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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language and mild medical drama

Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans

Genre: Hurt + comfort

Summary: Bela is somewhat unprepared to deal with a soulmate who has no clue about her condition, her family, or any of the village's secrets. Thankfully, her sister Cassandra is more than willing to be a bad example. Also there's some fluff.

Notes: For reference, each of my soulmate stories take place in their own contained timeline, since they each involve different types of soulmates. So in this one, Cass doesn't currently have a soulmate.

Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow

2: Tangled Strands

A gentle humming fills the space around you, as fingers slowly run through your hair. As far as you can tell you had fallen back asleep, for several hours, and you were just now waking back up. No longer holding you down, your soulmate is curled up next to you. There’s still a needle in your arm, much to your irritation, but now you can finally see what it’s connected to: An IV for a transfusion. Explains why I’m feeling so much better than before, you think. Then you’re turning your head to the other side, eager to finally get a good look at your soulmate. Instantly you’re blushing, tongue tying itself into a knot, because wow are you lucky.

“Feeling any better?” She asked, as soon as your gaze met hers. You try to stutter out a confirmation, but you’re too distracted by the soft curve of her smile to speak, and barely even manage a nod. That beautiful smile grows wider in response. “Good. I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering more, after what you’ve already been through.” Now her smile fades, and she looks away for a few moments. Watching it makes your heart ache. So you swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to relax, before trying a little comforting of your own.

“I am safe now, am I not? Moreso, we have too much to talk about for us to dwell on the ill circumstances of our introduction. Let us cherish this time, in respite, with our hearts open wide to one another,” you said, donning your softest smile. Somehow your words fulfill their purpose, and your soulmate is once again grinning. Slowly she leans forward to rest her forehead against yours. Then she’s speaking, voice as smooth as the sheets you lay on.

“You are right, of course. I simply wish I could have saved you sooner,” she replied, tone betraying the sadness that her expression otherwise hid. Before you can protest, she continues talking, and you soon forget all about your qualms. “To think I don’t even know your name yet… nor you mine, I suppose. Let’s remedy that, yes? I am Bela Dimitrescu.” Something about her last name feels familiar to you, but not to the point of clear recognition. Instead of inquiring, you return her favor, giving her your own name. She repeats it back a few times, letting the syllables roll off her tongue, and you feel your heart skip a few beats. “A lovely name for a lovely soul, perfectly paired.”

A pause, followed by Bela reaching out to examine your IV. Following her gaze, you turn to the metal hook adjacent to the bed, where a blood bag hangs. Only a few drops remain inside. Just as when you first awoke, Bela gives a soft hum, then rises into a sitting position. Your first instinct is to copy the motion, and you’re relieved when (this time) she doesn’t push you back down. Both of you quietly inch your hands closer until they’re laid on top of each other.

“I wish I knew more about medicine, but unfortunately my family is more experienced in the creation of wounds than the treatment of them,” Bela said, scowling. Confused, you tilt your head at a slight angle, watching her with interest. Am I supposed to know who she’s referring to? My memories of the past couple days are still hazy, you think. “Do… do you remember how you ended up in the dungeon? I know you wanted to speak of happier things, and we can, soon. It’s just… Knowing how you arrived here may help me deal with the consequences of freeing you. Mother will be dreadfully upset that I’ve interrupted a draining, even if we are soulmates.”

“Wait, are you saying…? The intimidating giantess who strung me up and attempted to bleed me dry… is your mother?” You asked, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. This was an unexpected development, for sure.

“You didn’t know?” Bela replied, eyes going wide for a moment. Clearly she wouldn’t have said anything if she realized you weren’t already aware. Suddenly the tension in the room is palpable, with an uncomfortable silence overtaking the two of you. In the moment, you cannot even bring yourself to look at Bela, too stunned by this new knowledge. Eventually she breaks the silence, voice sounding unsure for once. “I realize that this is a lot to take in, if you need time to process it, I… I can go. But you need to understand that our situation is far more complicated than it might appear. We cannot survive without the blood of others- it is what sustains us when nothing else can.”

Now you’re staring at her like she’s crazy, and she’s standing up, moving to the other side of the room. She draws back a curtain, gazing out into the snow covered hills. Every muscle in your body is urging you to run while she’s distracted. Thread of fate be damned, this went far beyond anything you had ever imagined having to deal with. You come so close to ripping the IV right out of your arm. But a gentle tug on your soul string makes you pause, remembering all the times this bond gave you hope in dark times. Had she felt the same way, all these years? What had she gone through, in this absurd castle, on the very edges of civilization? You pull on the red thread, feeling a wave of composure wash over you.

“It appears there is much I need to learn. But is that not the very nature of our connection? We know, simply, that we are bound to each other, though we know not what shapes our souls take so that we might put them together, nor even what roles we must play. I cannot say that I understand your plight, my dear, but I will try, as is my obligation, and my honor,” you said, wishing you could hold her, and cursing your IV. As soon as the first word leaves your mouth, Bela is turning around, watching you with a bittersweet expression. Once you’re done she’s moving closer, as if reading your mind, extending a hand to cup your cheek. Then she leans forward to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Oh, how I have longed for this- to be with you, to get to know you.”

“As did I,” she murmured. You can’t help but lean into her touch, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my family? I imagine you’ll be needing breakfast anyway, and bringing human food back to my quarters would raise more suspicion than I’d like.” Well, the moment couldn’t last forever, could it?

“Only if you promise that your mother won’t suspend me by my wrists again. Or by any other part of me. Shall we simply put suspension off the table altogether?” You asked, half teasing. To be entirely honest, you were equally worried about Bela’s sisters. Well, the people you had heard other prisoners whispering about, who were the daughters of the giantess, and by connecting a few dots were also, presumably, Bela’s sisters. Apparently they preferred to play with their food. Unless, of course, Bela was one of the daughters you had heard about, and would have easily torn into you if not for your connection. Let’s not dwell on that concept, you think, glad to be distracted by your soulmate.

“I will not let anyone harm you anymore, my beloved. My mother would not stand so firmly in the way of my happiness,” Bela reassured, though you detected a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Still, there wasn’t much you could do other than trust her. “Now, let me take care of your bandages, then we’ll head downstairs…”

---------------------------------

“Who the fuck is this?” An unfamiliar voice asked, as you meandered down the corridor, arm around Bela for support. As soon as she hears the person speak, your soulmate is freezing in place, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. When you turn as well, you spot someone dressed almost identically to Bela. However, the woman wears a yellow pendant, as opposed to a red one, and her hair is a dark brown. It feels safe to assume that she’s one of the sisters you’ve heard about. Which understandably makes you nervous, to the point where you almost want to hide behind Bela. Instead, you stand tall, attempting to seem unfazed by either her presence or her vulgarity.

“Mind your manners, Cassandra,” Bela hissed, taking more of an aggressive stance than you had anticipated. “This, dear sister, is my soulmate. And if you even think about harming them, or getting in our way, I will tear you apart.” While you’re downright shocked at the intensity of Bela’s statement, her sister doesn’t look at all impressed, and eyes you with minimal interest. Better than looking at you with hatred, right? Apparently not, as Bela moves to stand between the two of you, eyes narrowed. There’s a clear stiffness in her posture that leaves you anxious. Cassandra seems to notice it as well, and laughs, before taking a few steps in your direction. Then your soulmate mimics the movement, forcing you to do so as well.

“They’re human,” Cassandra snapped, pausing to sniff the air and scowl. “Here I thought your soulmate would have to be special, if they’re to compare to your ego. You’re disappointed, aren’t you? Having to settle for this.” With that she shifts, flesh writhing, making your stomach churn as you watch her disintegrate into a cloud of… flies? What the hell is wrong with this family? Can Bela do that too? I hope not, you think. Soon you’re pulled from your thoughts, however, as the swarm circles around you, single insects occasionally surging forward to cut at your skin. But Bela is grabbing you by the sleeve and tugging you to her chest, moving against a wall so that her body shielded your own. Your eyes clamp shut as you shake in her arms. When the buzzing stops, it is quickly replaced with cruel laughter. “That fragile, hmm? I can’t wait to see what mother thinks. See you at breakfast, sister!”

Then the two of you are alone, still pressed against the wall, staying still until the sound of footsteps fade. You’re stunned, unsure of how to react. The fact that a few drops of blood roll down your cheek only makes things worse. Still, Bela managed to prevent you from getting too hurt, and the few wounds on your body are negligible. Ever filled with gratitude, you hold her close as you try to stutter out a few sentences.

“Is she always this hostile, or am I truly not what you had expected? No, pay me no mind, it hardly matters. Thank you for protecting me,” you whispered. In response, Bela gives you a little squeeze, then pulls back enough to wipe the blood from your face. There’s a hint of something odd in her expression, which you interpret to be related to her apparent ‘need for blood’. Thankfully, she is in perfect control, and does not frenzy the same way you had read about fictional vampires doing. But she does hesitate, words dying on her tongue, like there are a thousand things she wants to say, and no words to say them with. “It’s alright, my dear. Let’s just go to breakfast, like we planned, and hope your sister behaves better when supervised.”

Bela nods, quickly, before taking your hand in her own. Whatever awaited you in the dining room, the two of you would be ready. Hopefully.

#babe why aren't you this nice to ME #bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #soulmate au #imagine bela's soulmate meeting cassandra's #they'd be very unlikely friends #cassandra would HATE how well behaved her soulmate would be #like #tumblr keeps rearranging the order of my tags???#I'll fix that later

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liannyeong · 4 years

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Things just work out (in the end)

Summary: Two close friends who decided to marry each other if they’re still single at the age of 30. What can happen, right?

Word count: 3181

Pairing: Jaebeom X OC

Warning(s): Fluff, Just a pinch of angst

A/N: Yay a new fic! And finally, I have gotten used to spelling Jaebeom’s name correctly. This idea is totally cliche lol but well, I just had to write it when ideas started popping in my head. Originally, I had other plans for this plot but I decided to condense it into just a short fic lol. I actually aimed for a 2k word count but well, I always end up writing more whoops ~

Long-time friends, that's what they really are, Not the best of friends but they're close enough to lean on each other and share about their problems. For example, failed relationships. None of their relationships ever last a year. Their friends wonder why, but not even they know the answer to the problem. In the end, they're labelled as the curse in any romantic relationship.

"You know," Jaebeom starts, after a night out with their mutual friends. He had just dropped off their friends who lived along the way, and is now left with her as always. They live the closest to each other anyway. "I'd say we should make a deal."

"A deal?" she echoes.

"Yeah. Let's get married if we're both single by the age of 30."

She snorts. "That's 5 years from now!"

Jaebeom shrugs. "Anything can happen in 5 years."

She keeps quiet, thinking it over before she speaks. "And if we're still single?"

"We marry," Jaebeom says so offhandedly, as if it's nothing serious.

She has a brow raised. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, why not?" Jaebeom retorts. "Nobody seems to want us. And even if they do, it never last more than a year. So why not we skip the basics and get married?"

She bursts out laughing. "You're mad," she says disapprovingly.

"Well, just think about it," Jaebeom insists. "I don't think we've got anything to lose. After all, how bad can it be if there are two 'cursed ones' in a relationship?"

---

ii.

Surprisingly, she agrees. In the year they both turn 30, they hold a small wedding. Then, she moves into Jaebeom's apartment because it is larger. As the months go on, nothing seems to change -- only that Jaebeom has become more gentlemanly towards her. Perhaps being married to someone, having another person to take care of has made him kinder, she doesn't really know. What she knows is that she doesn't hate it. It actually feels nice to have someone to be with at the end of the day. Jaebeom has been a spectacular husband: he listens to her rants about anything, helps her cook dinner. It has been really great.

But sometimes, she can't tell the difference between Jaebeom being chivalrous or... well... having feelings for her? It sounds as if she's too full of herself to think about it, but how can she not when he does things that are questionable?

For example, in one breezy day, Jaebeom took off his jacket just to tie it around her waist when she was wearing a dress that touched just above her knee.

"In case there are any perverts lurking around," he had said dismissively.

Or the few times when he noticed her shivering from the coldness of the air. Be it the air-conditioner of their car or the chilly air anywhere else, Jaebeom would drape his jacket over her body silently, and focus back on whatever he was doing.

Or that one time when they were stranded in the rain with no umbrella. The man threw his precious leather jacket over their heads, then pulled her by the waist with one hand as he led them across the street.

It doesn't seem anything, really. But that last incident is the last straw. Jaebeom has never held her without her permission. He has always made sure not to do anything physical to her, if she doesn't consent to it. The other part of her mind argues that it was just a one-time thing. She can't really comment much on it, can she?

The easiest way to figure this out is to ask him directly. But god, wouldn't it make her look like fool? Imagine Jaebeom saying that "No, I don't have feelings for you. What made you even think that?" Or "We married because of our promise, nothing else." Ugh, this seems like an unnecessary stress on her mind.

One thing's for sure though: even if Jaebeom doesn't harbour any feelings for her, the things he do certainly has an effect on her... She wonders what kind of feeling this is...

---

iii.

Jaebeom is an aspiring singer-songwriter. He has put his works out there to the world through his Soundcloud, which landed him a stable job at a local music company. She knows he's well-known in the music industry -- he's always got big projects to do, producing songs for popular idol groups out there. It's fascinating. Having known him for years, seeing him slowly gaining the recognition he deserves makes her happy.

But with bigger projects to tackle, that means longer working hours. And he will certainly bring his work home. It's frequent that Yugyeom, Jaebeom's partner, comes over to their shared apartment to continue with their projects. Usually, she would hear the same damn beat played a million times across the house. Today, it's more quiet. Perhaps, they're sourcing for inspiration? she wonders to herself. Well, it's not as if she minds the quiet ambience.

She heads to Jaebeom's room-slash-studio to call him for dinner but as she raises her hand to knock, she hears Yugyeom saying, "Hyung, you should tell her you like her--"

She freezes.

"Shut the hell up, Yugyeom. These walls are thin!" Jaebeom hisses.

"But hyung--"

"Drop it, Gyeom-ah. We're not talking about this now," Jaebeom cuts.

Her mind reeling. Jaebeom has someone he likes...? What...?

She totally misses out the footsteps on the other side, until the door swings open suddenly. She jolts in surprise, her hand still raised up.

Jaebeom is looking at her, wide-eyed, as if caught doing a heinous act.

"How long have you been standing here?" he asks after clearing his throat and his face from any expression.

"Just. I was about to knock your door but you opened it," she lies smoothly. "Dinner's ready."

"Great! I'm hungry!" Yugyeom exclaims as he jumps out of his seat and brushes past the two of them like an excited puppy. He heads to the kitchen by himself, leaving the married couple in the hallway.

Jaebeom's voice is soft and cautious as he asks, "Did you hear anything?"

She blinks up at him, trying her best to put on a blank expression. "No? Was I supposed to hear something?"

Jaebeom actually flushes. "N-no. It's great you didn't hear anything," he mumbles.

She nods, eyeing the man. "Let's eat."

---

iv.

Jaebeom always lets her listen to his finished work before its official release to the public. One particular song is about wanting to get closer to another, but they can't because of certain circumstances. Another is about loving a person from afar. It bears a resemblance to Jaebeom's situation, if her thoughts are correct. And her curiosity only gets bigger.

"Your songs... It sounds real," she tries to start the topic in mind. "Do you... possibly... have feelings for someone?"

Jaebeom swivels his chair to look at her in surprise. He looks caught.

She lets out a gasp. She sputters, "You-- Wait, who is she-- Oh, wait, no--" She halts herself when her mind clicks. "Why did you agree to this marriage thing if you have someone you like?! Oh god-- What have I done??" she panics.

"Hey, relax," Jaebeom's calm voice cuts her panic. "It's nothing, don't worry."

"Don't worry?!" she repeats in anger. "How can I not worry?! You're-- Oh god, you could have been with the person you like right now, if not for this--" she gestures the space between them, "thing between us!" She buries her face into her hands, mumbling to herself, "What have I done..."

Jaebeom crouches before her, hands closing around her wrists delicately to pull them away from her face. He brushes her cheek with a knuckle, smiling softly. "It's fine, really. It's no big deal."

"How are you so calm about this?"

"It's because I don't regret anything."

"You don't regret anything?" she echoes his words. "Not even this marriage agreement between us?"

Jaebeom's smile falls just a little. There's a certain warmth in his gaze, a gentle expression on his face. It's one that she has never seen before. Well, not directed to her at the very least. "I don't."

"Why?"

"Because," he starts slowly, "you have been a great partner so far. I don't have any complaints about you."

She frowns, feeling that something is amiss. "There's something you're not telling me."

Jaebeom blinks. Then his shoulders slump. He settles on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of her.

"You're right. There is something I haven't told you," he admits. He lets out a sigh. "But how can I, when I might risk losing everything I have?"

"What's going on--"

Jaebeom looks at her dead in the eye.

"I like you," he confesses.

She draws a deep breath.

"I don't know when it began. But after the wedding, after a few months into this marriage arrangement, I guess I developed a soft spot for you. Which gradually became real feelings. Perhaps the feelings have always been there, I don't know, but I only realized it through this marriage."

"I--" she gapes her mouth like a fish. "I thought you-- I thought you like someone else!"

Jaebeom shakes his head. "I don't. I like you."

She gasps.

"I--" Jaebeom reaches forward but she immediately rises, backing away. The man looks hurt but she can't wrap her mind around this new revelation.

"I'm sorry I need time to process this," she says hastily before striding out of his room.

---

Jaebeom seems to understand her position, so he minimizes any interaction or encounter between them. After all, she's still a little confused. It's not easy to accept the fact that Jaebeom has fallen for her when all they've ever been was close friends. Sure, she may have liked the chivalrous way Jaebeom treated her, but she doesn't think it's any indicator that she may harbour the same feelings toward her.

Anyway, Jaebeom doesn't been home for days. She doesn't even know how he's been. Is he eating alright? Is he stressed? Is he okay? She knows it's her fault -- it was her reaction to his confession that made them like this. Still, she can't help the uneasiness in her heart when Jaebeom disappears for days.

So when the man comes home in the wee hours of the night, she feels her heart pound. He looks so tired, so ragged, like a homeless person. He looks like his life got sucked out of his body.

"Jaebeom--" she calls softly.

He slowly turns, his eyes are heavy, dark circles and eye bags underneath. "Did I wake you? Sorry about that... Well, good night." He drags himself into his room and the door clicks shut.

She stands alone in the doorway of her own room. He looks horrible... She wonders if she could cheer him up. She realizes she actually misses his company. The way he would always be there for her at the end of a long day. The way he would listen to her attentively as she rants her heart out. When has she ever done the same for him? She reckons she has never.

With new determination, she pads over to his room silently, then sneaks in. Jaebeom is already fast asleep, not having changed out of his clothes. He's sprawled out on the bed, and she slowly makes her way to him. The bed dips under her weight, then she rests her head on his arm, snuggling close to him.

"Wha--?" he mumbles groggily, looking over at her.

She only shushes him, curling an arm around his waist as she joins him to sleep.

---

vi.

When she wakes, Jaebeom is still passed out. But his body is turned towards her, his breathing soft and slow. She's still got her head pillowed on his arm. Her eyes wander his face, from the two brows to the twin moles above his left eye, down to the two closed slits and to his round nose, until--

His lips, crafted perfectly like a cupid's bow. The soft pinkish color. She wonders what it feels like to kiss him.

Wait.

What?

K-kiss Jaebeom?

She jolts up, suddenly very awake. She glances back at Jaebeom and her eyes automatically lands on his lips again. Her heart pounds in her ears. Oh my god.

She stomps out, into the safe haven of her own room, her heart beating fast.

No way.

Does she actually like Jaebeom???

---

vii.

Things are still awkward between the two of them. She doesn't mention about the night she slept over at his room. Neither did Jaebeom. It's probably best to leave it for now. She wouldn't know how to face him when she's been having weird feelings since then.

Speaking of which, her mind is plagued with thoughts of Jaebeom and her newfound feelings. She has been trying to rationalize her emotions, but now, she wonders if she's in denial.

What's so bad about liking Jaebeom, anyway? she ponders. He has been a great husband. Hell, she hasn't felt this comfortable with any man before! Comparing to all the boys she has ever dated, she must admit that Jaebeom is the best among them. But wait, Jaebeom and her are not considered as dating, right? If Jaebeom is already this good, what more a real dating relationship? Or even better, a real marriage?

She blushes furiously, raising a hand to cover her face. At the same time, she accidentally knocks over a hot pot, letting out a yelp of pain. The first thing her body does is to put her hand under the running tap water. As she lets the burn cool, she looks over at the kitchen floor. The contents of the pot have spilled all over the tiled floor. She sighs. She shouldn't be this distracted while cooking.

The man who plagued her thoughts emerges from his room haphazardly, his face painted with worry. He glances over the floor before going back to her, especially on her hand.

"I'll grab the first aid kit," Jaebeom says. He comes back, calling her over with a hand held out for her to grab. He then leads her to the couch in the living room, sitting her down and opening the kit. He takes the seat next to her, their knees knocking.

Jaebeom helps to apply a burn cream onto her hand. She will never admit this, but his touch is more scalding than the heat of the pot. She flushes.

"What happened?" he asks gently as he rolls a bandage around her hand.

"I just--" She makes the mistake of looking up. She realizes how close they are. Jaebeom's face is just a few inches away. She can hear his soft breathing. She can even count his lashes. Embarrassed, she averts her eyes, mumbling, "I got distracted, that's all."

"You should be more careful," Jaebeom says, closing the kit and putting it away afterwards. "Just rest, okay? I'll clean the kitchen. We can just order in today."

She nods. Jaebeom heads to the kitchen and starts to clear the spill on the floor. She watches as he picks the soggy vegetables and dispose it into the bin. She slumps in her seat. All she wanted was to cook a simple soup for dinner. Now, Jaebeom who is busy has to clean the mess she made. She feels sorry.

So she turns on her phone and places an order on Jaebeom's favorite from his favorite restaurant.

---

viii.

After coming to terms with her own self, she decides that it's time for them to settle this awkwardness between them.

She knocks onto Jaebeom's door and the man lets her in. He looks a little worried, a little uncertain about what's happening.

"It's about us," she begins once she settled comfortably on his bed.

"Oh," he lets out.

"Look, I-- Um--" she stutters. She breathes out then starts again, "When you confessed to me, I just... I didn't know what to make sense of it. So I'm sorry with how I behaved afterwards. I just didn't know how to deal with it."

"It's fine, I understand," Jaebeom says softly.

"But I just can't stop thinking about it," she adds.

Jaebeom leans forward now, quick to assure her. "Hey, look... If you're uncomfortable living with me, I can move out. We can just sign the divorce papers. It's not a big deal."

She shakes her head. "It is a big deal--! I just--"

The man smiles weakly. "You don't have to force yourself to live with me. I'm not hurt if you don't return my feelings. I understand really. I have made you uncomfortable--"

"No, Jaebeom!!" she nearly shrieks. "What I mean to say is-- I think I-- I think I like you too..." Heat rises in her cheeks and she knows without doubt that her face is as red as a tomato.

Jaebeom stares blankly at her, stupefied.

"I've been thinking a lot about it," she continues. "Back then, I thought... It isn't a bad idea to marry you. But now..." Embarrassed, she's staring at her lap, afraid to look at Jaebeom's face. "I want you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you," she confesses.

Jaebeom moves forward, kneeling on the floor, a hand gently cupping her left cheek.

"Do you really mean that?"

She nods, blushing.

Jaebeom smiles, his eyes forming crescents. "Spending my life with you, I'd love that."

She looks at him, face gleaming with happiness. Her eyes accidentally look down to his lips and she turns redder. She looks away quickly, abashed.

Jaebeom must have noticed this as he follows her face, peering at her. His hand is still pressed against her cheek. "Can I kiss you?" he asks softly.

She gulps. What does it feel like? her mind wonders. She tilts her chin up, a silent agreement. She watches as Jaebeom moves closer and shuts her eyes when he's just a breath away. Their lips gently brush against each other, and it already feels otherworldly. The moment their lips connect... God, it feels so good. She feels how plump and soft his lips are. And god, the way he rolls his lips against hers... It's electric.

She swears that is the best kiss she has ever had. Reluctantly, they pull apart for air, both their chests heaving. Jaebeom doesn't move away though, he presses their foreheads together. Her eyes feel heavy as she opens them. Jaebeom is already staring back, as if he couldn't believe that they kissed.

"Is this real?" he whispers.

"Yes, it is," she answers before lunging forward. Jaebeom topples backwards, his head hitting the floor with a thud. She worries, but the man laughs it off, giddy with happiness, so she can't help but smile along. She leans down, pressing a quick kiss onto his lips. Jaebeom stares up at her fondly, tucking her hair behind her ear. That hand cups her neck, and he directs her for another kiss. His other arm tightens around her waist, pinning her close. They kiss like teenagers, when chemicals are high.

#im jaebeom #im jaebeom scenarios #got7 #got7 im jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom scenarios #got7 im jaebeom #got7 jaebeom #jaebeom #got7 scenarios #got7 jaebeom scenarios

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maraudererasmut · 5 years

Text

Black and White (Part IX)

(This is a long one! I'm sorry!)

Remus spent ten minutes in the washroom.

He didn’t want to spend ten minutes there, standing around by the sink, eying himself awkwardly in the mirror, nodding uncomfortably at the man who stood in the corner giving out mints. At first, Remus considered returning to the table, but then he pictured Sirius’ face, dark and cold, his glare as sharp as his cheekbones.

A few minutes in, Remus noticed the bathroom attendant— Is that what he was called? — eyeing him suspiciously. He gave the man a guilty smile and tried to save face.

“I’m uh… just waiting on some friends… they’re… uh… having a conversation at the table? A… A private one… I just…”

Remus cut himself off after he realized how little the other man cared about his predicament and how awkward his explanation sounded.

After ten minutes in the restroom, Remus eventually returned to the table, praying to whoever would listen that his friends' discussion was over; the last thing Remus needed was to walk in on them talking about him. When he arrived, Lily and James both offered genuine smiles. Sirius was staring intently at the menu, making a point of not glancing up as Remus sat down beside him.

“Remus! Hey… Sorry about that,” Lily began, before Remus shook his head in response.

“It’s no problem, really. Gave me a chance to… get some fresh air…” Remus didn’t know why he lied; perhaps he didn’t want his companions to know that he had spent the entire time staring at the mirror above the sinks.

Just as Remus lifted up the menu to begin looking at it— Lily was right, there were no prices! — a server came by to take their orders.

“Sir? What can I get you?”

“Oh…” Remus glanced down at the menu again, then back up at the server. “Can you… come back to me? At the end?”

“Of course, sir.”

Remus searched through the menu for the least expensive-sounding option as the rest of the party gave their orders. By the time the waiter circled back to Remus, he had settled on something.

“I’ll have the salad, please.”

“Very good, Sir. And for your main course?”

“Oh, uh… that… that was for my main course.”

The waiter cocked an eyebrow and Remus could feel the back of his neck burning.

“Sir, this is a prix fix menu. It’s all included. The appetizer, the main course, the dessert, all one price.”

Oh.

That explained why the menu didn't have any prices on it. It also posed a problem for Remus, who wanted to spend as little as possible at this exceedingly expensive establishment.

He glanced down at the menu again, feeling the eyes of his companions all settling on him, waiting for his response. Remus swallowed, trying to steady his nerves. He needed to keep his voice from shaking.

"Wh— what do you recommend?"

"The steak is our most popular dish. A very fine cut. Exceptional."

"O-okay… I'll have that."

"Very good, sir. How would you like your steak?"

Remus glanced over to Lily, hoping that she could help save him from embarrassment. He had never ordered steak at a restaurant; what was he supposed to tell the server? Lily smiled kindly at him, in that way she always seemed to smile. It was as if nothing about her could ever be unkind.

"It's usually best medium-rare," she said softly.

"Okay, uh… medium-rare then…"

The server nodded before leaving the table.

"Thanks," Remus mumbled under his breath, earning himself a gentle squeeze on the arm from Lily.

Conversation at the table picked up, and Remus noticed his nerves settle slightly as James and Lily chatted away. Lily began talking about art, a conversation that Remus could participate in, resulting in a vibrant debate about the merits of the hand-made and the decline of technique in the contemporary art world.

"I think that's the biggest flaw with performance art," Remus was saying as the sommelier filled his second glass of wine. "There's no skill involved. Sure, your idea can be strong, but there's a definite lack of artistic prowess, and it's a sincere pity. It really is detrimental to overall artistic growth in terms of sheer ability."

"You're wrong," Sirius said suddenly, speaking up for the first time since Remus arrived back at the table. Remus looked over to Sirius, expecting him to look upset. Instead, the gallerist had a smug grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with passion. "And if every artist thought like you, we would be stuck looking at the same thing in every gallery."

"Sirius," Lily said threateningly, before Remus cut her off.

"No, no, I want to hear this. Go on, Si— Mr. Black. I'd love to hear your explanation."

"Well," Sirius began, pausing to nod at the server who brought him a plate of food. "Performance art, readymade, the types of works that, as you say, don't require talent… those artists push the boundaries of what is defined as art. They move the contemporary world in a new direction, challenging the ideals of the time, bringing forth new concepts and making statements "

Remus smiled at Sirius, shaking his head.

"There's a time and a place, Mr. Black." He took a bite of his food and paused for a moment to savour the variety of flavours. Despite being a salad, it was so different than anything he had ever tried before; sweetness paired with bitter, the tang of citrus crossed with the bite from spiced pecans. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sheer sensation of eating.

"You were saying, Mister Lupin?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. This is delicious. Yes, a time and a place. At the time that Duchamp first introduced the concept of readymade, there was a genuine need for it in the art world. Nowadays, if somebody presented a urinal in an art gallery, they would be laughed at! What the contemporary art world needs these days is a return to craftsmanship. We need to go back to our roots, to explore techniques, to learn how to paint and draw and sculpt the way we used to."

"And what of Abromovic, who challenges what it means to be an artist?" Sirius asked, his grin growing wider, a hint of colour spreading across his cheeks.

"What about her?" Remus retorted, taking another bite and picking out the individual flavours of the dish.

"Well, Mr. Lupin, she changes the way we view art. Art is no longer something that is inaccessible to the lower class, the uneducated. Art is something that anyone can do, or be, or have, or create. Art is no longer reserved for the elite. People can no longer purchase art the same way they used to. I cannot own an Abromovic masterpiece. I can enjoy it and witness it, I can be a part of it, but it's not something that I can have and keep to myself behind closed doors. Art is no longer a commodity."

Remus nodded to the server who cleared his plate before giving Sirius a slightly skeptical look.

"You don't need to tell me about commodification of art and the inability to access it," Remus said with a grin. "If anything, I should be the one arguing for art accessibility for the lower class, not you."

Sirius' eyes flashed with something that Remus couldn't decipher, and for the briefest moment, the gallerist looked taken aback. Sirius' composure quickly resumed, however, covering up any sense of doubt, his lips twisted smugly.

"Well then, Mr. Lupin, my point shouldn't be lost on you."

"It's not," Remus said with a casual shrug, glancing over to James and Lily who were merely observers of the conversation rather than participants. "I understand what you mean. I just don't think people should become so wealthy on such minimal talent…"

Sirius didn't respond.

Remus noticed the silence that settled over the table and his smile faded. He sat up straight, fiddling with the corner of his napkin, realizing his error.

"I… I mean… like Abromovic. She's so wealthy and she… well… she hasn't produced anything… and galleries keep bringing her in and, well, she… uh…"

Two servers arrived at their table, placing a plate in front of each person, and Remus had never been more grateful for a distraction.

"Ah! Wonderful!" James exclaimed, drawing the table's attention to himself. He smiled across at Remus, as if to say that all was well, but Remus could tell that something was off with Sirius. The artist glanced over to his right, where the gallerist was digging into his dinner.

With a shrug, Remus focused his attention on his steak, and the moment he took a bite, all of his worries faded away.

Remus had never tasted meat like this before. It was soft and tender, dripping with juices and a punch of flavour. His knife slid through the meat so easily, so effortlessly, revealing a perfectly pink interior. This was the most delicious meal Remus had ever eaten in his entire life.

No wonder rich people are always so happy. I'd be happy too, if I could eat this whenever I wanted.

Remus knew he'd never be able to properly enjoy a steak again, it would always be compared to the perfect dish before him.

"So Remus," Lily began, once their plates were beginning to empty. "If you don't like Abromovic or Koons, which artists do you like?"

Remus grinned at his friend as he set his fork and knife down.

"And I'm assuming I can't just say myself?"

Lily and James both laughed at his joke, but Sirius' face twisted into a scowl.

"A little proud of yourself, are we?"

Remus' gaze returned to Sirius, trying to read the man; he couldn't tell if his joke was lost on Sirius or if the man simply lacked a sense of humour.

"I mean, I didn't name a gallery after myself…"

Another pause. The table seemed to hold its collective breath as Remus' taunt landed.

Sirius' lips parted in a grin, and he let out a sharp laugh. Remus felt his body release the tension he didn't realize the was holding, his shoulders relaxing and a breath escaping his lungs.

Thank god.

Sirius laughing meant that Remus didn't put the rest of his life at risk. He was, however, beginning to despise the minefield that was this dinner, waiting for his next slip up, waiting for his world to explode.

"That's funny, Mr. Lupin." Sirius said, after a good chuckle. "Very funny. Especially considering the fact that up until very recently, it was your desire to show in that gallery."

Shit.

"Oh shush," James butted in, before anyone else could say anything. "Learn to take a joke, Sirius. Don't be so—"

"Don't say it, James!" Lily warned, barely containing her grin.

"I was merely playing along!" Sirius teased, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol and laughter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. His gaze flickered toward Remus, and the artist felt his heart skip a beat. Sirius was a very handsome man, and laughter looked particularly good on him. He was attractive no matter what he did, any way that he held himself. When he smiled, though…

Remus quickly looked away, directing his attention to the remnants on his plate. When Sirius smiled, his eyes lit up, as blinding as the sun kissing the sky on a perfect winter day. They were the very shade of snow beneath a tree, the lightest of blues, perfectly undisturbed. Sirius' cheeks bore the morning blush of a sunrise, the colour of the sky just as it threatened to turn blue. Next to the creamy glow of his face, it took on an almost ethereal quality.

Remus loved the colours of Sirius.

And he hated how much he loved it.

"Any coffee with your dessert, sir?"

Remus thought his heart might have exploded with the shock of being wrenched from his thoughts. He looked up at the server with a look of panic, having completely forgotten where he was.

"Um… no, no thank you. I'm fine," he mumbled, tearing his eyes from the server and keeping them focused on the chocolate torte that had been placed in front of him.

Thank god.

Nothing could redirect Remus' imagination quite like chocolate, and he was thoroughly grateful for the distraction.

Dessert passed with minimal conversation as everyone savoured their delicacies. As discussion resumed, it veered away from art, and Remus found himself listening more than talking. Eventually, the server came by the table, and Remus realized that his perfect meal and fantasy evening was about to come to an abrupt and painful close.

"Will there be anything else you need?"

"No, just the bill, please," James said politely.

"Together or separate?"

"Together."

Together?

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it; he waited for the server to leave before he rounded on James.

"You really don't have to do that, James. Honestly, I can't let you—"

"Nonsense!" James said with an enthusiastic flap of his hand. "Of course I'm paying! This dinner is my treat!"

"But it really—"

"Remus, I invited you to join us! It's my pleasure!"

Remus knew he should be happy, he should feel relieved; his whole night had been laced with anxiety as he thought about the ludicrous cheque that was waiting for him. Instead, Remus felt guilty. He felt like he was in debt to James, like he owed the man. There was no way he could accept a gift this generous without repaying the favour.

"You don't have to," Remus mumbled, feeling the weight of his words press down on his shoulders. He was damned either way, but at least if he paid for his meal, he wouldn't be indebted to anyone.

"I know," James said, his smile never faltering. "I don't have to do anything. I want to. Now, back to the real matter at hand…" James turned to Sirius. He was clearly finished with the discussion about the bill, and Remus knew better than to push.

"Yes, James?" Sirius said, quirking a brow playfully.

"Now that you've had a proper opportunity to get to know Remus, have you come to any important decisions?"

Remus' heart was suddenly in his throat, beating more rapidly than he thought possible. How could he have forgotten about Sirius' decision to have him in the gallery?

"As a matter of fact," Sirius purred, his smile crooked and sly. He turned to Remus, his chin tilted slightly upwards, a flash of pearly white teeth enclosed between tender lips that Remus wanted to forget about. "I have."

Remus' grip tightened on his napkin and he sank into his chair as the silence and anticipation steadily grew worse.

"Well?!" James was on the edge of his seat, clearly not a patient man. Lily had her hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him at bay.

"Remus, I require no less than five pieces in order to begin displaying your work. I would like to have them by our next show, which will be towards the beginning of November. Do you think you can accomplish that for me?"

Remus was at a loss for words. He nodded fervently, unable to get his voice out.

"Good. I'll have my lawyers work up a contract. You can come by the gallery on Monday to sign it and discuss details."

Remus couldn't believe what was happening. He pinched himself on his forearm, trying to ensure that this was not some kind of vivid dream. As a jolt of pain shot through his arm, a smile spread across his face.

As far as he could tell, it was all real...

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fairycosmos · 5 years

Note

i live in az. ive been out of school for 2 years now (i think i sent u an ask related to school recently so if it sounds familiar YES i am back to bother!!) bUT im supposed to start back on the 31 & my self harm has gotten a lot worse since then & my arms are both pretty covered so it really is kinda the first impression people get of me & idk if im ready for that. on top of everything else about school thats getting to me, im worrying so much about this & its fricken 100+ degrees everyday /:

hey love. hmmm i'm sorry to hear that, unfortunately this is one of those struggles that comes along with self harming that no one really wants to talk about. is it possible to discuss it with your teachers so you guys can come to a compromise? about possibly being able to modify your uniform or being able to wear long sleeves even just during class? you could take a light sweater so you don't overheat. i know it feels embarrassing to be so open and outright about it, but it seems like the only option as far as 'hiding the scars' goes. if your teachers can see that they will be a distraction and that they make you uncomfortable then they may let you wear something else, even if they're not happy about it. it really doesn't hurt to ask when possible. it might also help to use scar cream on the older wounds to help them fade. you could also bandage the cuts up if you have to wear short sleeves. yeah, that will still draw attention, and yeah people will ask but at the end of the day you don't owe them the truth or an answer. let them talk, let them wonder. it doesn't change what actually happened. and literally nobody is entitled to that information anyway. curiosity isn't always hostile and usually just comes from a place of boredom. and yeah, kids can be ignorant and rude because they're insecure and immature - it's about them, and what they lack. not about you, or your worth, or what you deserve. they'll find any reason to be a dickhead to others. also, to be honest, after the initial slight awkwardness, i'm sure people will stop noticing the scars as much, once they realize you're not going to talk about it. the pressure of going to a new school and the emotional turmoil it brings probably makes it feel like it's going to be the beginning and end of your world, but it's not. you will get by a day at a time. anxiety often causes you to think in absolutes, to expect worse case scenarios. but you can't trust that narrative every time, it affords no room for nuance or realism. look, it's totally normal to be nervous, even if it is frustrating. but as long as you remember that there is always additional support available and that you are deserving of friendship and happiness regardless of what's on your arms, you're going to be alright. you are. to be honest this is just reason number 34542 as to why self harming just isn't fuckin worth it. i'm not saying you have to immediately stop or anything, because obviously that's unrealistic. and i know how hard it is to fight the urge bc i'm still struggling with it at 19. but working on minimizing your reliance on it as a coping mechanism, being able to identify pointlessly self destructive thoughts, and trying to be honest with those who care about you are all great ways to begin overcoming it. and maybe you won't be successful every time, but that's okay. if you're doing what you can to harm yourself less, to meet those small goals, then you're doing great. there will always be a part of you that says fuck effort fuck everything i can't do it, but you've already proven that voice wrong. it sounds cheesy but i can't stress the importance of making tiny changes and practicing self compassion during this stressful time in your life. hopefully in a few months you'll be able to look back from a place of hindsight and feel calmer about it all. you just have to give yourself that time to adapt before you start writing everything off as awful. anyway i hope your teachers hear you out and that you're able to find a way to protect your privacy. there had to be something, and if not, know that peoples attention spans are short as hell and eventually it'll barely be a point of discussion. i really good you're okay and i'm wishing you good luck with a my heart!!! let me know if you need a friend or if you want to talk about this properly, i'll be here and i do understand to an extent. sending love.

#tw self harm #tw cutting #anon

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veneataur · 6 years

Text

Whumpmas day 22

Fandom: original fiction

Prompt: Iatrophobia (fear of medical procedures)

Title: An Unexpected Incident

Warning: needles, panic attack

A/N: I actually managed to finish this one in one sitting. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll take it. Please enjoy.

It’s become routine now. She gets up in the morning, grabs a quick breakfast, and comes to the hospital to spend a few hours in the morning with Evie. Then she goes to work and Nate comes by. They rarely overlap anymore. After work, she picks up dinner and comes back to the hospital to sit with Evie again before going home to sleep an hour after visiting hours are over. The nurses let her stay later, feeling sorry for her. Or maybe, it’s for Evie. Evie’s gathered a lot of attention in the month she’s been in the hospital, from everyone. She doesn’t know it though. Although she recovered from the hypothermia without serious lasting damage, pneumonia did set into her lungs. Weak and frail, the doctors opted to sedate and intubate her while she recovers in the ICU. The hope is that when she’s through the pneumonia and they let her come out of the sedation, she’ll be stronger. Marla isn’t sure that’s going to happen. She isn’t sure of anything about Evie right now. After seeing the scars on Evie, she can only imagine what her friend endured for months.

It doesn’t help that the police haven’t been able to put together much. They found no evidence that Evie was hurt in any room in the building where she was found. They still don’t even know who took her, which only serves to put Marla on edge. She doesn’t know who to trust other than Nate and Amber and she worries constantly that whoever took Evie before might come back. Amber believes they were done with her, considering that she was left to die in the safe, but Marla won’t be at ease until someone is arrested.

Today is different though. The doctors have weaned Evie off of the sedatives, the worst of the pneumonia having cleared up, and since yesterday, she’s been showing greater signs of awareness. Marla hopes that Evie will wake fully today. The nurses said that she was waking briefly during the day.

A soft groan pulls her out of her thoughts. She looks up to see Evie turning her head to the side, blinking her eyes slowly.

“Evie?” Marla stands to be closer to Evie. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.” She takes hold of Evie’s hand, hoping to reassure her. Evie’s eyes open a little more and Marla thinks that she focuses on her, but there’s no clear sense of recognition in them. Maybe she’s still too out of it.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” Marla says again. Even if Evie’s not fully alert, she might be able to hear it enough to relax her. It might help.

Evie doesn’t wake any further, dozing back off. Marla continues holding her hand, repeating the same reassuring phrase though. It’s not until a nurse comes in that they get some different reaction.

“It looks like she’s somewhat awake,” the nurse says.

“Yeah. She’s been in and out like this all evening.”

“It’s not uncommon with all that she’s been through. She’s still underweight and healing.”

“I know. I guess I’d just hoped for more.”

“She’s making steady progress. It’s going to be a long recovery, though.”

“Yeah.” Marla nods. The nurse checks Evie’s vitals and the equipment, talking gently with Evie as she does. All of the nurses have been good about talking to Evie, even when she was sedated.

“Alright. Now, I’m just going to take a little blood for the lab to run some tests.” The nurse pulls out a syringe and takes the cap off. She cleans the IV port.

“Her pulse is picking up,” Marla says, hearing the change in tone.

“It’s not uncommon. It might be the haziness she’s in. She might be a bit confused about where she’s at and what’s going on.”

“Hey, Evie,” Marla says, keeping her voice calm and cheerful. “You’re safe. You’re at the hospital. Okay? The nurse here’s just going to take some blood for testing. It won’t hurt a bit.”

Evie doesn’t calm back down. Her pulse picks up even more and her breathing joins suit, setting off more alarms. Then she starts pulling away from them, sitting up. The IV is torn out before they can stop her and she’s falling out of the bed as more nurses and a doctor arrive. Despite the commotion, all Marla hears is the smack of flesh and bones on the tile floor. She tries to get to Evie’s side, but the nurses and doctor crowd her out. She hears them talking, checking for injuries, deciding on what to do. There’s hesitation in moving her until they know she’s not seriously injured herself from falling four feet. The bleeding wound from the torn IV is taken care of immediately. Evie’s gone still, curled up initially, then pliable once they start moving her around to check for injuries. It unsettles Marla.

“Alright, let’s get her back on the bed,” the doctor says. “Carefully.”

They lift Evie back on the bed in one, clean motion, and start reattaching the wires.

“What happened?” The doctor turns to the nurse who’d first come in.

“I was preparing to draw blood. I hadn’t even gotten close, just cleaned the IV,” she says.

“Her pulse was going up,” Marla says, not wanting to be lost in the sea of medical professionals.

“It was, which I didn’t see as abnormal. Her pulse and breathing both picked up, she tore out the IV, and climbed out of bed.”

“What was her alertness level,” the doctor asks.

“Minimal. She was awake, but just.”

“She’s been like that all evening,” Marla says.

“Alright. Let’s get another IV in her,” the doctor says. The nurse starts preparing to put in a new IV, on the opposite hand this time. She doesn’t get any further than cleaning the site before Evie starts reacting again. Her pulse and breathing are up as she tries to move away.

“Hold her down,” the doctor says as he turns to another nurse. “Get a sedative.” He helps the other nurses to hold Evie in place as she struggles against them. Marla is surprised by the strength of the fight, not expecting Evie to be able to keep up such resistance for as long let alone make them work to keep her in place.

“Where’s the damn sedative,” the doctor calls out. After a beat, he says, “Alright, get the restraints. Any longer and we’re going to do more than bruise her holding her down like this.”

One of the nurses goes to a drawer, pull out a set of padded restraints. They work to quickly set up the restraints and secure them to each of Evie’s limbs. Marla’s heart sinks at the sight of her friend struggling against the soft restraints. A half hour ago she was fine, recovering even, and now she’s tied down to the bed. She wants to ask what’s going on, but it’s stuck.

She watches, instead, as a sedative is given and Evie quickly calms down, drifting off into a medicated sleep. The nurse puts the IV in with ease, securing it so that it can’t be easily ripped out.

“Alright. I want x-rays to confirm that there’s no broken bones,” the doctor says. “And monitor her closer as she wakes. I want to keep a close eye on her stats and behavior as she’s waking up. We can’t have this happen again.”

With that, the doctor and all but the original nurse leave.

“How’re you doing, Marla,” the nurse asks.

“I don’t understand. What happened?”

“She reacted to something. Had a panic attack.”

‘But she’s barely aware of anything going on. How could she even know what was happening to have an attack?”

“Instinct. It’s not something that she can control. Her body is going to react as it’s been taught to.”

“So this is because of her captivity?” Marla wraps her arms around herself tightly, not able to get herself to find Evie’s hand again.

“It’s hard to say, but chances are that something that happened there is behind the reaction,” the nurse says. “Unfortunately, we’re unlikely to find out until she’s aware enough to start talking and letting us know what’s going on. We’ll try to make guesses because we don’t want to provoke a reaction if we can avoid it, but it’s difficult to do without some patient input.”

“And the restraints. How long will those stay on for?”

“Can’t say. I’m sorry,” the nurse adds when Marla’s shoulders drop. “I know it’s not what you want to hear. Seeing your friend restrained is hard but it’s to protect her. If she pulls another IV or falls out of bed again, she could seriously hurt herself. They’re soft and shouldn’t even leave a bruise.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“If she pulls hard enough, she could cause an injury, but we won’t let her get to that point. Light sedation may have to be the course of action for a while.”

“Light sedation.” Marla sighs. “Will I ever get her back?”

“Torture impacts people in many different ways. She won’t be the same person you remember, but you should get her back. She’s gone through a lot. I know it seems like she’s going to be sedated forever, but she won’t be. It’s just until she heals more and she’s more alert.”

“Okay.” Marla nods, trying to believe the nurse. It makes sense on the one hand, but she can’t see the end. All she can see is a permanently restrained and sedated Evie, an Evie lost to her.

#whumpmas #original fiction #original character #evalyne #marla #whump #ladywhump #tw: needles #tw: panic attack

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jarienn972 · 6 years

Text

Only a Little Superstitious - Chapter 23

I didn’t have time to get this chapter posted last night so some may have already seen it on AO3 or FF.net. This is the next to last installment of this story and it’s almost a little bit sad to be wrapping it up. This chapter picks up right after defeating Kronk and jumping into the portal, but did they make it in time to save Killian from the dark magic and all of the injuries Kronk imparted on him?

From the beginning: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 Tagging @killian-whump and @hookaroo. Still a little last minute whump on our pirate here .

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" a bored and still somewhat confused Dr. Victor Whale asked as he leaned against the rear bumper of the ambulance. He and two paramedics had been waiting here in the park for nearly an hour since Regina had summoned them - but they'd arrived to Storybrooke's largest park to find only a gathering of perfectly healthy people. Regina and Snow White had implored him to stay, but he was growing increasingly impatient. "I still don't see the medical emergency you were so adamant about, Madam Mayor."

Regina threw him a perturbed glare as she surveyed the expanse of park grounds herself, watching for any anomaly that would indicate a portal would soon open. This park had the largest open, grassy area in all of Storybrooke which was why it was the place she and Emma had agreed upon.

"Be patient for once, Victor. It's not like you have dozens of other medical emergencies to run off to. Emma might not have been able to get the dagger to work yet. Magic isn't as absolute as your science but they'll be here and Emma specifically stated that Hook would need medical attention. I mean, she can probably heal it all once she returns to Storybrooke's magic but just in case, I need you here, at the ready. The man was stabbed with a dagger that's almost as evil as the Dark One's after all."

"Seems to be a recurring problem," Whale quipped.

"And I will be yours if you don't shut up and just get ready to do your job," a visibly tense David lashed out as he overheard the doctor's commentary about his son-in-law.

"David… didn't see you there…" Whale shrank back, slightly embarrassed that his statement had been heard. "I'll just wait over here until you need my services…"

"You do that," David snapped, turning his attention to Regina. "Anything look out of the ordinary to indicate the portal is about to open?"

"Not yet," Regina replied with a shake of her head, "but it's not always easy to tell when or where a portal might open. You know that, David. Don't worry, she'll get it."

"Emma sounded pretty worried on the phone. She said the fever was back, didn't she?"

"Yes, and you know that too. You heard the same conversation this morning that I did. As soon as they return with the dagger, I can use a spell to draw the dark magic back into the artifact. I'm quite sure that once he's no longer fighting against that darkness, Hook will make a full recovery from the stab wound."

"I hope you're right," David sighed as a gust of wind tousled his hair. "Funny, I don't remember the weather forecast mentioning wind for today…"

"It didn't," Regina smiled as she brushed her own dark locks away from her face, realizing that the sudden strong breeze could be the portal just as the vortex materialized in the middle of the open field. Emma stumbled out first alongside an elderly woman with long, braided white hair.

"Emma!" David cried at the sight of his daughter. He started running toward her as both women collapsed into the grass. A second or two behind them, a dark haired man tumbled out, losing his balance from the sudden impact with the ground and dropping a large bundle that he'd shouldered through the portal. David and Regina instantly realized that the bundle the man had been carrying was the wounded and seemingly unconscious Killian Jones.

Emma had warned that landings could be awkward when you reached the other side of a portal but Carlos hadn't thought to brace for such a sudden stop – especially when carrying the extra weight of his incapacitated friend. He did all he could to minimize Killian's impact, absorbing much of the blow himself as he collided with the largest expanse of real grass he'd ever seen. In a split-second, a blond-haired man was kneeling beside him, carefully lifting Killian's body and moving him to the side while paramedics rushed to the scene as well.

Carlos dusted himself off as he sat up, still slightly dazed and in awe of everything he'd just experienced. He started looking around to see what had become of Emma and Grandmother, turning his head to see the same blond-haired man who'd been kneeling beside him a moment ago now standing and extending his hand toward Carlos, offering to help him to his feet. "I'm David," the blond man announced as Carlos accepted the assistance. "You must be Carlos?"

"Carlos Littlecreek," he replied, shaking David's hand heartily once he was back on his feet. "Thanks for the hand, sir."

"You don't need to call me sir," David chuckled. "I owe you a ton of thanks and we'll definitely have to talk more later. Right now though, I need to check on my daughter and son-in-law." Carlos nodded in understanding as he watched the team of paramedics crouched above Killian, but when it suddenly kicked in that the man who'd helped him up was Emma's father, his jaw went slack. He'd just shook hands with a Prince?

Carlos couldn't see all of what was going on to his right. The paramedics had lifted Killian's limp body onto a gurney, positioned an oxygen mask onto his face and appeared to be attempting to get an IV line in but that was about all he could make out from his vantage point. He diverted his eyes away from the busy medics long enough to finally spot Emma who was being tightly embraced by (and fussed over by)her father and a tiny but fierce looking woman with short, dark hair. Snow White. He was staring at Snow White hugging her daughter. This was surreal…

Grandmother had stepped aside when Emma's parents hurried in to embrace her, but the elder woman knew that Emma's focus was singular. She pulled away from them, trying to reach her husband, only to be intercepted by another dark-haired woman, this one in a tailored business suit. Everyone seemed to be commenting on Emma's hands, undoubtedly concerned about the burns, but Emma kept shrugging off their worry. Looking on, Carlos couldn't help but stare as the brunette he hadn't yet identified hovered her own hands above Emma's burns, seeing the same glowing magic that Emma had used on the mountain. The frown on the brunette's face as the glow faded led him to believe that something hadn't worked as it was supposed to but Emma didn't seem fazed. She simply shook her head and passed the cursed dagger to the other woman then pushed her way over to the paramedics.

"How is he?" Emma asked breathlessly when she was finally allowed to reach her ailing husband's side. David stood next to her with his arm wrapped around her trembling shoulders.

"Not good," was Dr. Whale's blunt response. "His blood pressure is too low and his lungs don't sound good. Several of the sutures appear to be torn open and he's likely bleeding internally as well. Regina told me he was still suffering from the stab wound, but this looks more like blunt force trauma to his rib cage."

"Kronk kicked him in the chest," Emma explained.

"Then we may have a lung puncture here," Whale stated. "Regina, whatever it is you need to do, get it done because you're either going to have to heal him right now or I've got to get him into the ER soon."

"Fine," Regina replied, retrieving a small, glass potion bottle from her pocket. She flicked away the cork stopper and poured the contents of the vial over the surface of the blade. "This should allow me to draw that dark magic back to its source…" She held the blade a few inches above Killian's chest and they all looked on as curled wisps of a grey smoke-like substance were drawn toward the dagger. It didn't take long to pull all of the noxious mist away from Killian, but with his condition already so dire, it felt as though it had been an eternity. "Done. All of the darkness has been contained back inside the dagger. Emma, do you want to try to heal him first before Whale spirit's him off to the hospital?"

"I don't know, Regina," Emma spoke up. "Magic didn't heal the burns on my hands when you tried a moment ago… Maybe magic isn't able to heal wounds caused by magic?"

"I've never known it to be a problem before…" Regina replied, but Whale cut her off.

"Don't you think magic has done enough damage?" the doctor interrupted. "Let medicine take care of him from here…"

"It's a rare occasion that I have to say I agree with Whale," David said firmly. "Victor might not be my favorite person in this town, but I trust his abilities. Emma, you should go too and get those hands looked at. Those burns are really bad."

"Thank you, David," Whale responded with an unusual amount of humility as he accepted the prince's compliment. "We've got to go now though." The two paramedics already had the gurney raised and ready to load their patient in the waiting ambulance as Emma nodded her agreement. Enough magic for this day.

Moments after watching their friends be whisked away in the ambulance, Carlos and Grandmother found themselves standing alone in the middle of the grassy field, trying to take in all they could see of Emma and Killian's hometown. Grandmother first noticed how different the air smelled, inhaling the scents of grass and trees mixed with the salty sea air, all such a drastic contrast to the dry, dusty desert. On the horizon, dense forests of towering trees blanketed the hillsides, nothing like the scrub brush and chaparral dotting the Arizona mountains that Carlos patrolled. He had to drive further north to Flagstaff to find forests even remotely resembling these, and even those were mostly pine. The vistas were nearly as mesmerizing and magical as any of the supernatural events they'd witnessed this morning.

"So that's what magic looks like…" Carlos mused, accenting his words with a nervous chuckle.

"As I've long dreamed, the White Witch did bring magic back to our mountains," the old woman stated, a broad grin etched into her features while she patted her grandson on the shoulder.

"I'm so sorry I doubted you, Grandmother," he laughed. "That was one hell of a ride!"

"Indeed it was," she smiled. "Now, I suggest that you call your employer and let them know that you might not be in for a while."

"Yeah, I already gave them a head's up that I was going to be helping the couple I rescued get home. I just never did say how or for how long. I suppose I should also come up with a story about why the SUV is parked up in the mountains in case someone pings the GPS…"

"My apologies," a woman's voice sounded behind them. "Our town is normally much more welcoming to our guests, but this has been a rather unusual morning…" The Navajo pair turned around to find the brunette in the tailored pantsuit who had minutes ago removed the evil spirits from Killian's body. "I'm Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke. I wanted to be the first to officially welcome you to our magical little town and I wanted to personally thank you for everything that you both did to help Emma and Hook, I mean Killian."

"It's alright," Carlos replied. "We've already been told a few of your real identities, Your Majesty."

Regina flushed a bit as Carlos gave her a polite dip of his head. "I'm heading over to the hospital if you'd like to join me, or if you'd rather, I can drop you off to get something to eat first?"

"That is very kind of you, Ms. Mills," Grandmother replied with a gracious smile.

"Why is it that I feel as though we might have met somewhere before, Miss…?" Regina started her statement before realizing she hadn't been formally introduced.

"Sarah Bending Willow," Grandmother introduced herself, "and no, I don't believe we've met, unless you've been to Arizona at some point. But I have had many people tell me that I remind them of someone."

"That must be it," Regina replied, slightly embarrassed that she'd even asked. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes, I can drop you off somewhere to get lunch or you're welcome to ride along to the hospital. I just have to pick up my son first…"

"Their lunch is on me," David announced as he approached. He'd seen his family off to the hospital and now wanted to express his own gratitude. "It'll be a while before Emma and Hook are treated so we'd like to show you our thanks. We'd love to have you join us for lunch and we'll give you a little tour of our town."

"We would be honored," Grandmother accepted the offer. "I don't believe it would be polite to turn down a Prince, although the only real thanks we require is knowing that our friends are alright."

"Emma's tired and cranky, insisting that we don't need to worry about her and Hook's stable for the moment," David informed them. "We won't know much more for a while so there's no use in just sitting around here."

"Then we humbly accept your offer," Carlos stated. "I for one could use some food. Hiking up a mountain and then magically portaling across the country certainly builds up an appetite."

Emma's eyes flew open, going wide with fear as she struggled to remember where she was. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled her nostrils making her believe for a moment that she was back in the hospital in Mesa, but no, it was too quiet. No, they'd made it back to Storybrooke she reminded herself as she slowly came to the realization that she was lying on a hospital bed with a tan fabric curtain hanging on either side of her. She gradually remembered how much her hands hurt as she glanced down to see them lightly bandaged and then it all came back to her, except where Killian might be. The last thing she could recall was seeing him laying on the gurney in the ambulance with Dr. Whale fighting to keep him breathing, Killian's face deathly pale. If she was here in the hospital though, he had to be here as well.

"Hello?" Emma called out, hoping someone was nearby who could answer her questions or she'd just have to get up and go find the answers herself. "Is somebody there?" She knew Storybrooke's hospital wasn't near as busy as Mesa's, but it almost seemed too quiet and she was just a tiny bit jumpy when a hand appeared on the curtain to her right.

"Mom, you're awake," Henry smiled as he drew back the curtain, leading Emma to breathe a sigh of relief. "Oh, did I startle you? I'm sorry. The nurse gave you some medicine for the pain after they treated the burns and you fell asleep. They said you could stay here in the Emergency room until you woke up. Not like there's anyone else around…"

"It's okay, kid. How long was I asleep and where's Killian?"

"About an hour and a half and Killian's still in surgery…"

"That long? Where's everyone else?" Emma asked as she bolted upright. "Are they here too?"

"Mom, relax," Henry encouraged as he helped her off of the narrow bed, careful not to bump her scorched hands. "Mr. Littlecreek and Ms. Bending Willow are with Grandma and Grandpa getting the royal tour of Storybrooke."

"Remind me to give them a huge apology later," Emma lamented, but Henry was happy to see that there was a smirk on her face. "Is Regina with them too?"

"No, she dropped me off and stayed just long enough to get an update on both of your conditions. She wanted to get that dagger down to the vault and lock it away as soon as possible."

"Good idea," Emma agreed as the teen helped her out to the guest lounge around the corner where he'd been waiting for her to awaken.

"We can wait here for news on Killian," Henry insisted. "The couch is a lot more comfortable and since I was the only one here, the nurse let me have the TV remote." Emma dropped down onto the chocolate brown faux-leather sofa, trying as hard as she could not to use her hands. "You want a drink or something to eat? There's a vending machine around the corner or I can make a trip down to the cafeteria…"

"You know, kid, I could really go for a cup of coffee and chocolate – any kind of chocolate they have."

"Be right back!"

What little remained of her coffee had gone cold by the time she caught a glimpse of Victor Whale, still clad in his surgical scrubs, emerging from behind a set of double doors. She sprang to her feet, startling Henry who had dozed off on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Victor?" she called to him, not even caring that she was supposed to be quiet inside a hospital. After all, she was the Sheriff. Who were people going to go to with complaints?

"Emma," the doctor acknowledged her as he approached. "Glad to see you looking rested. You'll need to be mindful of those blisters, but your hands should heal up just fine. Thankfully for you, only a few spots were second degree…"

"I wasn't going to ask about my hands, Victor. Killian – how is he?"

"Critical at the moment, but he should make a full recovery. Getting the dark magic out of his system was a huge help, but that blow to his chest could have killed him."

"Because it reopened the sutures?" she asked, remembering the blood soaking through Killian's shirt.

"Among other things," Whale replied. "That kick caused some serious damage – a couple of cracked ribs, collapsed lung and a ruptured spleen. Seriously, how strong was the other guy? Anyway, I also had to put a dozen sutures into that gash on the back of his head. I don't know what exactly happened to you back in Arizona, but it's a damned miracle he's still breathing."

"I want to see him," she insisted.

"He'll be in recovery for a while, but we'll get him moved into a room as soon as possible."

"I want to see him now, Victor," she repeated, her tone unflinching.

"Emma, you know I can't let you in there…" Whale responded, perhaps a bit too confidently.

"And you know that I can find a new way to get you out of my way with just a simple flick of my wrist," she reminded him. "Can we make this easy on both of us?"

Whale set his jaw as he contemplated the options. "Fine, fine… Not like there are any other patients in there with him. You have five minutes, and it's just you. Sorry, Henry."

"It's okay," Henry replied. "Go ahead, Mom. I'll wait here and text everyone to let them know Killian's out of surgery."

"Thanks, kid." Emma wanted to give her son a huge hug or at least a pat on the back, but both of those might have to wait until her hands healed. "Be back in a few…"

For a fleeting moment, Emma was struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu as she stood at Killian's side. She knew they were home, that they were safe, but her mind was suddenly back in that Arizona recovery room, standing there lonely and filled with trepidation. They'd been separated by curses, thrown into different realms and were even torn apart by death yet she'd ever felt as helpless as she'd been standing at his bedside without the ability to heal his wounds and ease his pain. Even now, there was still a trace of that anguish eating away at her. Now, she possessed the power to heal him with a wave of her slightly-scorched hand but after days fighting to survive complications brought on by magic, she knew Killian would agree that enough was enough. He'd rather suffer the pain of a lengthy recovery than pay the price later for a magical quick fix.

Whale had advised her not to touch Killian, but Emma had never been one to listen, using her fingertips to trace the hollow of his cheek, the angle of his neck and jawline while being mindful of the web of tubes and wires surrounding him. She wanted desperately to squeeze his hand and let him know she was right here with him, but decided against that thought when even a little minor movement of her fingers reminded her of her own discomfort. Instead, she settled on pressing her lips to his forehead, ghosting tiny kisses along his temple until a single teardrop fell from her eye, dropping onto his cheekbone before trailing off into his hairline.

"We're home, Killian," she whispered, not even caring whether he could hear her or not. "We're back in Storybrooke and Victor got you all patched up again. Everyone's just waiting for you to wake up and we'll tell you the whole story. We'll get you through this and I promise, we'll do it without any more magic, unless of course, you decide otherwise…" She gently pulled up the cream colored blanket to cover his bandaged chest, not wanting him to be chilly. "Whale won't let me stay in here long but I needed to let you know, the dark magic is gone. Now, the rest is up to you."

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #only a little superstitious

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midwifebeth · 6 years

Text

Day 2: Labour Ward

Today was my first day in the hospital, and the last day for one of my housemates, Miriam, (a 4th year medical student/volunteer), so we went to labour ward together. It was good for me, as she was familiar with the environment, and good for her as I was able to explain what was happening.

They are apparently quite strict at this hospital about volunteers only observing, and due to our last minute change of country (I’ll explain in a later post), we do not have a visa that allows us to be hands on. My style of practice is very different to what I saw today, so I think that is for the best.

The Ward.

See the picture for my rough drawing of the layout of the ward. Between each bed there was a curtain, this was left open until the woman was delivering, then it would be pulled halfway, so the woman next to her wouldn’t have a clear view, but the staff around the room could see what was happening. A curtain would also be slightly pulled at the end of the bed so the women opposite couldn’t see ‘everything’.

Staffing

The ward is staffed by a number of nurses and midwives, a few healthcare assistants (that do the cleaning and sorted equipment), and a sister. The nurses and midwives wear green scrub knee-length tunics, or short-sleeved scrub gowns that go over clothes/uniform like a theatre gown does (this is what volunteers and students wear). Shoes are supplied, with the role of the wearer written on them. They are white leather cloggs. I will try to get a picture when I return. Today there was also a male SHO present at all times on the ward, and a couple of female medical students (I think).

Routine Care

As far as I can tell, all women are kept on a CTG, Synto infusions are routine (5iu, I couldn’t read the amount of dilutant). Infusions are given through a bottle, rather than a bag (which is what I’m used to) and if drugs are added, a needle is stuck into the airspace at the top of the bottle. I think I also saw the active management synto dose given IV, there was about 5mls in the syringe they were using, I am not sure. All babies are given Vitamin K IM, it did not seem that maternal consent was required. The women are alone on the ward, with no birth partners allowed.

It is difficult to ask questions as very few of the staff speak any English, and those that do, speak only basic English. The doctors learn in English, so they will be my source of information when I can catch one having a free moment.

The Experience.

We were on the labour ward for 3 hours, and witnessed 3 births within an hour (2 within a minute of each other!), then another just before we left. The main thing I learned today is that at least in the hospital I’m based at, (I’m not sure if it’s country-wide), all women have episiotomies, this is done during second stage, when vertex is visible. Most, but not all, were done with a contraction. None were done with anaesthetic.

When we arrived there were 3 women labouring, and one postnatal, her baby was on a resuscitaire across the ward while she waited to be sutured. Only doctors do the suturing here. The SHO did the suturing, with me and the other volunteer, and the 2 medical students, observing, and a nurse/midwife assisting. The suturing method was the same as in the UK, commencing with infiltration of local anaesthetic (through a needle manually bent by the doctor). I have to say I’ve never seen someone suture so quickly! It was textbook style.

Afterwards, the mother was handed her baby, and she lay with her for a while. They were concerned about bleeding, so a tampon swab was left inside her vagina for about an hour. The doctor came back and removed it, and a few clots, then she was dressed while on the bed, and left to rest, with the baby back on the resuscitaire.

Soon after the suturing was completed, the lady in the middle bed on the left (see pic) was given an ARM with a pair of surgical scissors. Synto was commenced. All three labouring women were occasionally vocalising in pain, but were mostly left to it. When the staff feel that a woman is reaching second stage (they did not always do VEs), they get them into the ‘birth position’. This is like McRoberts, but with the legs held out to the side, and the woman holding her feet in a particular way to keep the position. It looks quite uncomfortable, and having tried it myself (at my host house) I know I would not be able to hold it for very long. They are then left to push with each contraction. Once vulval gaping is seen, or the staff feel birth is soon, the woman is attended by 2 midwives/nurses, one on each side. An episiotomy is given, baby delivered, covered in a small sheet, while one midwife gives the active management dose via IV (who then takes the baby to the resuscitaire), and the other palpates and massages the uterus, delivering the placenta quickly (I think the longest 3rd stage I saw was max 4 minutes). She then changes the sheet under the woman and takes the placenta, any swabs used, and the used linen out to the sluice/back room. Meanwhile, the midwife caring for the baby weighs it, measures length, head and chest circumference, gives Vit K, then dresses it in about 3 layers before swaddling and leaving on one side of the resuscitaire with a temperature probe attached to the resuscitaire.

While the first woman was pushing as described above, the two that delivered simultaneously had their bladders emptied with a catheter into a steel kidney dish that was then rinsed.

While the other 2 women were reaching second stage and starting to push, a 5th woman was brought into the ward on a wheelchair. Hearing the noises the ladies were making, and observing the environment, her fear was visible and Miriam and I both noticed her attempting to hide her tears as she climbed onto the bed. The woman pushing on the right was opening her bowels frequently, this was left exposed for most to see until each movement had finished.

The two women delivered within a couple of minutes of each other, directly opposite one another. The one on the left was given an epis, and we could see the scar tissue from her previous birth (P2), they have the bent episiotomy scissors here, with the guard on the side that goes inside the perineum, which we don’t have in my hospital in London (we use standard surgical scissors). Her perineum was then guarded with a swab, and the midwife encourage her right leg into McRoberts position. Once the head was delivered they did nuchal cord cutting.

The SHO assisted in the delivery of the lady on the right, doing forceful fundal pressure, which I have only seen once before and not to the same extent. Miriam and I were concerned as after the baby was born the right shoulder seemed lower than the left, and the arm floppy (indicative of Erb’s Palsy or another injury), however the baby was moving her right arm around freely by the time we left.

Soon after they delivered a 6th lady was admitted. The consultant came for his round soon after. He did a VE on this lady (with minimal if any communication with her), conveyed his findings to the SHO and promptly left. A couple of minutes later the lady started to haemorrhage, so all the nurses and midwives worked together to get her onto the gurney and rushed to theatre (which is in another building, up a ramp). I estimated about 600mls on the bed.

Reflecting on the experience

It was an interesting, and rather uncomfortable experience for me. I felt like I wanted to help. I have been trained and work with a woman-centred approach, and my team specialises in women with previous birth trauma, which I was concerned all these women could experience. Particularly when they were calling out in pain I wanted to be there with them to provide at least a little comfort. But I had to be careful, as I’ve said previously my role here is mostly observational, and I can only provide minimal assistance, and it has to be when given permission by the midwives or doctors.

After the first woman was left on the bed to wait to be sutured, with her baby by the resuscitaire, being examined and dressed by the midwife, she caught my eye, she looked so worried I went over to her. I said your baby boy is beautiful, to which she showed she understood by repeating ‘beautiful’, I said he looks big, while making hand gestures, and she said ‘big boy!’ with a smile. She then reached for my hand and held onto it tight until a midwife came up to the bedside to get her ready for suturing. It was one of those ‘warm midwifey feeling’ moments, a ‘this is why I do this’ moment. Just by giving this woman a smile, and holding her hand, I hope I’ve made the experience a little more positive for her. It was heartwarming to see the look of love and pride on her face as she cuddled with baby after her suturing had finished.

Picture key:

1: Drs/Sister in charge office

2: Labour bed

3: Resuscitaire

4: Staff desk

5: Door to sluice/back room

#midwife

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memoriesofkpop · 7 years

Text

Home alternate ending part 1

Home

ALTERNATE ENDING PART 1

BTS’s Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Angst; drama

This continues from the end of Part 1 !!

Part 1 of Series

---

“I’ve got to find her. Now,” Yoongi said right as he burst through the door. The others turned to look at him. “Who’s coming with me?”

“Look. Yoongi. I know you’re worried and you want to make up, but you’re an IDOL. Remember? You can’t just go walking around everywhere. You’re going to get mobbed.”

“Then we’ll have them help look for her!” Yoongi said, his voice rising.

“Listen to yourself!”

“I am! I need to find her! Before it gets dark! Please...help me find her….not for me, but for her. I need to know she is safe…”

The boys sent one another worried glances before sighing and grabbing a hat.

“Fine...someone call Manager Sejin and tell him what happened.”

---

The room was frigid and stunk of a musty smell with a hint of iron. A rough piece of cloth kept most of her view dark. From what she could tell by looking down towards her nose through the small gap, the floor was gray and there seemed to be minimal light by the way she could barely see her clothes. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by a piece of cloth that was shoved in her mouth. She tried to spit it out but it appears that there was another piece of cloth that secured it to her head. As her head became more clear, she attempted to move her hands and feet. Tied. Of course. There was a slight sound of plastic hitting metal. Unsure of what it was, she moved cautiously. Luckily, her hands were tied using rope and with the right amount of twisting...and tugging.... She was able to slip one hand out even though she felt like the rope was ripping off her skin. Easily freeing her other hand, she carefully held on to the rope in case it made a thud as it fell.

Carefully, she placed the rope onto her lap and ripped the cloth from her eyes and face. She let her eyes adjust to the grim room stained with blood. Panic in her rose as she quickly reached down to untie her legs. She paused when she saw a shadow of a tall figure. She swiftly turned to look behind her. That was when she realized there was an IV drip that towered over her. Her eyes followed the long plastic tube down to the needle into her arm. Why hadn’t she noticed earlier? Taking a breath to calm herself, she looked around.

The small room was empty except for her. Just like she imagined, it was lit by one small light bulb that hung above her head. The whole room was gray-- cement? The stale air was cold despite being confined in the tight room.

With a quick motion, she removed the Needle from her arm and pressed her new small wound with her fingers in case she would bleed.

Carefully, she stood up, wobbling a bit when she first stood up, barely able to control her body. How long had she been here?

She glanced at her raw hands before she began to scan the walls for an opening, feeling the coldness of the walls on her fingertips.

As she neared the the darker side of the room, her fingers brushed gently over a dip. Immediately she paused.

This must be a door! Her nimble fingers went back to the small imperfection between concrete and she traced the crack as far up as she could reach. She placed one hand against the line and the other carefully felt for any signs of possible escape. A small Ting went off as her hand hit a cold metal. Bingo.

As carefully as possible, she turned the knob and tried pulling on the door. No luck. She tried pushing on the door as well, staying as quiet as possible. Locked. She turned around, looking back at where she had started when her eyes caught onto something that shined ever so slightly in the dim light. The needle. She raced for the small object and removed it from the IV successfully. She made her way back and immediately jammed the needle into what felt like the keyhole. Click.

Ever so slightly, the door creaked open, only to be met with the same dull light and cement walls. However, her eyes did not focus on the light. Instead, her eyes fell upon something she never had expected.

---

“We’re looking for this girl, have you seen her?” Yoongi asked a random couple, holding up his phone to them. They gave him a strange look before walking away.

“Have you seen her?” he tried again, this time, to a group of what appeared to be high school boys. A few shook their head as they continued to walk away.

“Excuse me. Have you seen this woman?” Yoongi asked an older couple. They completely ignored his existence. He sighed as he continued to work through the cold weather. His mask, glasses, and hat provided him minimal warmth but warmth nonetheless.

“He’s been at this for hours. I’m worried about him,” Jimin whispered to Jin, watching from the side. The elder nodded. They had stopped asking around after the first couple hours dragged by. No one has seen her. Yoongi had refused to stop, even refusing to take a break for food nor a sip of anything.

Yoongi, on the edge of a complete mental breakdown, trudged back to the other boys. Day had turned into night and less people were acknowledging him.

“Let’s go home for today yeah? We will ask around with her friends again to see if any of them have seen her, yeah?” RM asked Yoongi gently. The male did not move from his spot nor did his lips ever part. “It’s getting late and there’s nothing else we can do today. She just might not want to talk to you yet.”

Without a reply from Yoongi, RM sighed and stood up. The rest of the group followed the leaders’ actions. Together, they guided the defeated Yoongi back home.

---

“Oh my god,” Y/N whispered to herself as she pushed the door further open carefully. She ran towards the two laying figures against the back wall, barely visible. She rushed to check their pulses and to see if they were breathing. Their dirty clothes and thin frail bodies showcased their long imprisonment. Tears began to form in Y/N’s eyes as she carefully brushed the hair out of one of the young girl’s small face. They both couldn’t have been older than 7 or 8.

“Sweetie. Hey. Darling,” she said, trying to be quiet as she woke the girl on the left. Her eyes slowly peeled open as her weak body shifted slightly. “Oh thank god. Sweetie, can you tell me where we are?” Y/N ask cautiously in a whisper.

The young girl didn’t move nor speak. She simply just stared back at her. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” she continued before checking on the other girl.

The second immediately tried to move away from Y/N but was blocked by the wall when they made eye contact. She was covered in bruises as her thin arms clutched onto a worn down stuffed animal. The young girl glanced at the other girl beside her and wrapped a protective arm around them.

Y/N’s heart sank at the scene that unfolded before her.

“I’m going to get us out of here, okay?” Y/N said softly, glancing around the room.

“W-where are we going this time?” the girl asked, stuttering out of fear.

“Did they move you before?” Y/N asked, turning her attention back to the pair. The girl nodded.

“Can you tell me who moved you?”

“...that man with the long line across his eye...and the one with the dark markings on his hands…” she whispered.

Y/N thought for a moment before speaking once more.

“Do you remember what it looks like outside?” She asked sweetly. The young girl nodded. Hope sparked inside of Y/N.

“Do you think you can draw it out for me?”

The girl gave her a questioning look.

“Like this,” Y/N said, placing her pointer finger against the cold floor and dragging it gently on top of the gray concrete. The young girl nodded as she began to draw out the room followed by hallways. By the time she was done, Y/N had gathered that there were numerous doors lined up throughout multiple hallways, and that this young girl had never left the building, just the room.

Her mind was racing, trying desperately to find a way through a place she had never seen.

Just then, the sound of footsteps grew louder and the sound of the doorknob rattling echoed through the barren room. All three turned to face the sound out of instinct. They watched as the door creaked open, letting a stream of light flood the room.

---

Hours had turned into days. Days had turned into a total of two weeks.

“She’s been officially missing for 11 days now,” Yoongi whispered, mainly to himself, but Jimin couldn’t help but overhear.

“Hyung, stop counting the days. It’s not helping. The police are on the case,” Jimin said softly, placing a firm hand on his hyung’s shoulders.

“She’s been gone for so long? Have you read about the cases of missing people? The longer it takes to find them, the smaller the chance of them returning!” he exclaimed, voice rising.

“I know you’re worried but there isn’t anything for us to do now. We’ve tried more flyers, searches, everything. All we can do now is wait,” Jimin said.

“You don’t understand! She-”

“Hyung, she was our friend too. You’re not in this al-”

“Is.”

“...what?”

“Is. She IS our friend too. You said WAS. She’s not someone I will leave in the past,” Yoongi stated, glaring at the younger boy.

“I didn’t mean it like that...She’s precious to us too...but you need to check yourself and your bad attitude towards this whole thing because it is not helping at all,” stated Jimin before walking away into another room before things got messy. Yoongi watched him walk, remembering how she had stormed out on him too.

His whole world was falling apart and he was struggling to keep the pieces together with his bare two hands.

“Come home…” he said softly into the air, knowing she would never hear him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 2 and 3 Text Format Alternate Ending: Part 1 Part 2

#bts #yoongi #suga #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts angst #bts drama #bts yoong angst #bts yoongi drama #yoongi angst #yoongi drama #bts suga angst #bts suga drama #suga angst #suga drama #kpop #Home #Alternate ending

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seanmeverett · 8 years

Text

AI is a Math Book & Isn’t Taking Your Job

You need Biologic Intelligence before that happens and only one group is building it

I. Setting the Stage

There’s a troubling trend happening across the media and public conversation these days, spreading fear and misunderstanding of the way something works.

No, AI is not going to take your job anytime soon. In fact, AI isn’t going to do much of anything to impact your everyday life anytime soon. At least not without a watershed innovation in the way that it’s built.

People say the letters A and I and immediately assume that we’re already at a technology as advanced as that shown in Hollywood, whether Terminator 2 or Bicentennial Man. It’s not judgement day yet, ladies and gentleman.

II. Narrow versus General Intelligence

It begins with something very simple. The difference between Narrow and General Intelligence. The most basic definition I can give is that narrow intelligence does one thing, and does it very well. So well, in fact, that it has optimized itself almost to perfect. You can recognize a simple object in a static picture. You’ve been shown 1 million baseball bats from all angles, lighting conditions, and backgrounds. So, it becomes very easy to recognize the next baseball bat you’re shown as a baseball bat.

General Intelligence works differently. It can recognize a baseball bat, similar to before, but it can also balance a checkbook.

The mechanics of how a system works to recognize a single thing, and only a single thing, is very different than being able to do 2 things with the same system.

Currently, narrow intelligence works with a variety of math equations. Here’s the part that pisses me off. Go back to high school, grab your math text book. Put it on the table in front of you and open it up. Read the equations to yourself.

Is that Terminator? Is that Judgement Day? Did that math book just take your job? Does your math textbook have a soul or consciousness.

Of course not.

But don’t you see that all this mayhem and fear and smart people talking about how these math equations are going to take your job are really just plain wrong?

III. Math Equations Run Amok

What they’re doing is a bait and switch maneuver. And you need to recognize these things as they happen. I’m the tech press. I write a sensational story about math equations run amok. You click on the headline. Ding, there goes the cash register with a new ad impression. A story about fear. Ding! A story about math taking your job. Ding! A story about Robots needing to be taxed by Bill Gates. Ding! Ding! Ding!

Please can we all just pause and stop.

Math isn’t going to take your job. But I tell you what will. General Intelligence. When a robot can pick something up, put something together, manipulate physical objects, and send a communication to another robot, then yes. If you work on an assembly line, you’re out of a job.

But didn’t we see this story play out in Hollywood, nominated for an Oscar? In Hidden Figures, one of the women was a supervisor for “computers”. You know, women who computed things by hand. Then came in this big hulking IBM machine that did computing much faster and more accurately. It “took” those women’s jobs.

So, lets go ahead and hate computers then, right? And then we don’t have Facebook or your beloved smart phone. Or video games. Or, or, or.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Because I can tell you from personal experience being involved in building the future of general intelligence (i.e., Biologic Intelligence), that these mathematical approaches (i.e., Deep Learning) aren’t the answer. They aren’t going to get us very far. The only thing you see is a huge data center the size of a room, running the same calculation over and over again until it finally spits out an acceptable answer.

But that same math equation isn’t going to recognize a cat, balance your checkbook, or drive a car. Everything is time-consuming and a custom job. It’s not a product. You’re just doing the same thing over and over again, applied to a new domain.

There isn’t some new crazy approach that they’re doing. Pitting one “neural network” against another and calling it by funny-sounding names like Adversarial Networks.

Just because you link two things together and apply a weight to them doesn’t mean you’ve recreated the neural pathways and mechanics of a brain and nervous system. It just means you wrote down a regression line. You know: ax² + by³ + cz² + error

And all you’re doing is trying to minimize that error variable to zero. The line of best fit. Only it’s a squiggly line, instead of straight. That’s what the little 2 and 3 represent above the x and y and z. Just squiggles. You’re trying to draw a squiggly line around a bunch of data and separate it into two different buckets: like all of these over here are apples and those over there are oranges but they’re kinda mixed together.

Does that sound like something that’s going to take your job? Does that sound like something dangerous? Does that sound like something you should be fearful of?

Well, only if you get paid by getting ad impressions and want to write sensational headlines that get you to click through on Facebook.

How do I know this? Because I’ve got a theoretical Mathematics and Actuarial Science degree. I used to memorize equations that ran across entire pages of text books then took a series of professional examinations that made the CFA look like a coloring book, with nothing more than a pencil and blank piece of paper.

IV. How To Recognize Falsehoods

Do not be fooled. Dig into the details yourself and stop regurtitating things other people have said. Repetition is your enemy. That’s how Trump got elected. It doesn’t have to be true, as long as it keeps getting repeated, you will eventually believe it.

Yes, even if you’re an engineer taking online courses trying to learn about this voodoo called artificial intelligence. Ahem, excuse me. I mean linear algebra. It’s shown some cool stuff. Like hey it played poker and and go and chess. It played jeopardy. It can drive a car (kind of).

But at the end of the day, it’s still a bunch of humans sitting behind a computer and typing commands into it, trying to hand annotate data and then feed it into a computation device to run a million calculations over and over and over. The result is surprising, I’ll grant you, and that’s why everyone is getting so crazy these days.

But you have to remember that the most successful AI business right now is a startup that labels millions of rows of excel data, by hand. Cat, cat, cat, cat, dog, cat, llama, cat, cat.

It doesn’t sound so intelligent once you realize that a human is spoon-feeding all of this “intelligence” row by exhausting row into a machine into the first place. Then a math equation takes all those cats and spits out “cat” when you ask it for a cat.

So I ask you. Is it taking your job?

Once Biologic Intelligence starts getting bought by major industrialists, and exists in space, helping to ingnite the largest gold rush in human history (space mining and manufacturing), then you can start getting concerned.

Because that means what we’ve been building has made its way into the real world.

And then you have to ask yourself a very real question. Are you lazy and going to sit on your ass when our software and robotics takes your job? Or are you already going to be building something on top of this new platform to profit from this new industry that never existed before.

If you’re reading this, then you already know the answer. You’re curious. You’re involved. You want to contribute. You get excited by it. You will become a part of it.

So, you don’t have anything to worry about.

But the others? The ones who just sit there and don’t want to “work” will just become an additional drain on the system and those that are already working hard to make the world a better place.

Ayn Rand, you minx. The motor of the world won’t stop, it just may leave a few of the rusty cogs behind.

— Sean

Your Recommended Reading

Notes from Gigaom’s 2017 AI Conference

Early Stage Robotics & AI Funding & Market Size

My Tour of SpaceX Yesterday

Self-Driving Cars Are Hurtling Towards an AI Brick Wall

Biologic Intelligence is NOT Artificial Intelligence

AI is a Math Book & Isn’t Taking Your Job was originally published in Humanizing Tech on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

from Stories by Sean Everett on Medium http://ift.tt/2m7kNop

#Stories by Sean Everett on Medium

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mstigergun · 8 years

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OC Kiss Week, “the hope which cannot part”

OC Kiss Week, Day Seven (a goodbye kiss). I’m going to keep my commentary minimal, save to say this is set in Letters-verse and is a variation on a 5 times/1 time structure. [~2300]

the hope which cannot part

Farewell to thee! but not farewell To all my fondest thoughts of thee: Within my heart they still shall dwell; And they shall cheer and comfort me.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still, The hope with which I cannot part. Contempt may wound, and coldness chill, But still it lingers in my heart.

(from Anne Bronte’s “Farewell”)

“Be careful,” Asharil says, her fingers digging indents into his arms. She presses a hard kiss to his cheek, drawing back to look him straight in the eye. Her stare is golden, molten, unflinching. A demand, one that permits with no room for half-measure. “Stay with the others. Don’t go wandering off. There are wolves in these woods, and too many shems keen on seeing us harmed.”

“I know,” Talen says, throat tight. He blinks up at his sister, whose skin is washed pale and whose lips are a tight line of worry.

He hadn’t been scared of going on this hunt, before. Not really. But now –

Darkness whispers at the edge of his thoughts. They’ve lost others. He’s heard a hundred tales, stories the children tell each other, or things the adults murmur when they think none of the young ones are listening.

He hears. He knows.

Talen swallows. He presses up on his toes, planting a kiss against his sister’s cheek – an echo of the one he can still feel against his own skin. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Ar lath ma, Asharil. When I come home, I’ll be a better help to the Clan.”

And when he does come back, blood grimy beneath his fingernails and his heart still hammering with that strange tangle of joy and horror, nothing is ever quite the same. But Asharil’s delighted exclamation – one he hears from across the camp the moment he steps past the ring of aravels – is enough to soothe any darkness hiding in his mind.

He kisses her forehead, right there by the fire.

Asharil’s stare flashes up, her hands stilling, though still the threads are tangled around her fingers. “What’s that for?”

For saying goodbye without words, he thinks. For you waking up tomorrow to an empty aravel. For how your heart will hurt.

Instead, Talens shrugs. “You look tired,” he offers, dropping onto the ground next to her.

She snorts. “And since when have you cared about that?”

She is, of course, right. A less selfish boy wouldn’t have his bags packed already. A less selfish boy would think of his sister.

But instead he tilts his head against her shoulder, drinking in this small, final comfort. Trying to allow himself to feel this – the guilt – and not that bright, beckoning excitement at the road before him. He should not be giddy with anticipation. He should be sick with regret already. “Of course I care,” he murmurs.

Asharil’s fingers again begin working the threads. Her chin tilts, her mouth grazing his temple, the line of his hair. A brief and fleeting touch, barely a kiss. “If you care,” she intones, leaning away again, “then you can help me with this weaving, da’len.”

iii

“You’re not terribly clever, little shadow, are you?”

Talen’s hunched over, his body a broken line arcing downward, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the table beneath him. It’s a miracle he wriggled out of his shirt without passing out, when he can hardly draw breath for the flare of pain in his ribs. When tears prickle, sharp and hot, in his eyes whenever Shira prods his skin, indelicate.

“They jumped me,” Talen hisses, breath hitching. “I couldn’t – There’s nothing –”

The words close off, his throat a vise that cannot be opened.

“Any one of the kids could’ve told you to stay away from Black Boot territory. They’re nasty bastards, always thinking we’re edging in on their shit territory. As if,” with a firm tug as she pulls the bandage into place.

Talen sucks in a startled gasp, dark patches blossoming before his eyes. He squeezes his eyelids shut, clamps his mouth into a line he hopes will firmly in place. Nostrils flaring, fingers squeezing at the table so hard, he’s surprised it doesn’t splinter.

“As if,” Shira continues, standing and brushing dust from her knees, “we’d want their blighted streets. You ever seen a mark worth snaring in West Stave? Of course not.”

But he can’t respond, too dizzy with the furious pain, the memory of the interaction – fists to his ribs, cutting words sharp in the air – too present behind his eyelids.

The warm and steadying weight of Shira’s hand on his shoulder. Patting him, meant to be reassuring. “You’ll be fine,” Shira says. “Just… be sensible. No crawling up gutters or skittering across rooftops this week, alright? Anyway.” The weight disappears. “I’ve got a thief lord to have a word or two with. That fucker doesn’t beat up one of my kids and saunter away without at a least a broken nose.”

His eyes flash open. “You don’t have to –”

Shira snorts. Her narrow body is a blade in the dim space between them. Primed for violence, hungry for it.. “Of course I do,” she drawls. “Can’t seem soft now, can I? You just stay here and stay safe, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

His ribs ache with the next breath, and it has nothing, this time, to do with the bruises pressed hard into his skin. “Ma serannas,” Talen murmurs, and he edges off the table and – before she can squirm away, or glare at him, or be more cross than she already is – he pushes himself up and kisses her cheek. A bare touch.

“Don’t you start with that,” she says. But still Shira drops a firm kiss right to the top of his head, her nose wrinkling even as she leans away. “And go have a bath. You still smell like blood, and this place is bad enough already.”

He watches her go, slouching her way from their warehouse, her shoulders tense with a barely reigned-in anger that will see Talen’s injuries avenged in some way. And though his body is one long, vicious ache –

Well. He sleeps very easily that night indeed.

“I have to go,” he says.

Shira’s arms are all elbows, folded that hard across her chest. Sharp as blades. Ready to cut. “Right,” she says, curt. “Sure.”

His fingers curl against his palms, cut crescents into his palm. Still, he tries to breathe as evenly as he might. As steady as she taught him, even though he can feel Asharil’s distant gaze on him, like coals against his skin. “Thank you,” Talen says, his voice distant to even his own ears. “For everything. I’ll come visit when I can.”

And, because he’s saying goodbye, he steps in to kiss her cheek. The moment his lips touch her dark skin, Shira jerks back, as if she’s been burned. Her eyes blaze with a furious light, like forest fires in the distance, like pyres on the water. “Is she making you go? We can protect you, little shadow. You don’t need to do a blighted thing you don’t want to. Fuck the Dalish – if you want to stay –”

“I want to go.”

They’re quiet words, but they find their mark. Shira falls to an unfamiliar silence. He can see her chewing on the inside of her cheek, teeth sawing it to blood. Then, “Alright, whatever.” She sniffs, shrugging, her stare as tightly shuttered as their warehouse in the winter months. “If it’s what you want. We’ll see you when we see you.”

She leans down, places a dry, papery kiss on his forehead, and then turns and disappears into the crowd beyond. It’s not until they’re well outside of Ansburg, and his sister has been asleep for hours, that he finally allows the carefully contained tears to fall, to strike soft notes against the blankets pooled around him.

“I’m going,” he says, ducking beneath the low tent where his friend is secreted away. Evelyn looks up from the book she’s got unfolded in her lap, something one of their traders picked up for her when last passing through a village. And while Talen and Evelyn had amused themselves for hours reading the most offensive passages aloud – about the savage ways of the Dalish, their obscure blood rites and wild, ritualistic bacchanals – its the later passages on lost temples and artefacts that have caught Evelyn’s unfaltering attention.

Talen doesn’t see much point to trying to uncover pieces of an empire long since fallen to dust. But if Evelyn’s enamoured, he’ll bite his tongue.

“Do you know for how long?” she asks, placing a dried leaf between the pages and closing her tome. She unfolds her legs, standing and stretching. He’s still not used to seeing her with her vallaslin, but its suits her, he thinks distantly. More than it’s ever suited him.

He shrugs, leaning over to press a thoughtless kiss to her forehead. “I can’t say. The Keeper wants me to make contact with an Antivan clan with some obscure connection to a few of our hunters. We haven’t heard from them in years, so it may take me some time.”

Evelyn tucks her arms around his ribs, squeezing him into a tight, quick embrace. “Well,” she says, her mouth brushing his cheek, “If you end up near Antiva City, could you visit a book merchant? There’s this one book – it keeps getting referenced –”

And her hands have plunged down and picked up her book again. Evelyn rifles through the pages, in pursuit of the title in question. Talen huffs out a little laugh and leans against a tentpole, waiting.

He’ll have many hours alone on the road between the Marches and Antiva. His friend’s company, her enthusiasm and warmth, are worth waiting for.

Virion’s mouth falls against his forehead, and Talen is certain he’ll be sick. “No,” he says, jerking away, and he’s not even sure how he manages to breathe the word out – not when his throat is this tight, when his hands shake so very badly, when his stomach has become a black knot of nausea. “I’m coming with you.”

Virion is as pale as dawn on a gray winter day. His hands, Talen knows, are just as cold, fingers stiff. At his side, Virion’s palm pulses a nauseating green as he steps backward. “We can’t know what’s on the other side,” he says, firm. “I won’t see you put in harm’s way, vhenan.” Another step, building an empty, frigid space between them. One meant to keep Talen safe, but –

“I’m not saying goodbye,” Talen insists, and even he can hear the wild edge to his voice. He can barely breathe, heart beating itself bloody against his chest, into a ragged, pulpy mess. “I’m not letting you do this alone, not when –”

He goes to step forward, to move closer, but Virion’s hand flashes forward, a flag in the air between them. “Don’t,” he grinds out. “Just – I have to do this, and I can’t if I’m worried about you. You must stay, Talen.”

Stay, he thinks. Stay, when this might be the end. There are no words.

Talen’s hands curl uselessly at his sides. He can’t fix this, he knows that, hasn’t been able to do a thing beyond look over Virion’s shoulder for him, beyond loving him desperately and beyond any possible measure, even as they fight their way toward darker and darker conclusions. Even as the Anchor roars to furious life, ready to devour Virion. Ready to devour all of them, to glut itself on the destruction of the entire world, all that they know and love.

“I’m going,” Virion says, and though he’s pale, he straights – impossibly noble, impossibly composed, when all Talen can feel is a razor-edged panic. He draws back further, pulling his hand close to his chest, cradling it. “And either I will die or I will live, and if it’s to be the former, vhenan, I will not take you with me. I refuse.”

There are tears, Talen knows, gathering in his eyes: as hot and furious as a brand. Marking him. Again, he shakes his head. “Virion,” he pleads, once more stepping forward. It can’t end like this, and if it is to end –

Say what Virion will, Talen refuses to live in a world in which this is their reality. In which Virion doesn’t step back through that mirror, and if his vhenan even thinks for a moment that he’ll face down the wolf alone, then he has made a mistake. It will not happen. Talen will not allow it.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” Virion’s stare is soft, pale. Another step backwards, his mouth tight with pain. “I must go now. Cassandra –”

And before Talen can leap forward as Virion turns and disappears into the mirror, hands – strong and familiar and traitorous – reach out and clasp him. He is all fury, all wild desperation, surging forward against the bounds that keep him here, his throat open in a savage scream as he throws himself after Virion despite Cassandra’s grip.

And then, then he is nothing at all – the cool hiss of magic, the sound of a potion being opened, the irresistible pull of unconsciousness. Darkness and emptiness, familiar friends.

I will not say goodbye, his last thought. Then nothing.

(vii)

You’re awake, he murmurs, shifting in bed. The pool of blankets, soft and sumptuous, rustle around them as he slides upwards, leaning nearer. Needing to be close.

Virion’s forehead creases, some distant echo of pain. So it would appear. Then, his eyes opening, his gray gaze stretching upwards, And alive! What a lovely surprise.

Talen huffs, brushing his hand against Virion’s soft hair. I told you I wouldn’t say goodbye, he says, words soft and fragile. Feathers in the air between them, against the dim light of dawn beyond. So hello, vhenan.

And the kiss that follows – tremulous and gentle and certain, all at once, Talen’s fingers tracing the lines of Virion’s face as he folds himself, delicate as a shadow, against his lover – makes all the world right again. As simple as that: as coming home, as breathing, as his heart beating.

Aneth ara, Virion breathes against him, reaching to thread his fingers through Talen’s hair.

Their place, together. A hello worth a thousand goodbyes.

#ockiss17 #oc kiss week #talen lavellan #virion lavellan #evelyn lavellan #oc otp #(thanks for playing through the end of trespasser with me hayley!)#(this is your fault)#tana writes #and has intense feelings about these two elves #letters-verse

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thedear-photographerblog · 7 years

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“There is only one sun. We can’t all claim to only have one way to use the light, but we can REDEFINE how we choose to express it. “

Tell us about what drives your work, How did you get started?

After the birth of my daughter, I naturally started taking photos of her and I was instantly drawn to the world of newborn photography. I documented her every day for an entire year and motherhood really led me to be the photographer I am today. I have always been a minimalist and so my style of ‘simple newborn’ naturally came to be.

A pivotal moment happened to me a few years back that changed the way I photograph newborns. I had a newborn session with a lovely woman and a beautiful and healthy baby boy. I remember her session so vividly and how much love she had for her new little man. Her happiness just filled the room. A few years later, I received a message telling me the child fell very ill and passed away at four years old. My heart broke for this woman and I could not fathom the pain she must have been going through. Feeling completely helpless in the situation, and wanting to show her love and support, I mailed her an album including all of the images from our session together. I didn’t hear back from her right away and about two years later I received a letter from her. She expressed to me that she was so thankful for the album and that it helped her grieve and remember all of the details of her baby that would have otherwise been forgotten. She shared with me that seeing the flakes of skin and peach fuzz on his face brought her back to that very day and if she stares hard enough at the images she can almost remember his smell. This letter from her truly changed the way I walk into every session now. Newborns themselves are my inspiration. They are a world of possibility and are extraordinarily beautiful. I cherish the time I spend with each baby and family, and I make it my purpose to capture every single detail that makes them so incredibly special. I have learned over the years that being passionate about the subject you are capturing is just as important as being passionate about the craft.

What were the challenges for you in the beginning, how has the way you photograph newborns changed?

Looking back, one of the biggest challenges for me was being worried about what people would think of my work. I was hesitant to share my art with the world and had this crazy fear of not being understood. When I began almost a decade ago, un-posed newborn photography wasn’t necessarily popular. Only a few artists offered this type of newborn photography and I didn’t feel like I fit into a specific ‘category’.

As time went on and my passion for simple newborn photography became my life, I started sharing my work and my confidence grew. When I allowed myself to be called an artist and truly saw newborns as art, my work really transformed.

What is it about simple, beautiful, timeless images that draw you in?

I have always been drawn to minimalistic design and art and I knew early on I wanted to portray this in my work. I love raw textures, earthy tones, natural light, and connection in images. As I learned how to manipulate light and saw how it fell across my subject, my images really began to transform.

What are the tips you would share with anyone trying to move towards simpler newborn work?

Be true to who you are and what you love. Find inspiration from all avenues of your life, not just in the photography world. I find inspiration through personal experiences, my children, light, nature, minimalist interiors and design and this allows me to photograph newborns in a simplistic way and free from distraction.

I love the quote ‘minimalism is about intentionality, not deprivation. ~unknown’. I apply this to my everyday life as well. Walking through my studio, you would think the walls would be covered in framed artwork but it’s not. It’s very much a blank canvas…. And I dig it.

Gear

Currently, I shoot with a Canon 5D Mark IV and my backup is a Canon 5D Mark II. My go-to lenses for my newborn work are 50L, 100L, 35L

ABOUT THE ARTIST :

Hello lovely, my name is Laurie Baker and I am a natural light photographer specializing in fine art pregnancy, newborn, baby, and family photography. My work is described as natural and authentic and I am passionate about offering timeless images of your babies and families. I am currently located in Chicago, Illinois with a commercial studio space in Homer Glen. xx ~L

W E B S I T E | F A C E B O O K |

I N S T A G R A M | P I N T E R E S T |

REDEFINE | Simple Newborn Photography| Featuring Elle Baker Photography "There is only one sun. We can't all claim to only have one way to use the light, but we can REDEFINE how we choose to express it.

#DEARPHOTOGRAPHER LIFESTYLE PHOTOGRAPHY #DPMAGFAVES #chicago #chicago lifestyle photographer #chicago newborn photographer #dearphotographer #minimalism in newborn photography #photography magazine #PHOTOGRAPHY RESOURCES #Posed newborn photography #resources in newborn photography

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