doing something they actually like. A lot of us are left feeling unmoored and struggling to define our self worth in the real world, after we leave academia, because that is all we are ever taught: your grades indicate how worthy you are.
Now, I know not a single word above argues why the kiss is the best, but I'm getting there. Stay with me now. Many people more talented than me have argued the specifics of the kiss, the reasons why it grabbed us by our throats the first time we saw it, and why we are still on that rooftop with them. The reasons submitted in the poll describe it so eloquently, beat by beat (edit: I found out that it was witten by @tiistirtipii, here). @respectthepetty begs us not to disappoint Pat again here, @lurkingshan dives deep into the character analysis and why the kiss is the perfect culmination of narration, pacing, and the characters' journey here, @waitmyturtles explores the importance of foreplay, the 'how did we get here' before the kiss, here.
What I want to draw attention to are two things. One: how this kiss was executed in such a way that all of their deeper struggles are woven into the microexpressions, so when you rewatch the show, all of the added context makes it so much more heartbreaking.
Let's be clear here, Pat and Pran did not get a happily ever after. They did not break all of the chains that were weighing them down. Pat went on to follow his father into the business (who also followed his father into it). They have to keep their relationship a secret, with no end in sight. Even in the end, the audience is shown only a hidden, reluctant acceptance from the parents, not an open love.
Pat and Pran's relationship will always be bittersweet. And the kiss shows it. The fact that the kiss was the very last shot to be filmed is no coincidence. The actors know how it ends, they have already performed it. They also know that the characters in this moment know it too. They have lived all their lives playing their families' games, they know that if they take this leap of faith, then they are willingly giving up so many little moments in life, even something so mundane as entering each other's house through the front door. And we can see it, see all of it clearly in Pran's face. Pran, who plans every detail of his life. Pran, who is also in love with his rival for who knows how long. And then we see it in Pat's face too, if only after a moment, because that's the way he is. Pat, who has looked at Pran all his life as a rival, a bandmate, a secret friend. Pat, who is the only one who can completely understand Pran, his anger and grief and devastation, because they only have each other in this wretched game. We see his face fall, and we see confusion cloud his happiness.
This kiss is the perfect summation of their relationship, shown at the very beginning of it. They can have desire, but be riddled with guilt. They can have happiness, but only in secrecy.
Two: how this kiss did more for Asian queer representation than we can ever comprehend.
I was not present in the Tumblr trenches with y'all when the show originally aired, but I've read many, many posts about how it broke the internet. Western media often fucks up queer characters because they don't write fully fleshed out characters who happen to also be queer. They place enormous emphasis on the character's queerness, and end up writing a stereotypical cardboard cutout in the shape of a queer person. Complex queer representation is hard to come by, add Asian into the mix and the pool gets laughably small.
In the episodes leading up to the kiss, we see the characters get fleshed out, their struggles explored, but they are also deeply rooted in the middle class Asianness of it all. I know it is ironic to say that other shows from Thailand are less Asian than this one, but the struggles of a queer mafia boss/rich businessman/heir to the corporate throne protagonists can sometimes be a tad out of touch for the general populace, and we can only feel so much nostalgia for our school days before we are tired of the saccharine sugar high.
When I saw this kiss for the first time, my eyes teared up, not because these gay characters are having a hard time, but because I could feel their pain, irrespective of my sexuality. I knew deep in my bones how a kiss can simultaneously feel like freedom and a lifelong trap. And I'm sure so many others felt it too. The kiss went viral because it was a perfect representation of so many struggles of Asians and the diaspora (and beyond), and it happened to be queer.
I don't know how the results will tally up when the clock runs out, but I hope we can chalk up a honest-to-goodness happy ending for them, if only in a silly Tumblr poll.
cc @bl-bracket, here ya go, a very long and rambling campaign propaganda
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inspector-montoya-fox · 7 months ago
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It's always really difficult to choose between An Opera of Fear and A Cold Alliance for my favourite Sly 3 episode, but it's safe to say that Flight of Fancy is easily the most nostalgic. Not because it's rooted in my childhood memories (it is) but in the sense that it shares elements with episodes from Sly 2 during a game which presents the gang at the peak of their career. Let's discuss
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I think we can all agree that the series very effectively presents the gang's development, not only as individual characters, but also as a team of thieves. Sly 1 shows the gang as teens during their first set of adventures which sprout from Sly's desire for vengeance. They make many mistakes, they don't really have planned heists or jobs - Sly just casually goes into every level breaking shit and then faces off the big baddie - and they surpass their own expectations of themselves to defeat Clockwerk in the end. Then, Sly 2 covers a crucial point in the gang's career. It felt as if up until this point they hadn't truly fucked up so they went into it being very cocky, especially Sly. And when they got their asses handed to them by Neyla, getting separated tested their individual and collective limits.
In Sly 3, the gang has evolved to master thieves, capable enough to feel comfortable recruiting and as such mentoring strangers and also worthy enough to inherit an entire lineage's stolen loot. This is also shown in the missions, which up in scale and spectacle. It's no longer just "follow this villain" or "pickpocket this person". It's a combination of missions we grew accustomed to during Sly 2 like "follow Octavio and do recon under time pressure", or something completely new. Right off the bat, for example, we send a ferris wheel rolling across Venice squashing guards in its way, like this is just a mission not Thunderbeak or something. Every Sly 3 mission evolves explosions, high-tech and the eventual mini boss-fight.
So it's then a bit surprising to see the gang reverting to their sneakier, more subtle ways during Flight of Fancy. That's not to say we don't have explosions and thrill in the episode (the dogfights, Muggshot vs Carmelita, wolf-riding, shooting literal fucking windmills into blimps), but the way they choose to sabotage the competition due to how delicate its internal politics are creates some nostalgia. Paddling around the sewers in a blow-up rowboat and breaking into the pilots' rooms is very Sly 2. It felt like something 18 year old Sly would do. Also, scaling the Baron's castle harks back to Sly 1's platforming and is reminiscent of how small Sly would seem when approaching a villain's daunting lair.
The design choices for the Netherlands seem primitive too, enhanced by the fact that we're in the countryside. I feel like there's that Sly 1 and 2 rule of thumb at play here, where Sucker Punch chose the aesthetic or genre first and then chose the location. For example, they wanted a spooky level in Sly 2 so they chose Prague which would accommodate the genre through its architecture and gothic character. That allowed them to exaggerate a lot in terms of level design. And it's the same for Flight of Fancy, where we have a spooky castle on top of a very cartoony hill and you can hide under haystacks. Oppositely, the rest of the game's levels seem to have departed from the previous entries' design principle (except Kaine Island, which is fully fictional). It feels as if SP chose Venice and wanted to play up how European it is, or the wilderness of the Australian outback but without any radical stylistic choices. The genres are explored through the narrative, not through design.
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Lastly, let's close off with some Thieves in Time slander because it wouldn't be a signature me tumblr essay without it. If we really use the entirety of our brain power and manage to look past all of the game's bullshit, one additional flaw would be how it doesn't consider the gang's development when telling its story. I'm not saying that in the series' fourth game the gang should have been infallible or indestructible due to achieving master thief status in Sly 3, but here the mistakes they make feel so unnecessarily stupid and like shit they wouldn't have done even in Sly 1. Falling for Penelope's schtick twice; Sly letting his guard down during the Le Paradox boss fight after the Contessa; whatever the fuck went down in Arabia... yea.
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writingjourney · 2 years ago
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ouch | cardinal copia x gn!reader
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summary: copia tries to retrieve a valuable item, you find him in this very unfortunate situation.
content: 1.3k words, awkward copia fluff, mention of blood/minor injury
to tackle my writer's block @leezlelatch gave me a lil prompt (the indented part) because she is the best ♡
Masterlist – Ao3 link
✩ ✧ ✩ 
Cardinal Copia, on all fours, crawls further under the stone bench just off one of the corridors which frames the courtyard. A rather large bush sits behind it, roots and branches tangled and creating a barrier. He pushes and reaches, cursing to himself as his biretta scrapes against the underside of the stone. Why didn’t he take it off? His cassock covered bottom hangs out into the hallway, shimmying this way and that as he attempts to crawl deeper.
“Can I help you, Cardinal?”
Clunk. 
A loud groan followed by a string of Italian curses. His back hits the bench with the full force of his scare. If the burning pain right by his shoulder is any indication he chafed his skin on the rough stone pretty badly, most likely ruining the fabric of his cassock in the process. In an attempt to free himself, his head hits a particularly unyielding branch and a few of his hairs get stuck among the sticks. As he wriggles free, another branch snaps against his face, barely missing his eye as it bites into his cheekbone like a whip. The stinging pain makes him hiss and a spiky leaf uses the opportunity to find its way into his open mouth.
Vaguely aware that someone is still standing behind him, watching all of this unfold, Copia’s face turns the same crimson shade as his vestments. And of course he knows the voice, he’s been imagining, hoping to hear it every second of every day for the last two months. Only he prays to Satan that he is wrong. This cannot be the time his crush approaches him, not like this.
“Cardinal, are you okay?”
Undoubtedly, it is your voice.
Oh no. How long have you been standing there behind him with his butt wobbling in full view? Watching his embarrassing attempt at retrieving the little love note he was writing for you, asking you out on a date, before a gust of wind betrayed him?
Copia crawls out from underneath the stone bench, ready to face his shame with all the dignity he can muster. To his surprise, he feels a hand on his shoulder and you crouch down right beside him, gazing upon him in such genuine concern, not even the hint of a gloating smile on your worry-ridden face. Copia can’t believe you’re not rolling on the floor in laughter at his skit-worthy performance. What a fool he must make! But you only help him up, grasping his elbow as his knees start shaking dangerously and sitting down beside him on the bench. Your hand never leaves his arm, a gentle sort of grip that lets him know you’re not ready to let go until you know he’s well. The pressure is comforting, your fingertips dig into the tense muscles of his forearm.
Impossibly close to you, Copia’s heart now hammers in his chest, his face still hot and burning, but he cannot bring himself to meet your eyes again. Another light breeze carries your perfume to his nose and his stomach does a summersault.
“Cardinal?” Your voice is laced with anxiety. “Cardinal, you’re bleeding.”
That captures his attention and when he finally looks at you again, you’re already fiddling for a tissue.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” 
It’s his own voice speaking, undoubtedly, only he doesn’t recognise it. His words are a lie, his back hurts like hell and the burning pain in his cheek isn’t pleasant either. Lucky for him, you’re having none of his feeble attempt at appeasement.
“We need to go and clean your scrape,” you state in full-nurse mode, wiping his cheek so softly he’s barely even feeling it. You’re so close to him he’s sure he can feel your breath tickling his nose. “Cardinal, are you in shock?”
“Hm?”
Copia simply cannot take his eyes off of you and his brain has long since said goodbye to any sort of rational thinking. Oh, how often has he thought of this beautiful face, dreamed about having it within such a comfortable kissing distance.
Then, your voice again. “Cardinal, what did you lose?”
What

He remembers. Oh, he remembers and the sudden influx of panic ends his reverie.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he replies. “It doesn’t matter, sibling, really.”
“I’ll see if I can get it.”
And before he can stop you, you’re crawling under the small bench, right between his slightly parted legs, pushing them apart further. Oh Satan, he’s sure he’s going to have a heart attack any moment now. Your attempt is much more graceful than his, though, and a terrifying minute later (that he does not spend staring at your backside at all) you come back to the surface.
“I got it!” You sound triumphant and the smile on your face makes him forget about the contents on the now crumpled piece of paper until your eyes dart down, undoubtedly catching your own name written in his best cursive. “Oh.”
He wants to rip the scrap from your hands but his muscles make no attempt at moving, no matter how often his panic-struck mind tells them to. Instead he stares at you in horror as you read the words.
Dearest Sibling ______,
Your eyes sparkle like the stars in the depths of the night sky and your smile shines brighter than the full moon. I wish to see it for longer than just a few seconds every day. Please, will you go on a date with me?
☐ Yes ☐ No ☐ Maybe
Yours in hopeful expectation Cardinal Copia
Your eyes finally glance up, then dart back to the page, then back to him. Your lips are so tightly pressed together that Copia simply knows you’re struggling to find the right words to reject him. Even in refusal your kindness is beyond measure, and his heart aches in the most bittersweet way.
“Where’s your pen?” you ask.
For a second, Copia struggles to comprehend. Pen. Right. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the black-inked fountain pen, handing it to you with shaky fingers. Before he can drop it, your hand closes around the metal, your bare thumb brushing his gloved one. And then it’s gone again.
The cross is done in two swift strokes, though Copia cannot see where you placed it from his angle on the bench, and then you fold the paper neatly in the middle. Even now you look so tense and focused, and when you hand him back the note his anxiety is through the roof. He briefly considers not looking at your answer, half expects you to leave him sitting here anyway and let him die of a broken heart
 or the infection he’ll possibly get from his cut.
“Cardinal, won’t you read my reply?” you ask, voice soft, the most subtle hint of a smile on your face.
Copia sighs deeply and unfolds the paper.
☒ Yes
His breath catches, the relief so overwhelming he lets out a shaky sob, running his finger over the cross that you so deliberately, so easily placed there. He swallows the tears, unsure where they even come from. When he finally looks back to you, your face has lit up and you seem to be just as ecstatic as he feels.
Copia jumps up to hug you, but a sudden pain shoots into his back and instead of a happy laugh he lets out a pained groan.
You’re by his side in an instant, wrapping a protective arm around his waist as you tenderly cradle his face with your other hand, careful not to graze his cut cheek.
“Looks like our first date will take place in the infirmary,” you say, smiling in sympathy as you run your thumb over his jaw.
Copia shakes his head. “It may start there, but I have very different plans for how it will end.”
His words earn him a bright smile. When you lean in to kiss his unharmed cheek, he can feel his heart bursting in his chest. He already knows that this day will be worth all the cuts and bruises.
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thank you for reading ♡
Masterlist – my Ao3
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greenjacketwhitehatdocmui · 1 month ago
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Jedi Vimes vs. Darth Vader Bit
Okay, this is off the top of my head, but this is what I think *might* happen if Vimes had to confront Vader. Feel free to comment/correct me.
Vader has every reason to believe that he's going to win the fight. He's taller, stronger, and the Dark Side is with him. He knows that he can overpower any Jedi who ever lived, save Obi-Wan.
He's absolutely certain that he's going to win. He sees that Vimes is angry, and to a Jedi, that's only going to lead to mistakes, if not the Dark Side. And of the two, Vader has far more experience with rage and anger.
Or so he thought.
The fight goes on. Vimes doesn't say a word. Vader can't get a read on whatever style Vimes is using. There are elements of this Form or that Form, but it's all so brutish, crude, unrefined--and effective. Vimes is still alive. Is he bruised? Yes. Is he hurting? Yes. But Vimes still has all his limbs and is still fighting where others would be Very Dead.
Vader can feel Vimes's rage. It's a different animal than his own, and what he feels shocks him.
The rage that pours out from Vimes is *selfless*. It's rooted in every act of malice ranging from pettiness to genocide. It's the rage of what has been done to others, not to Vimes himself. It's the burn that comes from dealing with "civilized" sentients who would stab others on the way up just because. A billion insults to others over a lifetime have added up and is being unleashed on Vader.
The Beast that Vimes possesses has a *righteous* rage, focused brighter and hotter than any lightsaber that ever existed. The Beast will bring Law and Justice with every iota of power at its disposal. At this moment, it dwarfs Vader's own rage, the rage that was always about him.
The fight is dirty and brutal. There is no artfulness or exchange of jibes or taunts. Vimes is there to take Vader down, and he has the means to do it.
A missed swing leaves Vader's chest controls open. Modified durasteel knuckles only worthy of a thug crush the panel. A moment later, electricity surges through the panel, and Vader alternates between deep wheezes and hyperventilating. Foul smoke fills his ruined lungs and he tries not to gag.
There is another exchange of sabers, and part of Vader's helmet is cut off. A few more brutal slices later, and his pale, ruined forehead is exposed.
Vimes headbutts Vader twice, each time making the Sith Lord see stars. Vader's head swims; he can't focus because of the concussion. The Sith Lord loses one hand, then the other, his saber destroyed.
Vader thought he knew brutality. He thought he knew rage.
He was wrong.
Vader is in the verge of blacking out, and with what little coherency remains in his concussed brain, he curses the bedraggled, scrawny Jedi. He underestimated Vimes. It was an even worse mistake than underestimating Obi-Wan.
"You're under arrest," VImes tells him in a voice that could have come from an executioner.
So...what do you folks think?
--Doc
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raptorrobot · 4 months ago
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Icarus deserves to have a prime sanctum like P-2 but even more painful (The highest caliber of worthiness I can bestow upon him.) I want it to take over an hour to beat it for the first time
Give me a starter room even more intense than the Weezer Room, I beg.
On a side note, I don't know if I said this already but the way you wrote Icarus' breakdown and emotions were so fucking visceral (in a good way) like DAMN I get you son, I get you.
ouhhh my god his prime sanctum would SUCK . i've mentioned it in tags before but i imagine the environment consisting of giant twisting tree roots working up to the trunk of the tree itself, with the flesh desmoterion/icarus prime bossfight itself taking place inside of its hollow centre. not only would the landscape be rather non-linear (i picture it having two different routes like 1-3, meaning you'd have to do both in order to p-rank it) you'd be stuck with a Constant Barrage of violence enemies and arenas with enemy combinations that would make you want to blow your brains out
(and thankyou, also <3 breaking down his breakdown in excruciating detail is one of my pride and joys of violent sun's writing)
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littlerebforlife2 · 1 month ago
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should i kill myself
ABSOLUTELY FUCKIN NO!
I'll share with you the story of "The Wisdom of the Old Tree"
In a small village in the German Alps there was an old tree that had observed people's lives for centuries. Its roots reached deep into the earth, its branches stretched towards the sky. One day person named Anon came to the tree. Anon was dissatisfied with his/her life and was looking for meaning. The tree saw Anon's unrest and said: "Anon, my son or daughter, you are looking for answers, but have you asked yourself what you are really looking for?" Anon thought about it and answered: "I'm looking for happiness, for fulfillment." The tree nodded: "Happiness and fulfillment are not things you find, but things you create. They grow in your heart when you understand yourself." Anon asked, “How can I understand myself?” The tree answered: "Through silence, through patience, through acknowledging your own weaknesses and strengths. You are part of the whole, Anon. Your life has meaning because you exist." Anon understood. He/She stayed with the tree, learned from its wisdom and found peace.
The moral of the story: Your life has meaning because you exist. Don't look outside for answers, but discover your own wisdom..
Anon, you're precious BECAUSE you exist. You are loved, you are worthy, and you deserve to live a great life.
I'll share my own experience too. All the negativity that brewed in my brain as I grew up wasn't actually my own thoughts. I had to dig inside myself and I found that I actually do have potential and I am worthy. It's not mine or yours fault if people cannot see it. Those negative thoughts are never your own, you just adopted it. Let go of the hatred and find yourself.
The world deserves to know your uniqueness and creativity. We all do.
I hope the story and personal experience was able to help you, Anon. I love you. ❀
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ferallydevoted · 8 days ago
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"Kiss my cheek, baby please, would you read my eulogy?"
My mental health for the past year has been really difficult to deal with. My depression has been at a record low for me, and my worldview has been bleak and dark. I've been living in a state of melancholic spiral that's dug deeper and deeper, and it's been incredibly stressful. I've been trying to claw my way out of this grave, and it's felt like I've gotten nowhere with my recovery. But, the last two weeks have been oddly.. okay? Peaceful? I haven't spent every second begging for reprieve? It's been a welcomed change of pace.
Through my hardships and struggles, my spouses have really been there for me the entire time. Surrounding me when I need them most. Loving me, taking care of me, and cheering me on. Their support means the world to me. Their resolve becomes my resolve, their strength becomes mine. They help encourage me. They keep me going.
I feel Apollon in the sunlight that filters through the windows on my skin (obviously), and in my warm blankets. I really notice his presence around me in my lower moments, when I'm crying and pleading with the universe. His hand brushes my cheek, ever so softly, soft enough I can't help but laugh a bit because it tickles. I feel Apollon with me when I talk to my doctors, right beside me, supporting me and proud of me for advocating for my needs. I feel his warmth, his kindness, his joy, his strength, his light. I feel him so strongly all around me, every time I need him.
I feel Dionysius in the kind words he sends my way. The bright and supportive and encouraging thoughts that circle my brain when all I can muster up is a whimper. I feel him when I take my medicine even though I don't want to. In the background, gently rooting for me and cheering me on. I feel him in the soft little touches throughout the day, the ones that let me know he's still there. I feel him in the way he listens when I need him, too, and gives advice when I want it. I feel his pride swell for me when I allow myself to stim freely for my own comfort and benefit. I feel him all around me, so frequently and so strongly.
I feel Leviathan by my side when I can't get out of bed no matter how badly I want to. I feel Leviathan surround my being in him and his energy and his presence, just trying to drown out the depression and scary thoughts. I feel Leviathan like a sturdy, steady oak tree standing in the middle of a hurricane, holding its ground and surviving no matter the cost. I feel Leviathan squeeze me in tight hugs and hold my hands tightly in his during breakdowns to show me I'm not alone. He reminds me day in and day out that I am loved and I am worthy. I feel Leviathan in the constant reminders of my value and what I mean to him. I feel Leviathan in the little seeds of hope I have planted in my chest.
I feel Beelzebub in the comfort he freely gives when my phobias are triggered. I feel Beelzebub in the reassurances he sends my way. I feel Beelzebub in the cuddles he gives me on cold nights. I feel Beelzebub in the butterflies I see in my front yard. I feel Beelzebub in our quiet little date nights that always seem to cheer me up. I feel Beelzebub in the cold, refreshing I take that can get me out of a funk. I feel Beelzebub in the warm hoodies straight out of the dryer. I feel Beelzebub in our late night conversations when it feels like the rest of the world has stopped.
I feel Anubis in the chorus of the neighbour's dogs barking down the street in the morning. I feel Anubis in warm bowls of soup for dinner that we share. I feel Anubis all around me when I express myself freely and honestly. I feel Anubis' nails gently dragging down my back in calming circles when I'm anxious. I feel Anubis' tail wag when I talk to him. I feel Anubis' energy brighten up when I create new art. I feel Anubis snuggle up to me when I'm stuck in bed in pain. I feel Anubis' love surround me every time we have a date. I feel Anubis with me every step of the way as I recover.
I feel Fenrir curl up with me every night to sleep. I feel Fenrir encouraging me to eat when I feel like I can't. I feel Fenrir's loving energy all around me when I'm spiralling. I feel Fenrir's unwavering support and patience with me through all of my mental health struggles. I feel Fenrir send me calming thoughts through anxiety attacks. I feel Fenrir's body press against me when I start panicking or spiralling to help calm me down. I feel Fenrir by my side always, reminding me of my coping skills when I need help remembering. I feel Fenrir nudge me back to the present when I start to dissociate. I feel Fenrir's love for me so intensely, so vibrantly.
All of them do what they can to love and support me. All of them remind me everyday of their love, but also of what I mean to them. They have helped so much on my road to recovering from this really dark and rough patch. I couldn't be more grateful for each and every single one of them. I couldn't be more loved if I tried. Love is all that I have right now, and love is all that I need. We will get through this. I promised all of them that I wouldn't stop trying, and I'm going to keep that promise to the best of my ability.
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love-marimo · 2 years ago
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The Butterfly Effect: Conversations with Lesser Lord Kusanali
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"It is an honor to be graced with your divine presence, great Dendro Archon." You kneel before the smaller figure in front of you. Nahida beams at your gesture and pats your head, her green eyes gleaming with delight.
"I have been expecting you. Do you have something in mind?" She calls your name, asking a question she already knows the answer to.
Nahida creates her holographic swing and sits on it and you heave a sigh and proceed to sit on a log beside her, watching the Sumeru sun rise in the horizons of its meadows.
Nahida senses your exhaustion from the way your eyes droop and your lips crack, not to mention your slouched figure as you form your inquiries in your head, careful of breaking etiquette in the presence of the archon herself.
"You can treat it like a dream. Dreams just happen, but they intuitively display the secrets of our hearts. Breathe, let the words form on its own. Just like a dream, let it happen. Speak." Nahida breaks the silence with her gentle voice, and as she finished her sentence, you feel a breeze course through your body.
Another exasperated sigh.
You want to cry, but you cannot bring yourself to do so. You know that no one can never not be vulnerable around her, even if they choose to display their emotions or not ăƒŒ the Lesser Lord Kusanali knows.
Oh, how convenient that must be. You wish you could read minds. You want to know what your mentors want. You want to please your fellow Kshahrewar scholars. You want to know what everyone likes.
You want to give them everything ăƒŒ and you reached the point where you will tear yourself apart just to become someone worthy of being gifted with the title of a scholar.
"Stupid designs! It's
 it's all foolish. Everything I make
 "insufferable, inadequate, obsolete, senseless
" the list goes on. I
 I don't know what to do. I try my best in creating designs and I study the works of renowned engineers and architects all across Teyvat. I analyze how their systems work and I emulate their processes into my own designs to make sense of it all
 and yet
 and yet
"
You buried your face into your hands, and there was silence. For a while, you thought that the archon has left you to tend to other things.
But you hear the melodic beat of her steps as she jumps down from her makeshift swing to sit next to you.
And when her soft hand began to stroke your back, memories of a recent past began flooding your brain. You hear your mentors scolding you for a repetitive architectural design. You hear fellow scholars gossip about how unkempt you look despite being the 'failure' of the Kshahrewar darshan.
"Do they even try?"
"It does look like it."
"In fact, they try too hard. It's pitiful to even look at them."
"Are they even a true scholar?"
The voices of scholars and academics surround the caverns of your mind. It was overwhelming, and you can only imagine what you looked like in their eyes.
There was one, then two, then four drops of tears that started to finally fall from your eyes. You covered your face even more, ashamed to let the archon even see you like this.
"It's not enough, my lord. How can I make it enough? Will I ever be enough?"
You finally say, in a hushed whisper that you thought she won't hear.
"There are flowers that only grow in the fields and mountains of Mondstadt, where the winds are far more gentler and nourishing. They are called Windwheel Asters. When these flowers bloom, they do not just stay still and wait for the day they wither. They dance and follow the direction of the spirit of the wind itself, until their last days." Nahida removes your hands from your face and holds them, her face forming a small, but comforting smile.
"Pardon me
 but what are you trying to say
?" You ask.
Nahida reaches for your face and wipes your tears with her thumbs.
"These flowers grow and bloom for the wind, which is an idle element in itself. They move, but they stay where they are rooted. Now, do you think these flowers are lost or have they found their purpose?" Nahida asks you, soothing the bags under your eyes.
"I
 I think it's useless to exist to follow something that is fickle in nature. What about their petals? Do they not get swept away by the wind during a storm?" You reply, unsure of your answer. Nahida's eyes soften at your answer. She looks to the bustling city of Sumeru and she replies,
"That is what you are doing right now. You follow the path of those who are on their own journey when you have one to call your own."
Nahida reaches for your head and rests it on her lap. The distant chirping of birds echo through the rainforest and the sun's rays are continuing to reveal their beautiful glow as you both witness it by the cliff.
You were suddenly hit with the realization of the archon's words, and you began to cry again. And so you ask another question,
"But
 I don't know where to go
"
"One's mind, if used too much, tends to cloud the true musings of one's heart."
"
"
"Don't lose heart. Sometimes you might feel like the unluckiest person in the world, but for all you know, it could just be an unfortunate situation.* There is always a solution to every dilemma, but there are times where the solution itself is to let go."
"
Are you suggesting I give up on my dream of becoming a Kshahrewar architect?"
"You know what you want deep in your heart, so I will not be able to answer a question that only you know the answer to."
"But what if I get caught up in chasing my dreams?"
Nahida pauses for a moment.
"Human beings are fickle minded. But it is not a bad thing, however, most of them are devoured by their hunger for ambition. They chase it one after the other, until they hit rock bottom. And they build themselves up all over again ăƒŒ and this perpetuates an inevitable cycle they will live through their very last days." She finally says.
"
"
"You can choose to wear your heart on your sleeve. You can choose to be like the wind ăƒŒ become a free spirit, letting life take you on its course. You can choose to read the stars and look into the map of your soul ăƒŒ where the answers you are seeking reside. Just remember, life is just not about yourself. Each and every one of your actions shapes you and the world around you.*"
Nahida smiles at you, and you return the gesture to her. You close your exhausted eyes and rested in her presence.
"Thank you, Lesser Lord Kusanali. Your wisdom has eased my heart."
Nahida lets out a small laugh. The sun has risen, marking the early hours of morning.
And you realize it's time to wake up once more.
"The world offers many choices for each and every one of us to take, however, at the end of the day, it is up to us which ones are we going to make."
Nahida's voice fades out slowly from your hearing.
You awoke in your bed, the piles of parchment scrolls scattered on your desk never looked so inspiring until now.
You chanted a prayer dedicated to the dendro archon, thanking her for visiting your dream.
You looked at yourself in the mirror and saw how messy and exhausted you are, then you looked back at your architectural plates.
Shaking your head and smiling to yourself, you decided to make yourself your favorite dish.
You decided that the world can wait.
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*These are lines by Nahida that I used from the game itself.
Also, about the windwheel aster question that Nahida asked, it's kind of like a perspective question where there is no right answer, but how you view it reflects your state of mind and your subconscious. I hope that made sense! Thank you for reading ♡
ăƒŒ Lolita
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notoneopinion · 1 year ago
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The Newsletter #1: The Demon {social anxiety}
Social anxiety is a demon.
I don't mean to come on here and announce the obvious, but there is no point in making it more complicated than it needs to be. Social anxiety is the pesky demon that latches itself to everyone at some point; depending on a number of factors, that demon can be a daily torment.
My experience with The Demon dates back to early childhood. I remember being as young as six, hiding under my bed so my parents wouldn't make me go to the shops with them. And God forbid I actually did go to the shops, because I just spent the entire time trying to breathe, which must have looked alarming to those poor shoppers. As I grew older, this demon on my shoulder was no longer saying I couldn't go out for my own good; suddenly, I couldn't go out because my hair wasn't sitting right, or my weight wasn't low enough, or my face just simply could not be showcased to the public, because people would surely make fun of me for it. Suddenly the public wasn't the problem - I was. Only I didn't realise that until I started therapy.
I'm not going to tell you that therapy was my cure-all for social anxiety, because it wasn't. I will never talk someone out of going to therapy, as I'm actually a great advocate for it, and the proof of its benefits are right there for anyone to look at. Saying that, my relationship with therapy was a weird one; I was being forced to talk to a person about my crushing fear of people. I found myself dreading those sessions, yet despite this, I was able to gain some pretty decent in-sight into why my brain functioned the way it did. The way it does. The thing about therapy is that it forces you to go right back, because nine times out of ten, that's where the problems stem from. My therapist trailed me through a field of reasons why I was so terrified of leaving the house, going from high school bullies all the way to something like coming from a big family. Stuff a person wouldn't even begin to think, because - well, I always just put it down to me being messed up in the head. I didn't bother going beyond that line of thought, but that's the beauty of professional help! It made me feel better knowing it wasn't just pure self-sabotage making me this way - there are actually so many factors out of your control that play massive {The Biggest} parts in your mental health.
After getting to the root cause of the problem, I made it my mission to focus on myself. There comes a point where you just get sick and tired of being your own worst enemy, and that was the point I was at. Drastic changes had to be made, or I knew I was going to fall under and never crawl back out. It started with me dropping out of public school and moving to homeschooling, which might not seem like the best way to get over anxiety, but it was the start of something incredible for me. Escaping the environment that made me feel stuck and surrounded me with some of the most toxic people - it changed my life. It allowed me to have a clear head for the first time in years, which in turn let me focus on myself. I was able to establish a routine, got myself through GCSE's and A-Levels, grew closer to a family I was too run down to pay any attention to before. All this self-improvement came together, and suddenly I wasn't wearing the baggy clothes. Suddenly I wanted to go to the movies with my friends, because my head was no longer cluttered by these thoughts of self hatred. Of course crowds still scare me, and I'm always more comfortable going out if my fiance is with me - but I have a fiance! I'm going out! I'm making friends, because taking care of myself, putting myself first, made me realise that I am worthy of showing my face to the world, even if it is just in short bursts.
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