#also I’m trying to do more traditional stuff I think its just easier mentally for me so I might as well learn how to do it. good. lol

[tqtc-art]

Doodles from a bit ago

[peachdelta]

did anything inspire the emmetropia au?

i kept seeing people draw emmet beating the fuck out of volo and while they were VERY funny the sephiroth-obsessed part of my brain was like “hmm but many of these make volo look like a pathetic wet cat…which he is, but also i like him as a competent antagonist as well” so i made the first comic. then it blew up and i got more and more ideas

my writing is heavily inspired both by my own humour, trying to keep in line with the traditional levity of pokemon’s tone to a certain point— but eventually my major writing inspirations come into play here. specifically, the works of kitty horrorshow and the book house of leaves. i’m gonna talk a lot about the third page in part 5 which i talked about on my twitter but its easier to save things here

i’m gonna preface this by saying emmet =/= the main character of house of leaves. he is not supposed to parallel johnny truant in any sense whatsoever, due to johnny being highly flawed in ways that are absolutely fascinating to examine and analyze but (in my opinion) extremely morally reprehensible, so i don’t want people to think that i’m trying to directly compare the two. rather, i’m just using a similar literary concept that’s used in the book, and getting some inspiration not from johnny’s character himself, but from the process of johnny’s deterioration

if you haven’t read house of leaves (it’s very good but it’s highly nsfw and i don’t recommend going into it blind if you suffer from delusions / paranoia / psychosis, please be careful) i won’t say anything about the plot specifically, BUT it’s important to note that it has three separate narrators. there’s an initial story, which is written as some kind of analysis of a movie that doesn’t exist. the story is interspersed with comments from the second narrator (johnny), as he reads the story and gives commentary and translations, stuff like that. the third narrator is very infrequent but will occasionally leave notes specifically commentating on johnny’s notes, not usually on the story itself. not important to understand my thought process here

basically, johnny occasionally talks about himself or what he did that day, but sometimes as the narrative progresses he visibly starts to deteriorate and break down mentally, as he loses his identity and mind and ego to fear and paranoia because of this story that he’s been reading and commentating on.

these initially short off-handed comments that he leaves in the footnotes will suddenly start extending so long and be so heavy with text that a single SENTENCE can take up two entire pages, a dizzying and overwhelming beast of a paragraph that’s genuinely horrifying to even find when you flip the page, much less read it specifically— there seems to be some kind of point to it, he has a thought, yeah, but it’s a literal stream of consciousness. he can’t filter himself even though he’s actively typing it out, it’s just COMING OUT OF HIM and he can’t control the rate that it’s expelled out of him.

and then, what i find FASCINATING: if the previous page is empty enough of text, you can literally see it coming when johnny is about to dump that stream of consciousness on the next page. the paper is thin enough that you can’t read the words, but you can see the vague shapes of a huge block of text, and it’s genuinely chilling when you notice it. it feels like there’s a monster creeping around the corner, right in your required path, and you know it’s there, and it knows you know, but you have to keep going down that path because you have to know what happens next!

it’s an absolutely genius way to utilize PAPER THICKNESS of all things if that was intentional, and i really wanted to try something similar. i can’t do the same ineffable shape through paper, but on twitter you can vaguely see that “oh, that’s a huge hunk of just text” in the preview before you click, and on tumblr you’d expect there to be an image when you scroll, but the further you scroll the more it dawns on you that it’s just text. it’s just a huge paragraph. it’s just his thoughts, unfiltered and breaking down. i don’t know if i was able to capture anything remotely similar to that thing in house of leaves, but i hope i at least captured something vaguely similar

ok thanks :) house of leaves and kitty horrorshow are big inspos for me for horror writing. i came up with the comic idea bc i like sephiroth so i liked volo in a very similar way so i wanted to make content for what i like

[static-fanatic-1]

I just went through you r blong and it's?? So amazing??? Like omg I wass literally screaming when I read all that glorious stuff, you're doing god's work here love💕 but I would like to know what Kikyo, Illumi, Milluki, Kurapika, Pakunoda, Chrollo and Silva + Shigaraki, Overhaul, Monoma, Chronostasis, Setsuno, Tamaki, Endeavor, Shinsou and Aizawa do for winter and/or Christmas/other religious holidays activities with their darling? Bc I'm ready to sell my vital organs for it ;_;

Thanks you <3

Also, Christmas wit da bois is an amazing idea. (I’ll be doing normal Winter stuff and some religious holidays.)

Kikyo/Illumi/Milluki/Silva:

Since they are a family, I will combine them (and to make this large post a bit shorter and easier haha).

Anyway, they celebrate Christmas more for the gifts and to spoil their kids. You better expect a large, family gathering for the entire two weeks of Christmas and New Years. It doesn’t really matter, you will be forced to celebrate Christmas with them. I mean you are part of the family.

Think of it as a resort holiday, you are treated like a queen/king and anything you want will go. Well, other than freedom of course. Still, you receive many gifts that are beyond your price tag, and the gifts you give them are more decorative to be honest. You don’t have as much money to spend as them, so you decided to make all of your gifts because you hoped the thought would be enough. They might not look the best, but each Zoldyck will treasure it to the end of their days.

They will try to incorporate any traditions as long as they are family oriented, they aren’t monsters. And even if you have other holidays you celebrate, you will still celebrate Christmas with them. With that being said, they will be kind enough to celebrate your own holidays, it will be a smaller scaled thing though.

Kurapika:

He finds it to be a bonding moment, and he doesn’t get enough of those for obvious reasons. He will go above and beyond to please you, simply to get back on your good side a bit.

Cocoa, apple cider, blankets, decorations, traditions, ANYTHING is on. He wants you to relax and feel at home around him. Despite his extremely controlling attitude, he wants you to love him. Sadly he prioritizes your absolute safety over your mental health.

But it’s sweet for the most part, he actually seems to act normal, he doesn’t seem as if he is going to snap and try to force you into anything. But yes, he might try to get things to be hot and heavy, you being relaxed is too perfect of an oppertunity to waste. He still has a clan to rebuild.

Pakunoda:

I wrote chrollo’s before Paku’s, so it’s kinda the same. She will be more active in putting things together and getting into the festivities. She will get really close, using the excuse that she’s cold just to cuddle with you.

Christmas sex? Yeah, probably. She’ll take care of everything, you could sit back and watch her do everything. But it’s more fun together right?

Everyone is invited, so expect the rest of the Troupe and their darlings!

Chrollo:

He doesn’t mind, he’s pretty accommodating too! He’s honestly the most okay with anything. I would think the people of Meteor City look forward to Christmas, there isn’t a lot but people who really care for one another take the time to chill with each other.

With you around, they have a really big excuse to go all out! Chrollo will sit back and relax, having you and the rest of the Troupe decorate and get presents. He will help of course if you ask, but he will mostly be on the side lines.

Anything else is a-okay too! He doesn’t care as long as you are happy, and the Troupe can join in the festivities.

Shigiraki:

Christmas is something he does know! But he knows nothing of any other holiday to be honest. All for One gave him a few gifts in his life time, not much but enough for Shigiraki to develope the concept of Christmas. I mean when he was a kid he loved Christmas with his family. It was one of the happiest times back then.

So he genuinely had a love hate relationship with the holiday. You will ah e to take initiative on this one. Giving a gift, starting decorations, making hot coco or something. Anything to get the ball rolling and he would begrudgingly comply.

Secretly, he is excited to join the holiday festivities with you. Specifically with you, anyone else and they would be dust. He is okay with learning new holiday traditions too, like why do you guys light candles for a holiday? Well oh tell him with a smile and help him light one on fire. He almost burns the whole hideout down. You’ll have to watch him.

Endeavor:

He celebrates Christmas, but he’s more of a grinch. He celebrates it with his kids and wife, just because it’s something families do. Though throughout his life he never found it more than a obligation.

When you come along, he’s on the path of becoming a better person, so he will definantly try harder. One Christmas with all the fun stuff with you, and another one for his family. He kinda lets you take the lead, of course if you really want something you will have to do some sexual trades. Can’t let you get too comfortable right?

Moreover, if you are on good terms with his immediate family, you could probably add more cheer to the holiday. Also if you celebrate another holiday then don’t worry, he’ll accommodate to be nicer.

Overhaul:

Who cares about winter, it’s cold and you are more likely to get sick because of it. Your immune system will be more likely to be compromised so you better expect him to helicopter a bit more.

Warm teas, heavy blankets, vitamins, and supplaments are to be expected. Nothing sugary either, maybe a bit of medical honey in your tea but not much.

Christmas isn’t something he celebrates, but he will make a slight exception if you are good. If you act like a suck up, he’ll be nice and maybe get you Christmas gift. Maybe even a small Christmas tree for moral. I wouldn’t expect too much though.

Chronostasis:

He like winter, he doesn’t know why exactly, but he does. I can easily see him getting into the activities of December. Like the ballets and Christmas lights and other festive things that make you leave your house. Headcannon that he might be a decent ice skater too. He simply enjoys the activities more than the actual holidays.

He won’t mind helping decorate or getting gifts or any other holiday traditions. Actually, if they are fun traditions without much competitive fire, he’ll probably want to do them more.

Although I don’t see him liking the warm ness of cuddling and all that, I can see him enjoying the slight chill in the air. Supportive of any holiday you celebrate, might even try to make more traditions too.

Monoma:

He likes Christmas and the holidays, it’s the perfect time to get the best gifts for his little darling. Oddly enough he loves getting small gifts for you, it makes him feel prideful knowing you like what he got you, so he loves Christmas is general.

As for winter, he likes it! It’s an excuse to get you under the covers and warm you up. That can be taken both ways if ya’ know what I’m saying.

I think he would prefer warm drinks like tea and apple cider over hot chocolate, but hell totally make some for you. Any decorations are also game, just expect some teasing for the childish stuffed animal you keep on the fireplace mantle.

Setstuno:

He is kinda clueless in the sense he just doesn’t know where to start. Like he knows about the basics of holiday traditions, but he doesn’t know if you do those traditions. He’ll be pretty laid back when you get excited about it though. This clingy man will simply sit back and watch the entire time.

Winter isn’t his favorite, but he doesn’t mind being able to hold you close so you won’t be cold. He is very possessive considering what happened to his last lover. He will be perfectly fine with helping with easy things, but when it comes to the more taxing things, he’ll let you take the reins.

He’ll try to buy you a present he thinks you’ll like, but he won’t get too fancy. After all he really just wants to hold you close and soak in your warmth.

Tamaki:

Nervous boy feels most comfortable in winter, at least in his home where he has you to cuddle, bake, and hold. He loves the warmth found in a home, and he will encourage any baking you want to do. It just leaves him with a warm feeling inside when he can bake cookies and brownies with you by his side.

Although he’s all hands on deck when the holidays come along, he’s still nervous about it. He’ll ask questions and make sure everything works how it’s supposed to because he doesn’t want to mess something up for you. Might accidentally go a bit overboard with gifts or other traditional activities.

He just wants to please you though, a real sweetheart when it comes down to it.

Shinsou:

I think Shinsou likes winter because it means spring is on its way. I can see him being a spring loving boy because of all the kittens and flowers blooming. Winter is good though, might be his second favorite season. He loves the blankets and the hot cocoa and the baked goods and the holiday cheer. Especially the gift giving, he likes seeing you happy when he gives you a gift.

He probably won’t be too enthusiastic about any holiday stuff, but he will sure support it and help with anything you need. Need a Christiana’s tree because you can’t have a Christmas without it? You better bet he’ll get it right away.

He loves watching you get excited about the holidays, everything in the house just seems a bit more cheerful because of you. He will wrap you in blankets and jackets and hold you closely in his arms. You also better bet anything you do he will be there to help you. He might not be the most into the holidays, but he surely loves getting ready for the holidays with you.

Aizawa:

Winter is not his favorite season, but I’d say it’s probably second place. He doesn’t do too much, as he simply doesn’t want to put in that much effort in something so minuscule. But, he defiantly encourages his Darling if they want to decorate or bake or something wintery.

Christmas also isn’t really a big thing for him, as he doesn’t usually buy presents for other people. Of course, his Darling is another story. Unlike most people, he buys a few presents for you because you are his special kitten.

He will also help decorate or bake small things if you want to. Hot chocolate is a must, he has a special, bitter hot chocolate just for himself that he loves. You have your sweet beverage and he has his bitter one. Just don’t forget the marshmallows.

Warm cuddles is a blessing to him. When it’s cold he grabs blankets and wraps you up like a baby is a swadle just to hold you close to him. As for other holidays, he will respect them and whatever stuff come with them. Like Hanukkah and the candles for each night. Just don’t expect anything too crazy, he just wants a comfortable holiday evening with you.

Happy Holidays sweethearts!!! I hope you have an amazing whatever you celebrate and if you celebrate nothing, than have a wonderful day!

[foxymoxynoona]

A Beautiful Beyond

NOTE: This is a short story sequel to A Sea of Indigo, which you can read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881670/chapters/62890984

Summary: Years have passed since Jungkook came to Marigold, years since you kissed beneath the stars and confessed your love and bound yourself together. But now a new challenger has entered the ring, one which threatens to unbalance everything: your first baby! Good luck, kids.

Pitbull Hybrid Jeon Jungkook x Human Reader(Y/N) Words: 14,339

CW: not much, childbirth, domestic fluff, pregnancy, new parents, reference to prior miscarriage

Read on ao3 or below cut: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741412

Jungkook sat in a scratchy chair in the far corner of the ballroom, next to a wide round table with his things on it. Correction, your things. Your conference bag, packed to the brim with pamphlets, samples of lotions and special shampoos and bandages and protein snacks, branded pens and water bottles and lollipops. Your messenger bag which he had carried all day, overstuffed with your own journals, loose notes, two books, phone charger, ginger candies, comfier flat shoes, socks, and enough snacks to constitute two meals, with a water bottle dangling from the strap by a carabiner. A stack of magazines and trade journals and news articles you’d collected from booths introducing health treatments, medical technologies, or new mental health services formed a stack beside the bags.  

Jungkook stretched in his chair and scratched his scalp and blinked around the room as if he’d just woken from a nap. He hadn’t, he would never fall asleep while you were wandering a crowded place like this and might need his help at any moment. But it was boring. So fucking boring. Though not the first conference he had traveled with you for, this particular time, his patience for a three days full of lectures and networking and chatty lunches was thin.

He watched you lean against a tall table, talking with two other women, both nurses who worked at other hybrid sanctuaries in Asia. So many people you knew had descended on Tokyo for this international conference. You had begged and pleaded to go after Jungkook said he didn’t think it was a good idea. You had sighed and fluttered your eyelashes and draped yourself around him and knit your fingers together and then kissed along his jaw and sucked on his ears. He flushed now, letting out an impatient huff at how impossible it was to say no to you when you did that. 

But he had his reasons! You turned and laughed at something one of the nurses said, your hand resting on top of the large round swell of your belly. He noticed the way you alternated leaning against the table and swaying, meaning either your hips or your feet were hurting. Your lower back must be too from standing all day; he saw your back arch outwards for a moment as you tried to stretch. You had cried just the other day because you couldn’t actually stretch your back the way you wanted, but if he pressed his knuckles along your spine it felt good. You needed that right now, he sensed it. He was always trying to sense the things you needed, watching you closely, trying to take care of you because he’d done this to you after all. He thought you still hadn’t been quite sure about a baby but you were doing this for him. 

And also for a nurse you were remarkably bad at taking care of yourself.

He decided without seeing them that you ankles were swollen enough and he needed to drag you out of there, so he gathered all your things and marched over, only to shy away from the pairs of eyes that all immediately shifted to him.

“Y/N, let’s go rest,” he mumbled at your shoulder.

“Just a few more minutes.”

“You said that two hours ago…”

“I know,” you said, turning and pressing your hand to his chest. “I’m sorry, I know you’re bored. Just a few more minutes, I swear.”

He sighed. But you smiled at him. And from here your ankles didn’t look too bad yet.

“Drink more water,” he said, handing you the water bottle you’d set on the table. He hauled your things back to the round table and dumped them down but didn’t sit this time. Instead he remained standing, so you could have the reminder that you had said you would go soon. 

He crossed his arms.

He paced. 

He leaned against the back of a chair when a few minutes bled into more. Two more people had joined you. And now he was getting hungry too, which he knew meant you were probably hungry too and too busy talking work stuff to realize it. Time to use his own powers of persuasion.

Once again he grabbed your bags up and approached, this time pressing up close against you back. You mindlessly lifted your fingers over your shoulder to touch his neck, a soft gesture that meant hi, I see you. He loved that gesture. He loved you, his infuriating woman who didn’t pay attention to your own limits.

“Y/N,” he whined quietly at the back of your head. The impatient huffs and whimpers were quiet, though probably not so quiet your colleagues couldn’t hear. He didn’t care right now. They’d think your whiny pup was dragging you away and though he hated that, it was the price he’d pay to get you upstairs to your room so you could put your feet up.

“Ok ok,” you said. To you colleagues, you explained, “My husband is telling me it’s time to go. I’ve dragged him around for three days now and I think we’ve hit the limit.”

“You need to rest,” he defended. My husband. The label flustered him as five pairs of eyes looked at him. He could read the surprise and curiosity on their faces. Husband? A hybrid? Nurse Y/N actually married a hybrid?

No, not actually. It wasn’t legal in Korea --or in most places, for that matter. But you had still had a ceremony last year when your grandparents had visited Marigold in the spring, donning traditional Korean clothing and standing underneath an arch on the dock Jungkook had built years ago. It was small and simple. His parents had come up for it too, to finally meet your grandparents. You had actually been calling him your husband to people for at least a year by that point, making a point of it after several unsurprising and hurtful assumptions about the nature of your relationship from outsiders. So you’d had your meaningful little ceremony, and he’d been more affected by it than he anticipated; he had not expected to be so touched when you legally changed your last name as your application for Korean citizenship was accepted, just one more way to connect you in a country that wouldn’t legally allow it.

You turned towards him, your belly pressing into his side as the others around the circle shook his hand and tried to hide any shock from their faces. Not only were you “married” to a hybrid, but of course they’d now wonder about that baby in your belly.

“Yes, it’s mine,” he said, though no one had asked. He knew they were wondering and he wanted them to know.

You immediately laughed and patted his chest, “Yes, it is, and you’re trying to make me take it easy, I know. So we’d better go. It’s been nice seeing you all; you’ve got my contact info. We fly home tomorrow but let’s keep in touch!” Your pat embarrassed him, or rather made him embarrassed by his own possessiveness of your. Human husbands probably didn’t announce that the baby in their (not legally) wife was theirs. But people didn’t doubt a human husband the way they would a hybrid not-real husband.

Your room was on a higher floor in the hotel. The silence of the elevator turned the noise of the conference into a tingly buzz still lingering in Jungkook’s ears, but by the time he closed the door of the hotel room, he could relax into the comfort of silence. Years ago, it had been the shift from a crowded arena during a fight to the quieter victor’s suite, where he’d get patched up, maybe given a girl to fuck, and then tossed into the kennels to collapse with the other exhausted survivors. Words couldn’t describe how much he preferred this routine: lining up your shoes by the door, listening to you putter around in the bathroom, then dragging you down onto the bed and pulling you feet into his lap. They were damp.

“You-- you don’t have to… do that,” you tried to protest, despite obviously just rinsing them off, either hopeful or accepting he was going to do this. Also part of the ritual. All it took was one good press of thumbs up the arch of your feet to make you moan and give up the fight. What you liked the most though was just the squeezing of your heels. He squeezed so hard he expected it to hurt but you just whined and sighed. The noises always went right to his dick. It didn’t take much from you to get him going and seeing you laid back against the pillows, belly rounded with his pup, feet twitching in his grip… well, it was enough. 

He wanted to rub your feet longer, but now his gaze kept sliding up to your belly until he couldn’t resist any longer. His hands followed, one flattening and tracing the curve.

“Baby is good,” you told him, answering his unasked question. He grinned as he stretched out beside you but a little lower, so his hand could continue to press. “Here,” you took his hand and pressed it low, where he could feel it, the irregular thump against his hand.

“Foot?” he asked.

“I sure hope so,” you snickered, “Or that baby is coming out with biceps as big as yours.” You squeezed his arm and he let you, amused at the way you so casually caressed each other's bodies. He kept his hand there, letting his son kick his palm.

“He’s strong,” he mused, only to flinch and quickly cover, “Do you think the baby will sleep now?”

“No, it slept the whole conference. I felt like I was stroking its head while we were down there,” you said, a contented smile on your face. He let out a sigh of relief that you hadn’t noticed his slip. 

Jungkook was certain you were carrying his son. It wasn’t that he preferred a son, but that was certainly going to be easier, seeing as he was a boy. He didn’t necessarily hope the baby was much like himself but he knew what it was like to be a little boy, and that had soothed some of his worries about fatherhood. Bitna was the only girl he’d grown up with and she wasn’t a very normal girl, so he’d be lost with a daughter. But he’d just sensed early on that the baby was a boy, and so hadn’t minded when you suggested not learning the baby’s sex until it was born because what did it matter?

It didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t, Jungkook had assured you when he’d first started insisting it was a boy and you had broken down in tears. He’d never forget you sobbing with disappointment in him, “Are you really one of those traditionalist men who only cares about a son?” No! No, he wasn’t! He just happened to think a son would be easier and happened to believe this baby was a son! To soothe you, he’d enthusiastically agreed not to find out the baby’s sex, agreeing it didn’t matter, secretly knowing he was going to be right.

And it didn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t, Jungkook had reminded himself when the technicians didn’t disclose the baby’s sex. It wasn’t that he’d maybe wanted to know to reassure himself he wasn’t having a daughter, (moot, since his gut said it was a boy) but because he was just desperate to know anything at all. 

He stroked the spot on your belly the baby had been kicking. There was another hard kick that made you grunt, followed by a louder grunt.

“Oof, it’s moving.”

Jungkook dragged your flowy shirt up, watching the ridge of the baby’s back he could see as it shuffled and twisted inside. You could always feel when the baby moved like that. You could feel when the baby got hiccups or was sleeping. You could feel when the baby got startled by a loud sound around you or when it grew still listening to the soothing music Jungkook played at home every day while he painted. He knew you also had the aches and pains and cramps and heartburn and swollen ankles and back aches. 

But you got to experience this, the baby was already so real to you that he’d catch you mumbling to it sometimes, or tapping your fingers against your belly when the baby’s head or butt pressed against it in silent communication, or rocking in the glider you bought on recommendation from Taehyung and Yejin --who had just had their third and, according to Yejin, absolute final. 

Jungkook was on the outside of it. He went to almost every doctor’s appointment, trading shifts at the restaurant where he still worked to clear his schedule. He painted the nursery, he built the furniture, he took the best damn care of you he could. But he still had to wait to meet the baby in a way you didn’t, and he just wanted to know something about this baby, who was going to change your lives “in ways you can’t even imagine yet,” according to his mother. All he had to go on so far was that he thought the baby was a boy.

But he kept that to himself, tracing his finger over the bulge of a head or a butt pressed just above your belly button. Your fingers wound into his hair, scratching his scalp, sending goosebumps shooting across his arms. When he glanced at your face though, your eyes were closed, your expression peaceful for a brief moment.

“You’re tired, jagi,” he murmured and kissed your belly. 

“I won’t admit it.”

“Admit it,” he teased.

“Never.”

You didn’t even complain enough to him, he didn’t think. He wouldn’t have minded. Listening to you narrate every minor ache and pain could have given him a greater window into your experience. Listening was the part he could do.

“You don’t stop for anything,” he said. “But now you have to. We came to the conference. Now we’ll go home and you promised.”

“I know, I promised. We’ll go home and I’ll take it easy.”

He heard the extra something in your voice and knew not to push further. The sadness crept in, like it sometimes still did, even though this baby was healthy and growing well. The timing of the wedding and name change had also been an emotional reset. After two years of trying before you actually got pregnant, only for the first pregnancy to end in an early miscarriage, you’d both whispered doubts to each other in the dark whether a child could actually be in your future. Now you had a healthy growing baby in your belly but still there had been minor disagreements when you thought he coddled or he thought you pushed yourself too far. Would he have packed you up in bubble wrap for the whole pregnancy if he could, like you’d accused him of? Well… maybe.

But this you had agreed on. This conference was the last thing you would leave Marigold for. Now you would go home and be gentle with yourself and let him pamper you until the time came that Jungkook could finally meet his son.

You were still scratching his scalp as he murmured, “I love you.” It still felt bold to say it sometimes, but he was determined to say it every day. This baby would take being loved for granted, it would hear about it so much. No matter what happened, this baby would always know it had a father who loved him.

“I love you too,” you returned, rolling onto your side towards him.

“Yes, and I love you too,” Jungkook conceded.

“You didn’t mean me?” you pouted, a smile in your voice.

“I love you both,” Jungkook said and kissed you before settling on the pillows, your belly cradled between you.

Damn, he was ready to go home. This conference had been really fucking boring.

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

You sat on the living room sofa in the main house, staring at the ground, sulking. They’d called Jungkook. They might as well have called your dad, for all the gravity the call was made with and for all the pleading not to and for all the dread you had about the consequences. Jungkook was going to be unhappy with you. 

Sure enough, you could recognize his steps as the front door swung open, and his serious stare met you a moment later. You tried to return his stare, but then closed your eyes and slumped backwards on the couch, clasping your hands on top of your stomach. He sat beside you on the couch.

“She completely fainted,” Jimin tattled, appearing with a second cool cloth to drape across your forehead. The one Dale had given you was already around you neck, making you shirt uncomfortably wet. Eunju had lifted your feet onto the coffee table and brought you juice and crackers. 

“Hit the ground?” Jungkook asked, eyes wide with concern but brow somehow still lowered. 

You were the one to quickly say, “No, I barely fainted and Namjoon caught me--”

“I caught her,” Namjoon agreed, striding in. He set a glass of ice water on the table as well. “She smelled a little strange--”

“Probably just a sugar crash,” you quickly clarified. “Nothing more serious. You always smell people when they sugar crash. I just went a little too long before lunch. I was just about to stop and eat--”

“You said that like an hour ago, babe,” Maya called. Everyone was circling, bustling in and out of the room. You hated the coddling. You hated the attention. You hated that they had called Jungkook for something this trivial --you were a nurse! You knew it was just a small dizzy spell! 

Jungkook just studied your face for a moment, taking in all the information from these fucking snitches, before touching your shoulder and asking, “You want to rest here? Or should I take you home?”

“Take me home,” you quickly answered. “These mother hens are driving me crazy. I’m fine!”

“Well when our nurse is still working at thirty-eight weeks pregnant and faints, we get a little antsy,” Jimin scoffed. “Complain all you want!”

“How do you even remember the weeks? Do you have my due date penciled in--”

“We all do! It’s right on the calendar in the kitchen! When that baby comes and you stay home to recover, we can all finally let out a sigh of relief,” Maya teased. She stopped behind the couch and pressed her hands to your shoulders. 

“I’m pregnant, not made of rice paper. Women run marathons pregnant.”

“Not this woman,” Dale beamed at you. “So sorry you aren’t Superwoman this time, must be hard for your ego. Now Let Jungkook take you home, get some rest. And Y/N… You don’t have to wait until you’re literally pushing a baby out of your body. Take time off as soon as you need it.”

“I don’t. I just went a little too hard, that’s all,” you grumbled. You held your hand out for Jungkook to take, not amused when he adjusted the damp towels so they would come along for the ride. He helped you to the front door, and held you steady while you stepped into your flats --the big comfortable ugly ones that were the only thing that fit your larger feet right now. Once you were on the porch, he considered asking to carry you down, you could see the thought on his face. But apparently the scowl on your face worked, and he just helped you down and into the car.

It was a quiet ride home, though fortunately not a long one. You could smell the paint from the nursery, making it obvious how he’d spent his afternoon; as soon as you were deposited on the sofa, he ran to open the nursery windows and shut the door so it could air out without letting all the heat out of the house. He disappeared into the kitchen next, returning with an assortment of snacks to display before you on the coffee table a moment later. He brought you a blanket and a pillow and then pulled you feet onto his lap to roll the compression socks down.

“Don’t,” you complained because it felt like too much right now. He was being too sweet and he hadn’t scolded you yet, but you knew it was coming. you could see it on his face, held down by his furrowed eyebrows. “Just… say it and get it over with.”

“If you aren’t going to take care for your own sake, at least do it for the baby.”

You closed your eyes and looked away. That hurt more than you had expected. You felt a painful bubble in your chest at the words.

“I’m not endangering the baby,” you mumbled, gaze shifting to your hands in your lap. “I hate that you think that. You already think I’m a bad mother.”

“Huh?” The shift in his voice was immediate. “I don’t think that. I just meant…” He trailed off; you could feel his careful study. But the painful lump in your throat lingered and you knew if you looked at him you might cry.

“I’m not being reckless. My health is good. I’m taking breaks. I’m just not ready to stop working yet and sit around twiddling my thumbs--”

“You have to slow down.”

“If I slow down any more I’ll just be a potted plant!” you argued. “I didn’t forget to eat, I just wasn’t hungry yet because the heartburn has ruined my appetite. That’s normal! There’s no space for my stomach with the baby in there and it hasn’t dropped yet so--”

“So little meals, you said. You need snacks. You need to stop and rest.”

“I eat snacks but it just happened. I was just dizzy; I probably stood up too fast but everything is fine and I need you to stop acting like I’m just being selfish.”

“You should stop working and stay home and rest.”

“These are my last weeks to get to be Nurse Y/N before I’m just Mom,” you snapped. “Don’t take that away from me. I’m fine. Please trust that I love this baby too and I am not doing anything to endanger it. I knew you’d overreact; they shouldn’t have bothered calling you--”

“Y/N.”

You both lapsed into silence, staring in opposite directions. You were trying not to cry but the exhaustion and the frustration were building. 

“The only thing I can do to help the baby right now is take care of you,” he finally said. “You have to let me do that.”

“I am. But you have to trust me when I say I’m fine.”

“Fainting isn’t fine.”

“They exaggerated because they’re worried.” His sigh revealed what he thought of that answer. “I’m fine. I’ll eat more frequent small snacks and be fine. Please, just… please.” You didn’t know specifically what you were asking for. More trust. Less scolding. More compassion. Less guilt. 

Less guilt was really the thing you needed most. You had been prepared for the physical changes --more or less, anyway. As a nurse, you had taken care of plenty of pregnant women. Sure, going through them was a step beyond but still, you could identify symptoms and normal changes and causes for concern like a textbook. That was comforting.

What you had not been prepared for was the guilt. The fears. The mental and emotional worries that plagued your dreams and your waking both. The bigger you got, the more the world revolved around the baby growing in your belly, but you couldn’t help the small voice in your head crying but what about me? Don’t I still matter? You had made plenty of adjustments and sacrifices as needed to make sure the baby was happy and healthy and growing in there --you’d eliminated certain foods and coffees, just to be safe; you went to bed on time; you napped; you didn’t go visit your grandparents because of the risk of Zika; and so on and so on. Yes, you felt sad about those sacrifices sometimes. Wasn’t that allowed? Or did that mean you were already a terrible mother? You had plenty of people ask why you were still working this late in your pregnancy but it was because you could! You were healthy! The pregnancy was going well this time! And soon you would be home with the new baby for at least six months, maybe longer, and what would that even look like for you? You had been miserable when not working before. Who would you be when you were nothing but this baby’s mother for a while, possibly a long while? Could you be happy like that? Were you already failing for being worried about such selfish things, for still thinking about a career and a life that didn’t revolve solely around your child? Was it because Jungkook had wanted to have a baby more than you had? Were you doomed to be an unloving, terrible mother from the start because he was the one who’d wanted this first, and this was just proof of that? But you did want this baby! You had agreed to this, to the heartbreak of trying again after that first loss, because you wanted this too! Couldn’t you want both?

“Y/N,” he said, hand sliding across your back. You turned into his shoulder and finally couldn’t withhold the tears any longer. They streamed onto his shirt, soaking the fabric as you sobbed. He held you, but the position was awkward with your belly taking up so much space in between. He wound up dragging you onto his lap, tangling your bodies together the way puppies did, piling on each other to comfort or be comforted.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. I know everything is harder for you right now. I can’t make anything easier. I’m just trying to take care of you. You work so hard all the time and I just want you to know that it’s ok for growing a baby to be enough.”

It wasn’t like him to stream out words like that; he must feel really bad and that soothed you too, reminding you that he didn’t know what the fuck they were doing either. 

“I don’t think I’m very good at being pregnant,” you admitted, pressing your face to his neck. 

“You are growing a healthy baby so you are very good at being pregnant. You are just not good at slowing down.”

“I don’t want to slow down,” you argued. “I listen to my body; I stop when I have to. But when I feel fine… Everything is changing and I’m trying not to complain or fuss but--”

“Complain to me, jagi! I’m your mate!”

“Yeah, but…”

He pressed his nose to your temple, rubbing, then nipped your nose and said gently, “I want to hear. I want to know. I don’t know anything. I can learn from you.”

“I don’t know anything either, Jungkook. I mean, I know about gestation and healthy baby size and pregnancy food needs. But I don’t know how to… how to become a mother, at least not a good one.”

“You’re a good mother already.”

“I’m not. I can’t be. I love this baby and I want this baby but everyone is saying I need to stop working, stop going places, stop doing things. Everything needs to be about the baby. So am I supposed to just stop existing except as a mother? I don’t know how to blend those things! And I want to work, I need to work, because I’m good at it but I’m not good at a having a baby like this and then at least if I fail as a mother, maybe I can make the baby proud as a nurse.”

This said, you leaned heavily against his shoulder again, a hollow ache where the words were no longer bricked up inside you.

After a while, Jungkook sighed, “I don’t know anything about it either. You know a lot about babies and I don’t know anything. But I think we’re going to be a happy family. I know it. We’ll do our best and love each other and I think that’s enough. All I ever wanted was to know my parents loved me.”

“I don’t know if my parents loved me,” you admitted, “I guess they did. But I don’t think they liked me very much.”

“I think we’ll like our baby.”

“I think so too,” you readily agreed. “It’s just that… everything is about to change. I’m so excited to meet this baby but I’m so fucking scared of getting this baby out,” you admitted with a small laugh. “And then… then what?”

He let out a deep breath and admitted, “I didn’t know you were scared about it too.”

“Of course I’m scared about it. You are?”

“Yeah.”

“You just act so… confident about everything. You take such good care of me and you remember everything and you’ve worked so hard on the nursery. You wanted this baby so bad, you were ready. I mean, I want it too! It’s just that the closer we get, the more I worry, am I really ready? What if I lose myself? I just become someone’s mom, nothing more… what if that’s not enough for me?”

“You will always be more than that,” he corrected. “Our baby has a busy mother. That’s ok. We said that. When you want to go back to work, if we need someone home with the baby still, I can do it. Why does it have to be the mom who stays home?” You had said that, as you’d imagined the many different ways your future could look. You didn’t know if Jungkook had been serious about that, about his willingness to stay home. You didn’t think you could bear the guilt of leaving your baby home, failing as a mother like that --you were supposed to want to stay home, weren’t you? And maybe you would want that! And maybe he wouldn’t want to! You couldn’t say because you just didn’t know what to expect!

“How can you say you’re scared when you sound so certain about everything?” you sighed enviously.

“I know we will figure it out. I can do anything with you in my corner and I’m in your corner so… we’ll be good.”

“Really? A boxing reference?”

You felt his smile as he kissed your jaw and shifted on the couch so he could drag the blanket over you both.

“Yes,” he said. “I know more about boxing than about babies but I will work harder at this than anything in my life. Together we’ll make it work. Not everything will change.”

“Are you going to say we’ll still have each other?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. His fingers were softly stroking your jaw. “I worry about things too. You’ll love the baby and forget about me…”

“I won’t,” you gasped, leaning away and staring into his face. “You’re my love, my mate, my partner. The baby won’t replace you!” He did not actually look too worried about it though.

“A little bit in the beginning. Taehyung talks to me about it. But I know you love me and you need me and it’s like that for me and we are two strong people, we can handle a baby,” he grinned. “A baby is little. We can win.” It made you smile, even laugh a little.

“Yeah, what’s one small baby against us, huh?” You leaned back against his shoulder and clung to his faith in you as a mother, his confidence you could figure this out. You wanted to be as certain, but you were still scared. What if you were wildly inept? What if the baby didn’t like you, or you struggled to love it, or you grew bitter about the career sacrifices that would have to happen to make sure the child came first as it deserved? What if you didn’t like being home with it? What if --as you had once feared-- mothering just wasn’t a thing that came naturally to you? Anytime you had hinted at that fear with Yejin or Helene or your grandmother, they’d laughed: you are full of love; you don’t have to be exactly like any other mother, but you are going to be a wonderful mother to your own wonderful baby because you have been a healing mother to so many people already. 

“You’re going to be such a wonderful father, Jungkook. You are strong and soft and wonderful in all the right ways.”

“Everything I know I learned from you,” he prodded. 

“That’s not true, but thank you.” You kissed the warm side of his neck. “Now what can you tell me to make me feel better about the pain of childbirth?”

“You are the strongest woman I know--”

“No no, that doesn’t work.”

“Drugs,” he said. “Lots of drugs. Epidural, yeah? Yeah.”

“We’ll see, I don’t know… I just don’t know anything, Jungkook.”

“You know a lot, Y/N. You just care a lot too.”

“I do care a lot.”

“I know. So it’s ok.” He rubbed his nose against yours and nipped again, kissed down your cheek and nipped your jaw. It was crazy how used to this form of comfort you had become over the years; you craved it when you were stressed or upset. You let your head fall back so he could nip along your neck. The mental image came again, of Jungkook nuzzling and cuddling your baby like this, you draped around them. It was the thought that had finally changed your mind on having a baby, too, the certainty that Jungkook was going to be a very, very good father, and that you would do your best to keep up. 

You sighed, going limp in his arms, until he finally ran his nose up to your ear.

“Sleepy jagiya,” he murmured. 

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ll carry you to bed?”

“Mm-hm, ok,” you conceded, knowing he took great pride in still lifting you with the additional weight. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you to the bedroom. “Wait, are you almost finished with the nursery? I want to see.”

“Later. Rest first. The nursery will still be there.”

“But you’re working so hard on it--”

“You are working even harder,” he argued. “Now you need to rest.”

“Do you think that tone will work with our child?”

“I sure hope so.”

“Me too,” you laughed, and let it work with you now, especially since he let you pull him down to the bed to nap with him. Tangled in his arms and legs, you felt better. Almost like you could do this, at least if you had him by your side, and all your friends who had overreacted today because they cared. Maybe, if you tried really hard, this could all be enough for the baby.

“Everyone just wants to be loved,” you whispered to yourself.

“You overflow with love,” Jungkook whispered back. “It’s not a concern.” He sounded so serious about it, so certain. It was the last reassurance you needed to curl up on your side, pillow stuffed between your knees to cushion your joints, and fall asleep.

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

Damn. Damn he had been an idiot. Jungkook sat in the chair beside your  hospital bed, the plastic tub with your baby inside boxing him in, and stared at the wall. 

Damn, he had gotten everything so very wrong.

He was in shock. He knew that. He remembered the feeling of getting dragged from a fire and tossed into a cold pool, the way your skin tingled and your lungs burned and your eyes ached to close for a while, the way you were sweaty and cold at the same time. 

Had it all really happened? Really?

He glanced at the bassinet and couldn’t believe it was a real baby inside. He ought to be holding it but it was asleep and he didn’t want to disturb it, even though you had begged him to hold it while you slept, afraid it would feel cold and lonely. Your faith in him had been astonishing; seeing how much strength you took from him was incredible and he felt completely insufficient for it. What good had he been? No good, not good for a single fucking thing!

Sure, he’d held your arm as you paced through your contractions. He’d held your hips and pushed into your lower back as you had used the baby crib he’d built to help you sway through the worst of the pain. It had made him sick to see you in pain but he’d bitten that back and done his best to walk you through every survival method he knew.

Sure, he’d maintained his calm as he drove you to the hospital, and held your hand through checking in, and only snapped a little when the nurses were taking too long getting you into a room. He’d been calm and thorough about attending to your every need, desperate to do anything when it seemed like his options to help you were limited. This is normal, the nurse had assured you. Just a few hours and then you’ll have your baby.

But the hours dragged on. And on. And on. Your pain broke him, froze him, re-animated him. The nurses didn’t like him, he knew that, because he didn’t have any patience for their glacial pace when you needed something. He didn’t like how they could be chatting and laughing and happy while checking your’s and the baby’s vitals, not when you would curl forward, trying to escape the contractions. Pain was inescapable, and having to watch you go through it… it was too much. He had not been prepared for how terrible it would be. He’d been so focused on the baby and taking care of you throughout your pregnancy that he hadn’t worried enough about this part. He’d trusted too much the idea that women did this all the time. It had left him unprepared for the gut-wrenching agony of watching you suffer.

And then things got worse. The baby wasn’t moving. Your water had broken too long ago and you were starting to get a fever and the baby was being stubborn. Oh no, he’s going to be like me, Jungkook had fretted, long past rational thought at this point. He’d stood dumbly by as the nurses and doctor and you had discussed, as they’d tried to ask him his opinion, as he’d only nodded and motioned to whatever you said without understanding what was happening because internally he was panicking and this time you couldn’t soothe him through it.

Sure, he’d walked behind the gurney as they’d carted you down to surgery. He’d put on the gown and mask and papery hat and stood by your head, where the nurses nudged him. He’d held your hand, unable to look away from the exhaustion and fear on your face as they raised a curtain to perform the surgery out of your view. Surgery. Real surgery. He’d seen into your body as the doctors lifted a baby out of you.  You had cried as the baby screamed and he just stared, too slow and unresponsive to even cut the cord. He had expected to immediately recognize the baby’s scream, but it was just a noise, not even a very concerning one at the moment. He’d watched you nuzzle the baby under your chin, a swollen, red, angry baby that looked nothing like he’d imagined other than the dark hair like his own. He’d even touched your face to reassure you, pulled your gown back into place where it had been knocked around in the chaos; but even that had been wrong, you’d been trying to unsnap it so you could hold the baby against the warm skin of your chest. You already knew what to do with your upset child. The baby had drawn his attention less than the long line of stitches being sewn into your lower belly; you would have a big scar, a reminder of what he’d watched you endure.

Things were blurry after that. You were drugged in a way that scared him, but your attention was so focused on the baby that his fear didn’t matter right now much anyway. You were taken to a recovery room, the baby was looked at, everyone was said to be healthy and fine. Jungkook had called some people, his parents, your grandparents, Jimin. He hadn’t been able to tell them much except that everything was apparently fine, confused when they asked if he was all right and if you had named the baby yet.

The baby twitched in its cubby. He peeked down, but the baby settled back to sleep so he didn’t touch it. When he leaned back in his chair, he read the card on the side again: Baby Girl Jeon, DOB 2-24.

A girl! Even the baby had turned out different than his expectations for what “becoming parents” would go like. A girl…

He stared at the wall and wished he could fall asleep but knew it wouldn’t come. He felt like he’d been through the worst fight of his career. He felt like he’d been through a war. In reality, he felt nothing, just sat there shocked about it all and wondering how he could be so useless and how his expectations had been so fucking wrong.

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

He must have drifted off again without realizing it, because noise in the room woke him. He was embarrassed to find he’d failed even as a guard; two nurses were helping you sit up while a third finished changing the baby’s tiny diaper. This kept happening. He was trying his best to stay awake, so he could be on hand to get anything you needed --ice, water, applejuice, more blankets, more pillows, move the pillows, turn on the TV, turn off the TV. The pain from your incision definitely was worse the next day, and they took your catheter out but you needed help walking to the bathroom. You were slow and fragile-seeming and it terrified him, and so he wanted to be always on hand to help you.

But once again he’d fallen asleep in that uncomfortable chair, tricked into it by his own tired brain. 

Quickly he sat up, leaning close on the edge of the bed, but you didn’t seem upset with him about sleeping. You scratched his jaw and smiled at him, then held your arms out as the nurse lowered the baby into them. Whatever pain or lingering trauma you must have from giving birth in that manner, you seemed utterly distracted from it whenever the baby was near.

“Isn’t she perfect?” you whispered. He watched you stroke the baby’s downy black ears, still paperthin and folded up, just barely poking out of the shock of dark hair. The baby looked up at you with dark eyes beneath a heavy brow; very much like the baby pictures Jungkook’s mother had texted you to compare earlier this morning. He worried the baby might have his nose too, and how would that look on a little girl? 

“Well I think she is,” you cooed, making him realize he hadn’t answered yet.

“She’s small,” he said. No, that wasn’t good enough. “She…”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Huh?”

“I know you wanted a boy,” you said. He didn’t have to see your face to hear the threat of tears.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not disappointed. I’m just… surprised.” He leaned down on the bed beside you, watching the baby, trying to feel that connection he had hoped would come immediately. Even seeing his own image reflected back at him in tiny ways didn’t make him look at this infant and know anything more about it than he had when it was still tucked away in your stomach. Logically he knew the baby would grow and get more personality and someday be walking and talking like Taehyung’s kids but… He realized you were watching him stare at the baby, so he added, “I don’t know anything about little girls.”

“You don’t know what a little boy would have been like either,” you argued, the same argument you’d had while pregnant. “A girl could still like cars and fighting and--”

“I don’t want anyone to like fighting.”

“--And a boy might have liked dolls and tea parties.”

“I know that,” he insisted. “It’s not important, Y/N. I’m not disappointed.”

“You can’t be disappointed. She’s perfect.” You hooked your finger into a tiny fist. The baby smacked its lips and wriggled in its blanket, curling closer to your chest and nodding off. Apparently eating and a diaper change had been too much excitement and worn it out. 

“I’m not disappointed,” he insisted again. “Are you?”

“No. What? Why would I be disappointed?”

“Ears. Tail.”

“Yes, my daughter is a hybrid, so? So is my mate”

Jungkook nodded but secretly didn’t believe you. You were drugged and tired and not thinking about it because you couldn’t actually be that oblivious. With a human mother, the baby would qualify for human citizenship, but with hybrid features, it would face the same barriers Jungkook did. Even though you had spent your life working with hybrids, you could still move fluidly between the worlds. You didn’t understand. He had hoped his child would be spared this; some mixed children didn’t even have the ears of their hybrid parent, apparently the most dominant of hybrid features. He had hoped his child would just be a boy copy of you. That would have been the best, easiest future. This child… he just didn’t know how he was possibly supposed to protect it. He’d barely managed to protect you for the last nine months.

“I know I don’t know what it’s like to be a hybrid,” you said, once again making Jungkook suspect you had secret mind-reading abilities. “And I wouldn’t wish any struggles on my own child. But I’ve spent my life trying to make this world a better place for hybrids, and now I’ll keep fighting that fight to make it a better place for our daughter. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy and healthy. She’s beautiful and I wouldn’t change a thing about her, certainly not to make her look less like my handsome mate.”

He pressed his face to your arm, only to be stunned when you added, “Please don’t scent me though until you’re willing to scent her too.”

“What?”

“You haven’t yet.”

“She’s so small,” he defended.

“Ok. But usually hybrids scent their babies right away--”

“You aren’t a hybrid, don’t lecture me.”

You went silent. He cringed. You nodded and he could feel the weight of your swallow, the way you bit back tears.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to your arm. But you had said not to scent you, so he didn’t. He should scent the baby instead but he’d said the truth. It was so small. A boy baby would have been bigger, right? Sturdier? The boy baby he’d seen in his head was bigger.

He wasn’t soothed by your answer, “I know.” It felt like there was a but in there. But… you aren’t being the partner I need. But… you aren’t being a good father. But… you don’t belong here in this human hospital. But… it’s your fault I had to go through all this pain. But… it’s your fault our baby has dog ears and a dog tail and will never look just like every other little girl. 

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. It was lame, a lame attempt to still be useful to you.

“My stitches are hurting pretty bad,” you admitted. “Can you ask the nurse when I can have more pain medicine?” 

That he could do. He rose swiftly and headed for the door, but paused and looked back. He watched you stroke the little head one more time and kiss it, then gently tug a yellow hat down over the tiny head. He heard your sniffle from the door. You thought he hated the baby. He didn’t hate it! He just didn’t know it!

Fuck. He was failing. He’d been a father for less than forty-eight hours and already he was failing.

In his panic, he forgot about the medication. He blanked on it completely, he got distracted by his own frustrations, and he left the hospital to go for a jog to clear his mind. He’d come back a new man, he would! He psyched himself up about all the things he’d do better when he got back from his jog. He’d change diapers! He’d have the nurse show him again how to swaddle! He’d start writing down your medication times so he could keep it up when you went home and there wasn’t another nurse there doing it for you-- fuck, your medication!

He turned and jogged back to the hospital, determined for a better round two.

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

The hospital had not let you stay long. Three days didn’t feel like long enough, and Jungkook had tried to argue with the doctor about it, but you already knew the lines the doctor responded with. You were healthy and your sutures were healing nicely. The baby was healthy and even eating nicely. You were a nurse, living in a sanctuary with other medical staff nearby. Jungkook was even suddenly being more helpful! He hadn’t scented you daughter yet, but he was changing diapers now, doing his best to swaddle the baby in a blanket, and even watched over her closely when you slept. You would wake that final day and night to see him staring down at the baby, or even reaching out a finger to touch her little cheek, and while it wasn’t scenting, it looked more like acceptance.

So there was no reason to stay longer in the hospital other than your own fear over the reality that you and Jungkook were actually parents now, parents with a baby to take care of, with the added complication that you were recovering from more of a surgery than you had expected. Of course you had known there was a risk of Cesarean. You had wanted to avoid it, to avoid the additional healing process. But by the time the doctor decided it was time, you’d had no fight left in you and had known it was the right call, for your baby’s safety and your own. 

But it didn’t mean you were ready to look at the steri-strips and long scar any more than you had to right now. Your saggy tummy, your painfully swollen breasts and aching nipples and the constant sense you were peeing yourself, none of mattered right now because your body had worked hard and deserved some love and patience. The birth already felt like a dream, except for that damn incision. Besides, you had a beautiful baby who needed you right now.

All of you. Mi-Cha never didn’t need you. If Mi-cha wasn’t on you in some way, she was screaming. Awake? Needs to be held against your heart or tucked under your chin. Asleep? Needs to be held against your heart or tucked under your chin. She might allow you to lay down in bed with her and sleep with Mi-Cha curled up in your armpit, but you were terrified of rolling over and crushing her, which meant Jungkook had to sit there and supervise. 

Poor Jungkook. Poor yourself too, sure, you were exhausted beyond all exhaustion, but at least there was something sweet about the baby clinging so desperately to you. Jungkook tried to be present and helpful and give you a break and it only ever led to screaming, and those little newborn shrieks inevitably led to you bursting into your own frantic tears. Every time he offered to take the baby so you could try to sleep, you could see him bracing himself for the unfailing shrieks. You certainly couldn’t fall asleep like that, but you could shower or quickly eat something or at least change your clothes. Maybe your hygiene wasn’t the best but hey, newborn babies loved the scent of their mama, right?

It was no way to live though. It couldn’t last. After only three days of this, you were nearing a breakdown and you knew it and couldn’t see an end in sight. Jungkook’s parents wouldn’t be here until the end of the following week and they wouldn’t be wizards with a baby. Maya and Ana had both come by, called by you to check the baby and make sure you weren’t missing something wrong because you felt incompetent over how much your daughter cried. It wasn’t like Mi-Cha always just stopped immediately crying as soon as you held her, once she got going about your betrayal for setting her down, or because you failed to anticipate whatever she wanted but couldn’t communicate yet. She was fussy and demanding and beautiful but you felt like your little family was already failing. 

So on day three, it was back to the pediatrician for a second visit for another verification that nothing was wrong. Nope. Mi-Cha was gaining weight at a good clip. She responded properly to stimuli and didn’t react to any presses on her tummy or head or tail. Gas was suggested and you were given drops to coax into her and told to keep trying, sometimes babies just took time to settle into a routine. 

But at home it continued. Jungkook offered to help less, knowing it didn’t do any good, and probably because he was exhausted having his own child scream at him and reject him. It was particularly problematic since you were more convinced by the day that Jungkook hated the baby anyway. It wasn’t a boy. It looked like him. It had puppy ears and a tail and just wasn’t what he meant when he said he wanted a baby. Frankly, his rejection hurt you too, after you worked so long and hard to make this baby. It drove a wedge between you. It had only been four days but it felt like a week had passed and you couldn’t help but feel like your lives had been ruined.

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

“Mi-Cha,” you sang, badly because you were exhausted and had no energy or mental stamina to carry a tune. “Mi-cha, Mi-cha, sweetest lovely Mi-Cha, take a little nap so your mommy can do it too.” You cradled the baby in the crook of your elbow as you tried to unwrap a granola bar because heaven forbid you put Mi-Cha down for a moment. Your hands were shaking at your daughter’s angry shouts regardless, but you thought if you could just eat something you would get a second wind. Or, well, a fiftieth wind. A hundredth wind?

Jungkook watched you from the doorway, reading all of these things, but not sure how to help. His feelings of helplessness had only grown since coming home, watching you get dragged further under the demands of a newborn. You were both exhausted, but he knew you were carrying more of the weight right now and he didn’t know what to do. Belatedly, he realized he could at least open the fucking granola bar for you and dove forward. But Mi-Cha was already angry she’d been held wrong for too long, so by the time he handed the granola bar over, you were crying quietly beneath Mi-Cha’s wail. He held the granola bar up, trying to give you an encouraging smile and knowing he failed.

At that moment, your phone buzzed itself off the kitchen counter and landed perfectly on his foot. He cursed and grabbed it. His mother. Well, he could at least take care of that. He showed you the caller ID and wasn’t surprised by the way your expression sank. But he quickly grabbed the phone away and left the room, answering, making clear to you he would deal with it. His mother had been calling daily, trying to be helpful but adding stress already, even though she and Appa weren’t coming to visit until the end of next week.

“Eomeoni, hello,” he greeted, making sure she could hear the baby in the background before he closed himself into the bedroom. 

“Mi-Cha has strong lungs,” she mused.

“She has strong everything,” he sighed. “Strong lungs, strong demands, strong complaints.”

He could hear the amusement in her voice as she said, “Yes, yes, a new baby is difficult. You were hard for us, too, so hard. It takes me back. You sounded just like that. Do all babies sound like it? I don’t think so, I think I know she’s mine by her cry.” He slumped on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes. It was sweet that his parents were so excited about Mi-Cha. While he felt like there would always be a pebble in the shoe of their relationship, their instant love and adoration for the granddaughter they hadn’t even met yet had felt like a new layer of healing over old wounds. But right now, his mother’s sympathy didn’t solve the problem and he was so tired he could barely follow her.

“... so every day after lunch your father would come home from work early and take you so I could sleep for a few hours, and then he’d do it again at midnight. It was odd hours but you just wouldn’t accept anything else; even as a new baby, you had an idea of how the house was going to go!” It was interesting to hear that, seeing as his own memories of childhood didn’t recall his parents being pushovers to his whims. 

But something else caught him, and he asked, “Did Appa have any special tricks? Mi-Cha won’t let go of Y/N. She wants nothing to do with me. I know a mother is the most important but--”

“Appa!” she called, her voice loud through the phone as she forgot to pull away. Jungkook flinched. “Appa! Talk to your son, he wants to know a father thing. I don’t know what you did to Gukka so he’d be quiet with you when he was a-- yes, talk to him.”

The phone changed hands and Jungkook rubbed his forehead as Appa greeted him, asked about the baby, asked about you, and only then said, “Yes, ok, what is the question?”

“Eomeoni says when I was baby, you would take me so she could sleep. Y/N needs to sleep but Mi-Cha just screams all the time. How did you do it?”

“Oh, well, I… I didn’t do anything remarkable,” he said, sounding confused by it. “You were a good baby. We’d just do our thing, father and son.” Jungkook physically cringed, it hurt his stomach; he realized he hadn’t eaten in a while either. He needed to make something better for you both to eat than granola bars and cold noodles. 

“I don’t have a son,” he said, sharper than he would have meant on a normal day.

“Yeah, we didn’t use our dongles!” Appa laughed, loud and easy and relaxed. “What’s different? You can tell me. I kept you and your eomma scented well enough. I’d bundle you up in a little sash against my chest, and off we’d go!”

“Go where?” Jungkook asked, brow lowering. 

“Oh, we just walked. We walked and walked, it was nice,” Appa said. “We watched the leaves change and we’d walk to get fresh bread or rice cakes from the shops. You’d cook with me or sometimes we’d watch TV together if it rained…”

That was the thing. That was the thing Jungkook hadn’t tried yet. He’d been waiting until things felt better, until he felt a connection with Mi-Cha, until he felt like she wanted him to be near her, but now Appa had him wondering if he’d gotten the most obvious thing wrong. 

“I have to go, Appa,” he abruptly said. “Thank you. Tell Eomma thank you.” He hung up before anything else could delay and hoped his parents would understand.

He hurried to the nursery, where he could hear you mumbling to Mi-Cha through the closed door. You looked over from the window where you swayed with Mi-Cha under your chin when he flung the door open, and it struck him again how tired his poor love looked. 

“Go sleep, jagiya,” he said, striding forward. You gave him a crooked smile, certain he was joking. But he was determined to give it a solid effort and pressed his face to your neck.

“Gukka--”

“Shh, jagiya, I’ll scent her in a moment. Let her smell me on you first,” he murmured, nipping his way along your neck, rubbing his nose and chin. Even just that eased the tension in his shoulders he’d started to grow used to again; touching you so closely soothed him, like he too was a needy little baby unwillingly separated from warm, soft, wonderful you. Maybe you felt the same; you sighed and lifted your chin, the saddest little whimper coming from you he’d ever heard. He wrapped his arms around you, embracing Mi-Cha in between, something that usually made her cry but right now she stayed silent.

Because he could, he kissed your chin and your nose and your mouth, a real kiss, the first real one since Mi-Cha had been born. 

“We’ll try this,” he murmured. “Maybe it will work.”

“What will work?”

“I’ll take better care of my girls,” he said. Vague, but you didn’t protest as he dragged his mouth down the other side of your neck, and along your shoulders, and then lower, to the soft little head cradled against your chest. 

“You too, Mi-Cha,” he said gently, brushing his nose as carefully as could be against the back of her head. She smelled like fresh laundry and newness and warmth and some extra thing that was uniquely her, though tied to himself and you. He could recognize this baby anywhere already, he knew that; he could pick her clothing out of a pile, no problem; he could find her no matter how far she wandered once she was mobile.

But now he added his scent directly to her, strong, so there’d be no question about the slight thread of relation. He pressed it to the back of her head and her little shoulder and her arm and leg and her back. You twisted her the other way and he worked his way back up, even peppered little kisses against her face and hair because she wasn’t crying about him being so close. He felt affection blossom in his chest. She wasn’t asleep, but she just lay there quietly under this, as if it was something she wasn’t sure of but understood had to happen. Her wispy hair stuck out funny around her little ears, which had already gained some shape but now looked more like little cat ears. They’d grow fast, he knew, and soon flop like his had in his baby pictures. And probably someday, maybe after puberty, they’d grow a little more, get some more shape to them, and no one would ever cut or tear them. No one would ever touch her little tail, which suddenly brushed against his hand.

“Was that a wag?!” you gasped, noticing it too. “It can’t be! That milestone isn’t until like a month.”

“I don’t know if it was that,” he admitted, but grinned because he’d instantly thought so too, just a little tap like that. “Still, it means she’s strong… Let me try…” Your eyes went wide. You both held your breaths as Jungkook lifted Mi-Cha out of your hold and instead tucked her under his own chin. 

“Shhhh. Hello, Mi-Cha,” he said quietly. He froze, worried the rumble of his voice in his chest would set her off, but she didn’t make a peep.

“She’s still awake,” you said. “But…”

“But she’s not crying.”

“It worked!” you squealed. You pressed your hand to Mi-Cha’s back, adding your own soothing, “There you go, sweet girl. Appa has you now. See? You’re safe and happy with Appa.”

“Y/N,” he whispered. “Go.”

“What?”

“Go sleep! I’ve got her.”

“Oh my god.” You stared at him, like this hadn’t even occurred to you. “Oh my god!” You pressed your hand to your mouth, then kissed them each on the cheek, then fled the room, shuffling as quickly as you could so recently after giving birth. It was almost enough to make him laugh; he could hear the weight with which you hit the bed in their bedroom, like you’d jumped onto it so nothing could pull you back. He hoped you hadn’t actually done that; your incision was still healing!

Mi-Cha stayed quiet beneath his chin. He could feel the tiniest flutter of her breath against his collarbone. But she was only wearing a diaper, freshly changed; you hadn’t dressed her yet and he worried Mi-Cha would be cold in these final days of February, even though the house was warm.

“Ok, princess pup,” he murmured, “You need clothes. Let’s see… let’s see…” He heard the tiniest chirp and bounced over to the small mirror so he could see her reflection. Her eyes were open, looking curiously around, like she was surprised by her own acceptance of this new situation. 

“Damn, you’re cute when you aren’t screaming,” he grinned because damn, he looked pretty cool holding a baby like this. 

It was tricky picking out new clothes for her without risking his grip on her. He wound up sliding her down to nestle in the crook of his arm, and while she refused to let you hold her like this, she deemed it acceptable with Jungkook. The drawers in the closet were full of baby things in all soft hues, though a few fun outfits in darker colors, mostly his friends poking fun of his own fashion style. He picked a cozy green knit sleeper and talked to her as he dressed her, since he had to put her down. She fussed about it, so he moved quickly, tucking in her little feet and little hands, careful that her tail curled comfortably up the back. Eomma had already said she was looking forward to doing all the clothing alterations when she arrived, so Mi-Cha could proudly show off her little tail. 

“You look like a little green bean,” he admitted, lifting her quickly so he could shuffle a swaddle sack into place and tuck her into it. He started to pull a hat on but she fussed enough he left it off. But he still worried her head would get cold, so he found a bigger hat, one that dwarfed her little head when he pulled it down, but she accepted that. “So cozy, so cute,” he narrated, snuggling her back down into his arms. “We won’t go far today for our first adventure. Just to the kitchen to get some food and then back here. We can sit in the comfy chair and watch the flowers grow,” he suggested. “Eomma isn’t far, she’s just sleeping…”

Even after he had eaten carefully around her and returned to ease into the nursery chair, Mi-Cha still hadn’t cried. He worried she’d be getting hungry, but instead her eyelids started to droop as he settled down with her, draping a blanket over them both. She curled up against his chest, little mouth opening and closing a few times in the tiniest yawn. His heart briefly stopped when her little covered hand pressed against his chest and she closed her eyes and dozed right off.

“I see,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Mi-Cha. You surprised me in every way. But I made you wait while I sorted my shit out and that’s not right. I’m your appa, it’s my job to make sure you are loved and safe even when you surprise me.” He hunched over to kiss her little nose and stroked her cheek. She looked asleep, her breathing a bit heavier, but he still assured her, “You are loved and safe and I don’t know anything about you yet other than that you’re mine, and that’s enough for now.” He hesitated, then grinned, “And I think you are maybe stubborn too.”

Jungkook had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do that was more important than rocking his daughter, holding her close while she slept, and letting his mate finally get some sleep before you murdered someone.

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

You woke slowly from you nap and stretched, mindful of the C-section scar out of habit though several months after surgery you were feeling pretty good. Your shirt had hiked up while you slept and you glanced down at the smile on your lower belly --that was how Jungkook had described it between kisses along the curve of it a week or so ago and the comparison had lingered. Not that you’d had any doubt, but a new scar was nothing unattractive to Jungkook, once he’d had a few good visits with his therapist to work through the trauma of childbirth. You had not realized ahead of time how upsetting that would be for him, but it explained too the first rough few days in which he’d kept his distance from the small baby whose birth had caused your pain, blinding him briefly to the much greater joy Mi-Cha brought.

You felt bad not to have anticipated that. But how could you have predicted the pain, the fear, the exhilaration, the euphoric joy of holding your fresh little newborn against your chest? Even thinking about it now, as you often did, made your fingers itch to grab those little thighs, brush back the little fluff of hair, or stroke along your daughter’s tail like you’d formed a habit of. Tail! You had known of course that your daughter could have some level of hybrid chimera. You hadn’t expected it to be strange to you after how much time you’d spent with hybrids and that was the only thing you’d predicted correctly: it didn’t seem unusual to you at all. Every centimeter of that baby was beloved and precious and perfect. You spent hours going over every bit of your baby, relishing in every dimple, every downy patch of hair, every little blink and hiccup and murmur. 

Fears that you would have a baby and not know what to do with it? Absolutely the truth, you still couldn’t believe you had a baby, and it still felt like you were living hour to hour trying to keep Mi-Cha fed, bathed, and entertained.

Fear that you would have a baby and not love it? Absolutely unfounded. Even once the baby was an impossible being in your arms, no longer a series of flickers and thuds within your belly, you’d loved her. Even when that tiny baby had pushed you to the brink of collapse, when you and Jungkook had cried together in shared frustration, even when Mi-Cha had ruined not one but two of your shirts with diaper explosions, even then your love had been unshakeable. Maybe not your nerves or patience, but your love.

Now the quiet house was disorienting, even though you knew it was nothing to be worried about. Jungkook took her out for a walk just about every day at this time, so you could have a rest before Jungkook would head out to the restaurant for his evening shift if he had one. You didn’t know how long he’d be gone or when he’d return so you sent him a quick text letting him know you were awake. 

[JK<3]: on my way how’s mi-cha doing? I miss her [Y/N]: very funny

You cut up an apple and wandered outside so you could watch Jungkook arrive. Sometimes they biked and sometimes they drove in a cart if you were going along but today he’d walked. With your apple slices cupped in your hand, you stood on the wooden front porch and watched him come down the road, a flowery sunbrella shielding himself and the baby from the spring sunshine. He was flushed and sweaty from the walk by the time he stepped up and Mi-Cha’s head turned side to side from where Jungkook had her wedged in the front carrier; she could obviously sense you.

“My sweet baby,” you cooed, leaning down into view and stroking her hair where the headband with the big black bow didn’t cover it. The bow matched the little romper she had on, black and red polka dots with an all-black diaper cover. She looked like a little ladybug and it was definitely not what you had put her in but Jungkook, you had learned, found a lot of enjoyment in carefully choosing Mi-Cha’s outfits for their walks. He liked her in matchy-sets, whereas you really just put on whatever was clean and within reach --because it usually didn’t stay clean for long. She’d developed pretty bad acid reflux, which meant she spit up a lot and preferred to be upright and held, none of which her daddy minded at all. He’d proclaim “Time for a wardrobe change” every time he hauled her off to clean her up.

“Where were you too off to today?” you asked as Jungkook brushed past you to toss the diaper bag down just inside the door. You always smiled to see it, because Seokjin had tried to buy him a sleek black leather “dad-bag” that even you had expected him to love, and Jungkook had gone off about how dads didn’t need separate bags and who cared if this one had yellow and green pastel polka dots, and if anyone had a problem with it they could fucking fight him. 

“Mr. Moon,” he answered. You helped him untie and unbutton and untwist to pull Mi-Cha out of the carrier and took a moment to cradle Mi-Cha to your chest and kiss and nuzzle her face. Even though no scent really got applied, Mi-Cha loved it, and Jungkook had assured you there was a little of your smell that transferred. Mi-Cha gurgled and kneaded her fingers against your shirt, her little tail thump-thumping against your arm. 

“How’s he doing?” you finally answered. Jungkook gave you a look that said enough. His health had continued to deteriorate; Alya had earned her nursing license just in time to become his full-time caretaker. You knew the end was going to be incredibly difficult for Jungkook, who’d taken to Mr. Moon like a long-lost grandson so long ago. You were glad he still spent his afternoons there with Mi-Cha so often. 

The sudden kiss surprised you from the sad thought, and you leaned into it, smiling as his fingers brushed your arm.

“Hm,” you hummed. “Hello.” His bashful smile melted your heart as he made to turn away, but you leaned forward for one more kiss. You had been working on this lately, making a point of physical affection with each other. Mi-Cha had dominated both of your attentions for almost three months now and that wasn’t going to stop any time soon, but you both had admitted that you missed each other. So you had agreed to kiss more, touch more, without reason or explanation.  “I love you,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his jaw.

“I love you too,” came the reply, still music to your ears. Mi-Cha chirped and squeaked, and immediately both parents looked down at her. 

“It was a good walk,” Jungkook said, brushing Mi-Cha’s ear with his finger. “She smiles a lot at other people. I think she’ll be bright like you.”

“Bright,” you repeated. “Such a cute way to say that. But you’re forgetting how moody she gets when she doesn’t get what she wants, or if there’s too much noise, or--”

“Her ears are sensitive.”

“Ya, I know about her ears,” you teased. “Come on, you should drink some water. She’s probably about ready to eat too, unless she had a bottle.”

“She had a bottle,” he confirmed. 

“Ah, what a good girl you were for daddy today,” you cooed, swaying and bouncing her as you walked inside. “Are you going to be so good for mommy tonight?”

“I’m not working tonight.”

“Oh. I forgot--”

“That’s ok. I wrote it down.”

“I’m sure you did. The days sort of run together right now…”

He gave you a sympathetic touch on the shoulder, knowing how doubly exhausting that was, and assured you, “It’s ok. We’ll have a nice night in… unless you want to go out?” You had gone to dinner at Hoseok’s and his fiance’s place the night before though, and eaten an early dinner at the main house the night before that. It turned out, maternity leave was only as lonely and isolating as you let it be here. You had feared your social support would evaporate once Jungkook’s parents went home after two weeks but you only had to lift your phone or step out your door to find a Sanctuary’s worth of family eager to help.

Mi-Cha’s little mouth pressed against your collarbone, little tongue lapping at your skin. For most babies, that meant hunger, a rooting response meant as a gentle, early threat. But Mi-Cha liked to make things a little complicated by having a second behavior that was similar but not identical to rooting. Her little mouth latching onto something that was very clearly not a nipple for this adorable and maybe odd child meant she was sleepy. 

“Ah, she’s worn out,” Jungkook sighed, stepping close and touching her back as well as yours. “She was very busy at Mr. Moon’s…”

“Doing what? Is she finally painting?”

He snickered and corrected, “Looking, listening, fussing, holding onto pencils and paintbrushes we put in her hand.”

“Trying to make her a little protegee?” 

He looked serious as he answered, “No, no. We’ll see if she likes painting. She doesn’t have to like painting.” Mi-Cha sucked a little harder, then pulled off and let out a warning fuss.

“All right, sweet one,” you apologized. “Let’s check your diaper and then to sleep.”

“I just changed her, I think she’s fine,” Jungkook insisted, leaning down to sniff her diaper. It was more a gesture than anything though; he could always tell the second she was wet or poopy, even from across the house. At first you had envied him this immediate recognition, but there had been enough really bad diapers that had left Jungkook looking pretty green that now you thought your human sense of smell was maybe not such a bad thing. 

Together you went to the nursery. Despite Jungkook just spending the whole afternoon with Mi-Cha, you could sense his eagerness to still hold her. You felt the same way, desperate to keep that soft, warm little body close after your arms had been empty for that same time; you’d felt the emptiness even in sleep. Even now when you napped, you would sometimes startle awake, reaching for a baby you had dreamed was falling, only to realize no baby was there, and you wouldn’t have left Mi-Cha in a dangerous place to begin with.

So you motioned Jungkook to the glider, then curled up on his lap with Mi-Cha tucked in with you. The deep sigh from Jungkook left no secret how happy he was to have both his girls close. Both his girls. You melted every time you heard him say that. How silly of him to have doubted he could figure out a baby girl, as he’d admitted to you. Those fears hadn’t completely left him, but you knew and he tried to believe you that he’d figure out any other “daughter demands” just like he had changing a daughter’s diaper. He even had a little song he sang to Mi-Cha when he did it! Front to back, just like that; wipe wipe wipe, hush don’t gripe; clean the way, tummy to tail, and then put-a-new-diaper-on-quick-before-you-pee-on-me-again. 

Jungkook was right about one thing regarding Mi-Cha: her emotions were bright and loud and she didn’t hide them. She felt safe and comfortable and loved, you were certain that was why she was so forthright with her happiness, her impatience, and her tiny baby rage that sometimes poked out. Mostly though she was happy, and it showed in the steady little flick of that tail and the curve of her mouth into a sleepy smile as she chomped down on the pacifier Jungkook had finally been convinced would not doom her teeth for life before they’d even grown in. 

“She’s so perfect,” you sighed, an infinite refrain. “I think she’s even prettier now that we get to sleep sometimes.” Jungkook rocked you slowly and brushed his finger against Mi-Cha’s thigh, making her twitch and kick and curl closer to your chest, as if seeking protection. “Let her sleep,” you jokingly scolded.

“Ah, it’s boring when she sleeps, I think…”

“I know,” you admitted. “At least you got to see her all afternoon, I was just asleep and now she’s going to sleep.” Your low voices didn’t seem to bother your daughter at all; she was used to this, after all, being cradled by both her parents as she dozed off. Jungkook’s mother thought they were crazy to let the bedtime routine be so long and drawn out and maybe you’d regret it eventually, but right now, just holding her as she fell asleep was so perfect.

“You were up with her at four-thirty in the morning,” Jungkook pointed out. “After she was already up at one.”

“Yeah… someday when she’s all grown up, we should wake her up as much as she wakes us up.”

“She won’t think we’re as cute as we think she is,” Jungkook pointed out.

“That’s sort of the point of revenge.”

He chuckled and turned the glider slowly so you could see out the window, angled so Mi-Cha’s face stayed in the shadows. Sitting in this glider, watching the flowers erupt from their winter slumber during the early weeks home with Mi-Cha had been magical and surreal. You would never think of early spring the same way again. It would now always remind you of those early days of parenthood with Jungkook by your side. 

“I hope the flowers are still beautiful for her 100 Day celebration,” you mused. Jungkook’s parents would be back again next week and your grandparents were flying in to meet her for the very first time --later than they had hoped, after you grandfather had been too sick to travel after contracting some disease at the site of their latest sanctuary project. He’d pulled through fine but it had scared you; the party would be emotional for many reasons.

“Shhhh.”

“Huh?”

“You are stressed about it,” Jungkook observed. “I know. But it doesn’t matter. No one will notice the flowers because they will just notice Mi-Cha. And no one will care if the party isn’t perfect because it will be just because we’re together.”

“When did you get so wise?” you teased.

“I’m a father now, I’m supposed to be wise.” At your glare, he grinned, “I know you. I know you want to do things to show you care but she knows. I know. Everyone knows.”

“That’s rich coming from the man who gets her dressed for the runway just for a walk down the street,” you teased.

“She likes it,” he defended, carefully reaching around to gently pull the bow off their sleeping baby’s head so she could rest more comfortably. “I don’t like this one as much, I think it’s scratchy, but I think that’s why she likes it.”

“Do you think her ears are still dry?” you frowned, leaning in to look.

“I put the lotion on.”

“I know you did… maybe we should try an oil instead… they look good though. Maybe she just likes the bow,” you conceded. It amused you, thinking about Jungkook trying on different bows and hats and headbands for your infant daughter who couldn’t even sit up on her own. And then nodding as if she’d made her preference known. And then building an outfit around her choice. “You’re so cute, Jungkook.”

“I’m… whatever. I’m just-- it’s just whatever. I don’t mind bows, if that’s what she likes. Or whatever else she likes.”

“You’re not worried she’s going to be into fighting anymore?”

Jungkook tossed the bow over to the basket and answered, “Someday when the time is right, I’ll teach her just enough to make sure she never has to actually fight. Just enough to make someone stop if they’re bothering her. Just in case she’s like you and attracts trouble.”

“I don’t!” you defended. He grinned and kissed you breathless. “Unless you mean that you’re trouble. I sure attracted you.”

“It’s not a very good joke…”

“You’re a turd.”

“Don’t let our daughter hear that,” he playfully growled. “She has sensitive ears.”

You laughed and pressed your nose to his, your arms full of your daughter who’d melted into a warm little pile of mush when she’d fallen asleep, your heart full of love for both of these people.

“Is it as good as you dreamed after all?” you asked.

Jungkook’s furrowed brow could be felt against yours as he insisted, “You’re the dreamer, not me. I never can dream as good as things with you will be. I can’t dream good enough. Everything in our lives is… beyond.”

“Yeah,” you agreed before stealing one more kiss. “Everything in our lives is beyond.”

[themidnightfarmer]

Babes in Mimeland || Nora & Jared

Timing: This past week sometime.

Location: The common.

Tagging: @fearfordinner​

Description: 

Triggers: Mimes?

Jared wasn’t completely comfortable to be away from the farm that day, but he’d given his word, and he wasn’t going to go back on it. Surely everything would be fine for an hour or two while he did this. So there he stood, in a t-shirt that implored passing customers to support the performers behind him. He was holding flyers and smiling as wide as he could whilst flagging down passers-by to take them. A mime he’d started to consider a friend had mimed that he should come and help them out that day, the mime in question part of an air-band as a side hustle for working at Yours, mime, and ours (where Jared was a frequent customer). “Don’t forget to support your local mime performers! They’re good at what they do and they have mouths to feed at home whilst working on their passions!”

A music box was an odd reward Nora decided twisting the box around in her hands. The eyeball, a necklace that she’d taken to wearing frequently, was a much more satisfactory prize. Nora was about to flip open the prize she’d come to winterfest to claim when her eye was caught by the mime band. Oh great! They were performing. Music box forgotten and shoved into her pocket, Nora trudged through the crowd to admire the artists at work. There were no hard feelings on her part that her last encounter with a mime had left her rainbow colored for a week. There were hard feelings to deal with on her part with the idea that her favorite mime had died right in front of her. Ideas that she refused to acknowledge. A shout about helping mimes made her ears perk up. Nora snatched a flyer from a giant, glancing over it. “I want to help.” She announced. “The mimes are great.” 

Most people passing Jared by were trying their very best to ignore him, he watched many fliers find their way into the trash. It was a little disheartening but overall expected, you didn’t have shirts like the one he was wearing unless there was some serious stigma going on. His head tilted down and a more genuine smile bloomed on his face as someone actively approached to take a flier. “They are! One of my friends is in the band, they’re honestly great at what they do and everything helps, people in town aren’t so forgiving for being different…” he trailed off before he could add just how strange he found that considering the variety of species that you could find in all corners. Jared blinked away the thought and returned to focus on the person showing interest. “So-” He was cut off by an obnoxious laugh off to the left towards the gingerbread house. He couldn’t quite hear what was said but the way the group of people mock mimed along with the band rubbed him the wrong way. His face soured. 

Friends? With a mime? Was that legal? Wouldn’t that be like being friends with mythical legends who are way cooler than you? Like the real babadook or maybe the boogyman? Even goatman. They were all famous figures Nora admired but wouldn’t know how to befriend if they were before her. It was a sudden moment of awe as her blank gaze passed between the giant and the band. If she helped could she be friends too? Nora dug in her pocket and pulled out her beaten up old wallet. She was ready to pay a large sum of money before laughter met her ears and she could see a group of adults, probably in their late to mid thirties, making fun of the mimes. A different way to help crossed her mind as she watched them enter the gingerbread house. “What if we scared them?” Nora asked, her monotone making it sound like a serious and reasonable suggestion. “Make a point that people can’t keep mocking mimes because they are quiet.” 

He’d forgotten what he’d planned on saying next to the other when she piped up with an idea. Jared looked after the group as they laughed and joked at the expense of his mime friends before heading into the gingerbread house. He nodded slowly before deciding it was a perfect idea, no amount of money fixed hurt feelings, but a little bit of revenge might. “Yeah, yeah that’s a good idea. People are always doing stuff like that.” Jared frowned and tucked the fliers into his back pocket, ready to so what it took to have those meanies regret their choices. “Let’s do it.” he said only pausing a split second before moving towards the gingerbread house (that had already closed its door on the group, trapping them) to ask “What’s your name anyway? Since you’re leading the charge, what’s the name of the commander? I’m Jared.” he offered preemptively.

Commander? Nora liked being called a commander. She could see it now, a field of dead bodies around her as she stood tall, proud on a rock, wearing a military jacket. There’d be some life in the people somewhere, and they would be full of fear. Life changing fear. The kind of fear that made for a meal instead of just a snack. She’d paint that picture later. “Nora.” Nora answered, her affect betraying nothing of the mental spiral she’d just followed. “Are you good at scaring people?” Nora hadn’t noticed the door close behind the other group. She pushed through the crowd and to the door, pushing it open and holding it for the giant - er - Jared. She wondered if he’d hit his head on the door frame. This Jared, friend of mime, was about to see things. She hoped he’d enjoy them as a fellow lover of mimes. 

“I’m not sure, Usually it’s by accident, but I could try and make something work.” He wondered briefly if he could get away with using his glamour to help spook the group, without his partner in crime noticing. It would be far easier to do some scarring in the name of the mimes if he could make himself look like he had stripes like some sort of angry chameleon. Jared ducked in the door that was held open for him, and it pulled shut behind him. The inside was dark, the windows were as they tended to be on small gingerbread house kits that you could buy at the store, the windows were painted on in icing rather than cut out. It was pitch black aside from the gaps around the edges where the icing hadn’t fully sealed the walls in place. The group were in the next room of the house whispering now that it was dark as humans tended to do, as if the dark was suppressing any noise. Using the quiet he mimicked one of his kids' cries as loud as he could just to start them off. The angry call of a bies sounded from his lungs abruptly and clearly for a singular second before cutting off to return to silence again.

The noise that came out of the giant’s mouth was absolutely brilliant. Loud. Jarring. Inhuman. No animal Nora could recognize. She gave one slight nod of approval. Maybe this stork, now nicknamed for being a giant bird and not just a giant, accidentally scared people more often than naught. Reaching inside herself, Nora lit the string of her magic. Her fingertip traced across the gingerbread walls as she walked. Icing started to coat her finger but she ignored it. Instead she concentrated on making the screeching noise of steel on steel. She’d seen it cause the hairs on people’s neck to rise. She hoped her cover of dragging her finger would be enough to fool new friend Jared. She’d claim it was a party trick or something. Damn, she really hated frosting. 

Jared extended his glamour past his usual skin cover to also alter his clothes just that little bit, the mime shirt was a little too telling after all. Instead he added stripes subtly in the darkness, only really put in place for his own peace of mind rather than for any impact. He hoped it was too dark for anyone to notice, so that he didn’t have to explain to Nora either. The noise she was making sent a chill up his spine as well for a half a second before he settled into it, it was easier knowing where it was coming from...sort of. He had no idea how she was doing it, but he was certain it was Nora doing it at the very least, no other way a gingerbread house could make that noise. The group were muttering to each other, clearly unsettled as they headed into the next room trying to find the backdoor to escape. Jared spotted a runner rug down the hallway, so he stooped to tug on it and send the last straggling person flying into the rest, holding back a snicker as they toppled like bowling pins.

Was the stork looking a little stripy or was it the shadows of the gingerbread house? It wasn’t very well lit. Probably because it was made out of ginger and not wood. Nora found herself wishing she bore the strips of those they came to protect. An illusion manifested itself across small patches of her clothes; black and white alliance patches. The group they’d followed in were becoming less of a snack and more of a meal. Nora took a deep inhalation in, enjoying the rewards of Jared’s carpet tug. They piled to the ground obviously scared of what was going to happen. “Where’s the exit?” One shouted. “I-I don’t know, I don’t see any. How can this place be this big?” Panic made their voice high pitched and frantic as they shouted over Nora’s noise. She let the noise fall, leaving them and their prey in a sudden silence. “Boo.” Her monotone was briefly followed by an illusion monster appearing behind them. Black and white stripes mime meets masked monster with a giant maw and sharp rows of teeth. It gurgled towards the fallen group. Slowly. Leaving a trail of stripes behind it as it went.

Jared was unaware that it was Nora that had created the mime monster, he himself had seen the mimes do some incredible stuff so he wasn’t put off at all. It was a mask of only a slight surprise, thinking that they might have stopped performing to aid in this situation for themselves. This is why when a striped goo seemed to seep in the cracks of the gingerbread house (to form into another more ‘traditional’ looking mime on the ceiling) he didn’t even flinch. This mime turned it’s head like it was an owl to look down at the monster curiously for a split second before scuttling down the wall towards the now scrambling pile of humans. Jared flattened himself against the wall of the gingerbread house and increased his glamor in the moment to look more like the mime that had appeared on the ceiling, although not able to move his head like it had. He didn’t have quite the same energy, but he tried his best. The group screamed and swore and scrambled past Nora and Jared being chased by both Nora's creation as well as the mime who had come to see what was happening, only to be delighted with its findings.

This scene was beautiful. Perfect. Picturesque. The gaggle of bullies trying to run away. The mime manifesting. The illusion chasing, gurgling, gnashing its giant teeth. Nora was almost satisfied with the scene and the meal but it was missing something. A soundtrack maybe? Oh. She had the music box. Maybe that would add some ambiance to the whole shindig. It took a minute to windup the old box. It popped open displaying a couple wrapped in each other's arms dancing an eternal waltz. The music began, gentle, haunting, almost mournfully and her eyes fixated on the waltzing couple. She was met with an absolute need to waltz. Carefully she placed down the music box and held her hand out to Jared’s, the silent question to dance. A question that only had one answer as everyone around them started waltzing together. The gaggle were screaming in terror now, practically drowning out the beautiful music. “Why are we dancing?” Why can’t we stop dancing?” “Why am I dancing with a mime?” 

The screaming had drowned out the ticking of the small music box winding up, so when the tune started Jared almost didn’t notice his body was moving towards music. Taking Nora’s hand they began to dance through no action of free will. The screaming did not die down, it seems the music was taking their movement alone, their voices would remain their own. Spinning around the room he was sort of delighted to have noticed that one of the group of humans had paired with a mime, who had turned its head all the way around again to watch the scene unfold in full rather than focus on it’s partner. “What kind of music box is that?” Jared asked Nora, his voice only faltering when her platform boots came down on his toes, yelling over the screams and panic of the humans with as wide a smile on his face as he could muster. Acting as is if the extra noise was only part of the song. He suspected magic, but he didn’t want to outright ask. 

“I do-” Nora had never been good at dancing, and despite the dance being magically pre-choreographed for them, that didn’t go away. “Oh sorry.” She mumbled. “I don’t know anything about the box.” Nora nodded at the mime as they twirled past the beautiful friend. “It was the reward I got for getting second place.” First place shouldn’t have won. Her art was masterful. Oh well. Beggars couldn’t be winners. But apparently second place could be dancers. “I wonder how long it lasts.” 

The screams and music could be heard by passing townsfolk for a while and they all ignored it, as was usual in white crest.

[scripttorture]

Sorry for the multiple asks. In Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom's parents were tortured to what I assume is catatonia by the cruciatus curse. Is this a realistic portrayal of the effects of torture, or does it involve some degree of magical handwaving? If realistic, then would you mind suggesting some avenues, both grounded in reality and more fantastical, by which their condition may be helped?

So I had a long answer written out for this and then it got eaten and I’d deleted my backup (both of them) and don’t you just despise technology sometimes? Join me as I scream into the void.

 Once more, from the top-

 No need to apologise for multiple asks. They are in fact encouraged. I’d rather you looked for answers to your questions then assumed you already know the answer. Thank you for coming to me. Thank you for taking an interest. It really does mean a lot to me to see people engaging with the subject. :)

 It’s been a long time since I read Harry Potter. From what I can remember I don’t think the books handled torture survivors well.

 I think this particular portrayal landed smack bang in ‘torture makes victims passive’. It was also pretty explicitly using that misconception about torture survivors being unable to live full, happy lives or make any kind of recovery.

 You could make the argument that these are magical, rather then the effects of torture. But I don’t think Rowling did any work to show that was the case. From what I can remember the stuff that’s actually in the books just suggests the curse causes pain and… that’s it.

 Which doesn’t stop you from trying to make a bad portrayal better.

 @scriptshrink is the mental health professional in the family and may disagree. From what I can remember I don’t think the description of the Longbottoms in the books was exactly catatonia. It seemed more like a combination of catatonia and late stage dementia to me.

 Which creates a bit of a problem for a narrative arc if you want to treat these characters in a more realistic way. Because catatonia is easily treated now with drugs and late stage dementia is… there’s basically no effective treatment. There are things patients can be given to slow the progression of dementia but what they’ve lost is gone. (I’ve spent quite a long time around people with various forms of dementia and I’m going to cite experience as my source there).

 The reason that’s an issue for a narrative is that there really isn’t a middle ground between ‘take this pill to recover’ and ‘there is no treatment at all’. And that’s not on you, it’s on the source material.

 So, suggestion time: I do have a few different ideas depending on what you want from a recovery arc and how you want to characterise Wizard culture in your story.

 Let’s assume that (like catatonia) this fugue state survivors of the curse are in is easily treatable. What happens when you take it away? When survivors are present, not dissociating and remember what happened to them?

 Well suddenly you get confronted with an actual torture survivor with all the loud, messy, complex mental health problems that implies.

 And if you don’t know a lot about mental health? Then it looks like you went from someone who is calm and ‘at peace’ to someone who is incredibly distressed and obviously in pain. It also means you went from someone biddable and ‘easy to handle/care for’ to someone who is exponentially less likely to put up with shit. Someone who demands explanations, cries hysterically, has panic attacks or flashbacks.

 With that sort of big visceral difference- A culture that doesn’t know how to deal with mental illness might well decide survivors are ‘better off’ in that fugue state.

 Because it would probably be easier to take care of a quiet, unemotional drone then to deal with trying to help someone with severe, complex mental health problems.

 With that kind of cultural background the dementia-like state might actually be the result of the treatment survivors are given. Because they’re ‘better off this way’.

 This would give you a much more traditional recovery arc in your story but by its nature demands a narrative discussion of how mentally ill people are treated by society. Which may not be something you want in the story.

 The other main suggestion I had was to treat this fugue state and this unrealistic depiction of memory loss as if it’s part of the curse itself.

 The cruciatus curse is supposed to be designed to cause the maximum amount of pain, so why not factor lasting generational pain into that? Stripping away important, foundational memories with longer use of the curse seems like it could be an additional terror tactic.

 ‘It doesn’t matter if they survive. It doesn’t matter if you rescue them. You’ll never get them back.’

 In that kind of scenario you’d probably end up with a different recovery arc, one that’s as much about magic as mental health. And I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing when you’re explicitly dealing with something magical.

 If you wanted a plot line involving some kind of magical quest this would be a really good fit. I think it would also work well with a more… straight forwardly heroic story? There’d be less of the cultural and moral arguments that are naturally brought up if you’re talking about cultural attitudes to different medical treatments. It would also be a good pick if you want to lean into the intelligence/research skills of some of the canon characters: a combination of cleverness and compassion resulting in a breakthrough that saves the day.

 I’ll finish off with a short general discussion about writing torture survivors realistically and writing them in fantasy.

 I’ve got a post on the common long term symptoms of torture here. And I’ve got a post on what memory problems look like in survivors here.

 We don’t have a way to predict symptoms. Different individual survivors get different sets of symptoms and we’re not sure why. Because of that variation I think that it’s best to treat symptoms as a writing choice.

 Pick symptoms based on what you think adds to the story and creates interesting narrative opportunities. If a symptom emphasises the themes in your story, creates good opportunities to show the readers something about the characters or makes for interesting conflict then it’s a good choice. Conversely if a particular symptom doesn’t appeal to you or you don’t want to write it for any reason, feel free to choose something different.

 I stress realism and writing survivors realistically. I don’t do that because I think fiction ‘must’ be realistic. I do it because the ways we choose to break with reality matter.

 And right now most of the ways we choose to be unrealistic tacitly support/condone torture.

 The majority of the time that’s not the author’s intention. I certainly don’t think it was Rowling’s intention here. (I’ll admit I haven’t been keeping up with her string of controversies but I don’t think active support for torture was ever among them.)

 But these tropes keep getting repeated. Partly because finding accurate information on torture is hard. It’s difficult to search for. It often costs money. A lot of it just isn’t translated (I’m actually saving up to get a bunch of core texts translated into English when the plague is over.) And oh boy do not get me started on the lack of inter-disciplinary communication because I will go off like an unplanned quench of an NMR’s super magnets.

 These are issues that hamper academic researchers to a huge degree. It’s no wonder they impact non-specialists trying to make sense of this mess.

 Having said all of that: I think that we should make space for metaphor and fantastical elements in our fiction.

 The issue is passing off tropes that are unrealistic and harmful as if they’re fact.

 I have significant issues with portraying torture survivors as passive objects. I think it really hampers general understanding of torture and ethical treatment of survivors today. It encourages people to think that real survivors are ‘faking it’ because they don’t look like the passive objects we see portrayed in fiction.

 That said, if a story explicitly states that what it’s doing is magical and unrealistic, it should be less of an issue.

 I do not think that’s what Rowling did in this particular portrayal. I think she presented a curse that the audience was supposed to read as only causing extreme pain and she linked that to the idea of pain turning people into passive objects. You can remove the magic from this scenario and it’s unmistakably torture apologia.

 But I can imagine alternatives where a fantasy story could separate these things out. It would be hard work and require a lot more focus on the curse itself.

 Say you have a fantasy story that takes one of the non-Western approaches to ideas about human souls. Particularly the idea that our memories and experience constitute a separate spiritual part of ourselves.

 Magic that stole and imprisoned that portion of someone would, by the logic of the magic system, create something a little like this catatonia/late-stage-dementia symptom set Rowling presents. And I think if that was presented, divorced from ideas about pain and what suffering ‘should’ do to people- Well it’s no longer really talking about torture. It’s talking about a fantastical scenario.

 We’re not really used to thinking through the implications of where we break with reality. But it does get easier with practice.

 I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[maykonguyendaily]

Need something to break you out of the winter/pandemic blues? Thankfully, Hudson & Rex returns on Tuesday, January 5 at 8/7c to Citytv for its third season. In Season 3, Detective Charlie Hudson (John Reardon) and Rex, his intrepid German Shepherd partner, are back on the trail of St. John’s most devious criminals. Season 3’s caseload promises to present the Major Crimes team with some of their biggest mysteries yet. Charlie and Rex will need every member of the team, including Dr. Sarah Truong (Mayko Nguyen), Charlie’s closest collaborator, by their side.

Sarah is always lockstep with Charlie when it comes to solving cases, and their friendship grows even closer in Tuesday night’s season premiere. In it, Charlie brings Sarah along to a trip the past that details how his partnership with Rex began. Nguyen recently spoke with The TV Junkies about what Charlie’s gesture means to Sarah, as well as what lies ahead for Sarah this season. She also previews some great guest stars, including one that offers up a mini-Killjoys reunion for fans of the dearly departed sci-fi drama. Nguyen played Delle Seyah Kendry during Killjoys’ five-season run and looks back upon that experience with us as well.

The TV Junkies: What’s it like coming back for Season 3, especially when you had to film in such unprecedented times?

Mayko Nguyen: When all of this started going down in March, I just assumed that the entire film industry would shut down for a year. So to be honest, I just feel very lucky and grateful to still have work and get to be together in a room full of people. We were socially distanced and with masks, but I feel so fortunate to be with this family again. It’s been a nice mental break from COVID.

TTVJ: This is also your third season coming back and shooting in St. John’s. Has it really become like a second home? What do you love about being there?

MN: I’ll let you in on a secret, I’m someone that really likes to be in my home. I’ll go away but for a max of like three weeks. Particularly in the first season, I found it really hard to be out here for 16 episodes and six to seven months. The turnaround is quick so we don’t end up being home very long. The second season I got a bit more acclimated to being here, but now, we came in July and the weather was particularly glorious. There’s something that happened this season where it’s really become my second home. Having a new baby and a toddler out here is just so much easier and makes so much more sense.

TTVJ: From the screeners I saw, Sarah seems more confident than ever in her abilities. What’s her mindset like in Season 3 and what were you most looking forward to exploring with her?

MN: Not a ton has changed with Sarah. Year by year the group gets more and more cohesive, and coming from COVID and getting to be together again has been really nice. I think that translates to the show. The four of us become tighter and tighter each year. In terms of Sarah, her work is her life and there’s more references to that this season. She’s pretty reliable and consistent. You know what to expect with her. There’s always stuff happening with her and Charlie here and there. Those are the fun surprises but I can’t talk too much about that. [laughs]

TTVJ: A big part of the season premiere is that Charlie brings Sarah along on a trip to the past, chronicling how his partnership with Rex began. What’s that mean to her to be a part of that?

MN: I loved that episode and it’s quite a departure from how our episodes are typically structured. It felt really special and fun to be outside of the group. Sarah is the newer member to the department and this is a story close to Charlie’s heart. It’s all about how he and Rex started and developed their relationship. In the episode, I’m asked to join this annual tradition and Sarah feels incredibly honored to be a part of that. It further cements her feeling of being a part of the team and not so new anymore. It also makes her feel close to Charlie and their friendship is quite strong.

TTVJ: Hudson & Rex always seems to pull in some pretty fantastic guest stars. Are there any in particular that you’re excited for viewers to see?

MN: In the second episode of the season we have Allan Hawco from Republic of Doyle. I have a favorite, and I don’t think she even knows it, but it’s Cara Ricketts (Anne with an E, Street Legal). She’s on this season and so is Sarah Podemski. I really enjoyed her as well. We’ve had a bunch of really great people.

TTVJ: Because I’m a huge Killjoys fan, I loved that in the second episode of this season there’s a mini-reunion that happens when Gavin Fox, who played Gared, guest stars.

MN: Oh my gosh yes! We were so happy that we actually got to work together. I often don’t have much with the guest stars but we got to share scenes. He’s this big, imposing guy but is just a pure teddy bear. He’s so respectful, lovely, and warm. Just a lovely, lovely person.

TTVJ: Speaking of Killjoys, I wouldn’t be who I am as a person if I didn’t ask you about one of my all-time favorite characters, Delle Seyah. Now that you’ve had some time away from her, what do you think about as you look back to that experience and playing such a dynamic character?

MN: It’s interesting because I’ve found that it’s unfortunate actually because you get so caught up in the work when you’re in it. Of course you’re grateful for it and enjoying yourself, but it is also work. I went in and out of having challenges with her, in terms of keeping her based in reality, but then when you leave a show like that you just miss it. I almost feel like I didn’t appreciate how incredible that experience was when I was in it. I’m someone who broods over my work and has a hard time enjoying things. I always reflect back after the fact when it’s too late. I should’ve taken more time to really enjoy that experience and the people.

She was a really great character, and I had no idea when I set out to play her that she’d have the arc that she had. When you’re in it you’re just trying to do good work, and you’re anxious because you have no idea if what you’re doing is going to translate. To be honest, I don’t watch my stuff and I often questioned my choices as Delle Seyah. It’s not until hearing that people liked her and enjoyed that arc that it felt satisfying to me. I definitely miss her, and wish I had allowed myself to enjoy that experience more while I was in it, and not after the fact.

TTVJ: I was always so afraid she was going to be killed off, and I never wanted to lose her!

MN: She came close, right? Michelle Lovretta [Killys creator] is just so great, as is her writing and what she can do. When I got pregnant I just assumed that I was going to be done. The fact that they not only kept me in, but incorporated the pregnancy into the storyline, allowed it to go so far. She’s just incredible.

TTVJ: What do you think the Green Queens would be up to now?

MN: I feel like not too much. After all of that they’d just be arm and arm and lounging.  [laughs]

Hudson & Rex Season 3 premieres Tuesday, January 5 at 8/7c on Citytv.

[tsipasce]

Same Difference Ch. 13

A/N: sorry for the late upload for anyone following, I’ve been pretty lax on uploading on here bc of the low interaction with these posts (I think like 3 people read this, maybe lol). But I’m going to try and upload them here just in case. 

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03 |  04 | 05  | 06 | 07 | 08 |  09 |  10 |  11 | 12

AO3 | FFN

 “We need to talk. Now.”

“Yes. That’s why we’re on the phone.”

“We don’t have time for games today. You need to come to the base immediately.”

She’d recognize that “not now, Nanami” tone anywhere. Whatever it was, it was serious. Switching gears mentally to brace for the impending shitstorm, she exhaled,” Give me 30 minutes.”

“20.”

“What? That’s not even realisti—” she stopped, hearing the phone click. Rolling her eyes, she watched her friend exit the post office and walk over to the car.

“So, I say we go to that new brunch place first and then—wait what’s wrong?” Hitomi pivoted recognizing her friend was much less enthused than when she’d left. Nanami turned to her, an apologetic look on her face. “The hospital has you on-call again, huh?”

“Duty calls, sadly.” She felt bad about lying, but knew she’d feel worse if Hitomi got caught up in her mess. “Though I don’t know how long it’ll take so we might be able to salvage the day.”

“No, it’s ok, I understand. Take your time, we can always hang tomorrow or later in the week. When do you need to be there?”

“… in 20 minutes.”

“That’s unrealistic.”

“That’s what I tried to tell hi—I mean them, but it’s an emergency. Mind dropping me off at my house?”

“You got it. I’ll drive, you watch for cops.” Before Nanami could protest, Hitomi screeched out of the parking lot and back down the road they came.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 Waving bye to her friend, Nanami hurriedly grabbed her keys and work bag just in case the talk carried over to lab work. Running down to her car, she sped over to the base, basically rolling out of the car when she arrived as there were only 5 minutes to spare. Hearing a noise, she reflexively turned to look but continued running forward. Suddenly she felt herself run into a solid figure as she bounced back, falling onto her soon-to-be-late keester. Regaining her bearings, she looked up and saw an older gentleman in traditional attire, his hair slicked back and his face serious.

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she apologized, giving him an earnest look.

He paused for a beat before giving her a kind smile, offering his hand to help her up, “That’s alright miss, no need to apologize. Where are you off to in such a hurry anyway?”

Crap, how do I get out of this one… she strategized inwardly on how to answer the question discreetly without sounding rude. “Oh nowhere, I just have to… make a house call! I’m a doctor, and my patient’s a massive germaphobe; very needy, you see.” She laughed awkwardly, hoping he bought it.

At her last comment, she could’ve sworn she saw a look of recognition flash across his face, but figured it was her imagination. “Oh, I see. Well he’s a lucky man to have you. As such an attentive caretaker, I mean. I won’t hold you up any longer, have a nice day Dr… what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” She smiled, “You have a nice day too!” She said as she continued her jog to the base. She looked back to see him waving, returning it as she rounded the corner. Well that was close.

Once at the front gate, the door opened before she knocked, an irritated Overhaul waiting on the other side. “What took you so long. I said 20.”

“And I was going to say that was unrealistic before you rudely hung up on me. Besides, I would’ve actually gotten here on time if not for your friendly neighbors. I don’t know how the HOA of this neighborhood decided to let you of all people in. Everyone else seems so nice.” She pouted.

“What are you rambling about?”

“Your neighbor? I ran into an old man outside—I didn’t tell him where I was going or why I was here, obviously—but he seemed nice, if not a tad nosey.”

At this she saw him pause, “… What did he say to you?” The question much meeker than the last.

“Uhm, I bumped into him by accident, so he just asked where I was going, told me to have a nice day... oh! Also, how lucky you are to have me. You know, obvious stuff.” His brows raised before she quickly clarified the last statement, “As a doctor! I told him I was your doctor. He was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing.”

Though he donned his usual mask, she could tell his features had softened at whatever he was thinking. She’d even bet there was a small smile forming, but at what she wasn’t sure, “Hm, I see. Well, there’s no use in loitering around, let’s go.”

“Well you’re the one that stopped but ok” she said under her breath. He turned, giving her a warning look as she shrugged, raising her hands in faux surrender.

They continued down the usual pathway in the underground base before reaching his office and passing it, going down a hallway she wasn’t familiar with. It gradually became much darker the further they went, and the air temperature felt as though it had dropped at least 10 degrees, almost causing her to shiver. After what felt like an indefinite amount of time they arrived at a door, but before Overhaul could reach the handle, it opened, a panicked Kurono standing in the doorway.

“He had a pill.”

Looking past him, Nanami could see the assailant from the night before. Though he was savagely beaten, it was apparent he’d killed himself with whatever pill was hidden in his mouth as foam was formed around it, his body still going through its final convulsions. Working in a large hospital, she’d seen her fair share of people dying, but to say it got any easier would be a half-truth. The vision was familiar, but it was still unpleasant, no matter who it was. In contrast, Overhaul seemed irritated for a second before realizing something and returning to his stoic expression.

“No matter, we got all we needed from him anyway. Follow me,” he directed at her as he left the room and Kurono to dispose of the body. Nanami somberly followed, mentally giving the man a moment of silence. Whatever happened, she knew the importance of remaining objective in the presence of death. There might come a time when she’d make some bad decisions herself—to put it ever so lightly— and she hoped whoever was there in her last moments wouldn’t relish in her death either. They arrived at the door of his office, the clicking of the handle rousing her from her thoughts. He sat down across from her on one couch as she sat on the other, now feeling a bit out of place in her casual attire.

“It seems you have a price on your head.”

“Hm?” Nanami squeaked, her face that of disbelief.

“The lackeys that tried to take you were sent by the head of the Okumura clan, a rival organization. He seems sure you have a unique ability and learning of our partnership only seemed to confirm this.”

“Bu…But I was so careful. I don’t talk to anyone about us, I take weird routes every time I come here, I always use the burner ph—“ she began frantically before he cut in.

“You were not at fault for this. One of the new recruits was abducted. He didn’t know much, but he gave enough information to pique their interest.”

“And what happened to him?”

He was surprised at the question, but answered anyway, “He was set free after the questioning.”

“Well where is he now? Maybe he can tell us something useful about them and what else they want.”

“He’s no longer with us.”

“… Like he quit?”

“…”

“Overhaul.”

“… As I said, he’s no longer with us.” They stared at each other, Nanami now knowing the “snitches get stitches” saying to be only half true. Something tells me stiches wouldn’t help him now… She sighed, his blank expression unwavering as he continued, “Also, there is no ‘us’ when it comes to you and I and the Okumura. You will stay here until this problem is solved.”

“I’m gonna do what now?”

“You heard me. Your apartment is no longer safe. Considering they probably expected to see their men return last night with you captured, they will undoubtedly send more to finish the job.”

She opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. She knew it wasn’t safe to stay at her place, but staying at the base was just a lot, especially if her assumption about not being able to leave was correct. “Ok, but I have work and a life. Am I just supposed to hide here and put all that on hold?”

“Would you rather put it on hold or have it all end?”

“…That’s not fair.”

“Most things aren’t.”

She shifted in her seat biting her lip, realizing she was losing the argument. Every counter she came up with she mentally shot down before speaking it. I could stay at Hitomi’s house? No, they’d just follow me there and attack her too, or worse… I could stay at home and defend my place? Except they wouldn’t stop coming. My place would be trashed and then the neighbors would find out...I could...

“I could go in myself and get them. It’s my head they’re after, I’ll just have to convince them it’s not worth the trouble.”

He gave her a pitiable look, knowing the suggestion was equal parts blind bravery and desperation, “Your training with Rappa has made you a capable fighter, but are you really prepared to kill another person, permanently? Dozens of them? Simply maiming them wouldn’t be enough, they’d keep coming until…” He paused as he saw her look down in defeat, her fists clenched in her lap, her jaw tightening. She was angry—mad as hell—but she knew he was right. She was a fighter, not a killer, and no amount of training could change that overnight. She knew the logical solution to the problem, but her nature wouldn’t allow her to solve it. Seated across from her, his head tilted as he gazed at her pensively. Overhaul couldn’t figure out why but seeing her so upset was… unpleasant. He wanted nothing more than to make it stop, though the motivation behind the action remained a mystery. “Dr. Watanabe,” He continued slightly softer than before, her fists unclenching for a moment at the change in tone, “Your strengths lie elsewhere. Strategically, it makes the most sense for you to be here. It will only be for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Nanami could tell he was trying, but the frustration with the situation lingered. Attempting to calm herself and accept reality, she finally managed to respond,” Can I at least get my stuff first?”

“Yes, but let’s be quick about it.”

“’Let’s?”

“You didn’t really think you were going alone, did you?”

“No!... Well, yes. Fine, let’s go.”

[ayusaurus]

I’ve been seeing this topic come up way too often on Twitter recently and I just need to vent, but: Can we please stop equating fiction with real life. And I mean that in the sense that fiction, while incorporating elements of reality, does not represent reality as a whole.

I say this because a voice actors recently got harassing and dangerously threatening messages for the work she did on TLOU2.

Like regardless of what your feelings are of the game, she is a paid actress voicing a character. She is NOT the character herself.

I know that fiction can be harmful, I know that it can be used to create things we are uncomfortable or triggered by. But we need to be able to discern reality from fiction because this moral policing and “wokeness” that was pushed by purists within fandoms, winds up hurting actual people. It’s a way to shush people from being able to use fiction as a catharsis when there is no availability of therapy. You threaten to disallow spaces for people to interact with ideas that would be wrong, unsafe, or illegal, in a place where you can do so safely with consent.

There is a reason people tag things. There is a reason blacklists exist. Creators are not responsible for your mental wellbeing outside of tagging things so you can make the personal decision of wanting to consume that product. By putting all blame on creators and media, without having the nuance of rational and critical thinking, you are forcibly removing responsibility from yourself.

I say this because when Columbine happened back in the 00’s (I believe,) people were so quick to point fingers and say video games are to blame because the shooter played video games. But while it MAY have been a cause, what went overlooked was the fact that this kid had things emotionally/mentally that went unaddressed to where he wound up committing a mass shooting. There’s only so far that the excuse of what he consumed can be traveled before the root cause need to be examined.

Like, I myself have played shooter games, and never once have I thought, “lemme go grab a gun and shoot someone.” Never once have I consumed sexual media that was outside of the vanilla realm and thought “man I’d love to do some of this stuff without consent.” I’ve never once saw Spider-Man and thought” I should really break into a train station so I can get bit by a spider and gain its super powers.”

If we keep pointing fingers at the media, compared to addressing the underlying cause of our discomfort, we will never actually make the changes needed to progress forward. We will continue to dumb ourselves down in society because it’s far easier to blame the fictional worlds, universes, alternate realities, than it is to do the hard work of making changes. And if you say we should ban ALL problematic fiction, then you’re setting up a framework which threatens the whole realm of fiction. Because certain topics may be banned today, but eventually down the line, there isn’t any room to wiggle and you find everything is gone. The room to be allowed a voice no longer exists.

Fiction can be a positive place. We all use it to escape reality. We use it to explore things we’ve never had and have wanted, like love, family, friends, wealth, healthy sexual encounters, and all of that is valid. But many people want to use fiction to give their trauma and pain a voice that they maybe never had the strength to voice in their own lives. Some people may want to explore dark themes because understanding why things happen and what causes it leads to a growth in perhaps better attacking real life themes. Some people just want to use fiction just to blow off steam and do things they know is illegal irl and would never do to hurt someone irl.

And yes, there are people who will use fiction to manipulate people, but we need to stop viewing the tool of media as being just as bad and worth locking away as the individual using manipulative tactics in conjunction with media. Because the fictional media is not the problem, the individual who is using that media maliciously to hurt others is.

We also need to do a better job, or I should say parents and teachers need to do a better job in helping kids and students understand where fiction ends. We need to teach kids how to better interact with problematic themes and how to step away from things or blacklist things that make them uncomfortable. Just like if you don’t like the color blue in your own clothes, you don’t buy it, then if you don’t like themes of domestic violence, you don’t consume it.

However I will also add, there is a place for consuming problematic media for the sole purpose of understanding why it’s bad and dissecting the themes which make it bad so we can be better equipped to handle such topics. We have to also understand why it’s so problematic under an educated situation or else we will keep having these back and forth, black and white, no room for debate charged talks of why problematic content shouldn’t be allowed. Additionally, the less we allow problematic content, the more people will be drawn to it, the more people won’t have a safe area to explore those topics, the more likely they will be to hurt others. Like IRL, teen pregnancy was pretty high when I was in HS and that was becaus instead of talking about pregnancy, sex, contraception, etc, ppl acted like abstinence was the only way. They neglected to understand that teens do have sex drives, they want to understand them better, and without more open education, they then turn to fiction to understand it. Which is dangerous. Instead of doing the work of addressing topics irl, it gave more voice and responsibilities to creators who may have been using fiction as a therapeutic tool when they may not have had access to traditional therapy.

Like I get it, I really do. I have my own history of trauma, but I’m not about to demand fiction to stop existing - because when it’s all said and done, erasing fiction does not erase the hurt or real life consequences I have to live with. It does not do any good to dismantle a space for people to have room to explore topics in fiction. It does not do any good to try and ban things in hopes that it will stop. Because let me assure you, even if fictional media gets banned, other tools can and will be used by shitty people who intend to harm. And we need to be willing to acknowledge and accept that, because bullying and harassing people over fictional media is disgusting, and puts them on a similar level as the problematic media they are trying to fight against, except they are the ones causing actual harm. If you can’t see that, then that’s part of the problem and you’ve been, frankly, brainwashed to believe that as long as the problematic media goes away, any means to get there is justified. That is not, and should never be okay, and we need to do better in understanding that it’s a tool used by manipulators who want to do harm under a pretense of “the moral good” and/or “think of the children,” when they themselves don’t do anything to ensure real life children are staying safe and being protected in their communities. You can’t moral police if you aren’t willing to stand up for actual children, or victims of any kind, if you think fictional realities have more weight than real life.

Because it doesn’t.

Overall, we really, really, need to do better in understanding and combatting that, otherwise we are no better than bystanders who look at things going on IRL and letting them happen. We need to not equate what someone likes in fiction being a tell for who they are individually. We need to do better in educating ppl how to interact with content they do not like. We also need to do better in pushing for better mental healthcare and making it more affordable. We need to do a lot, but we need to stop pointing the finger at fictional media and actually combat the root issues.

[uncloseted]

1/2

1/2

1/2 Hi. I think I could use some help, I'll try to make this short. When I was 14yo (I'm 20 now) I dated a 18yo guy, thank God we were taking it slow and never made things official. Now that I'm older I can see that relash was rlly wrong. He was manipulating, used me to boost his ego, forced me to do things I wasn't comfortable doing and I think although we weren't official, he cheated on me? (more on that later). After a few months of fooling around, I found out something about him that I didn't like and confronted him about it, with the intention of ending that relash. He started begging me not to leave him, asking me tricky questions about the things I had heard of him with the intention of "making me realize" he did nothing wrong, and he even became violent with the person who told me those things, to the point I couldn't break up with him because I was scared. I just stopped answering his texts and calls because I was afraid of even talking to him and eventually he took the hint and suggested we broke up. We decided to stay friends, but that only lasted a few days, because one day, via Facebook Messenger, he suggested we got back together and I rejected him, so he blocked me. Months later, I had to close my Facebook due to harassment (not related to him) and opened a new one. Facebook showed me his profile in 'people you may know' and I decided to peek out of curiosity. Turns out, the moment we broke up, he started uploading photos with his new girlfriend. The descriptions of those pics said the exact same things he used to tell me, and I ain't good a math but I did some calcs and he had to be with her while still being with me lmao. I really didn't care, I was just happy I got rid of him, and I moved on with my life. Some time later I fell head over heels for a guy from my workplace, who I still hold close to my heart. I have trust issues and I am a very private person, especially with my relashs, so I didn't tell anyone about this guy except from like 3 friends. One of them was a girl (that we'll call Anne) who was like a sister to me, and was also friends with my ex. Over the next 2 years I had a relash with this guy, everytime I talked to Anne I used to tell her more details about my relash. Then, one day, I got a text from my ex. He texted me like we were besties and nothing had ever happened between us, like he didn't block me TWICE (yeah, he blocked me from my new Facebook too even though I never tried to reach out to him). I was angry at his nerve and told him so, he realized I was upset and changed his persona from confident and tough as nails to regretful and soft, telling me he was sorry for being so immature all those years before, but excusing his shitty behavior by saying he always "kept an eye on me". Um, wtf? He told me he was always asking stuff about me to Anne, looking out for me. I wanted to know what exactly he knew, but, trying to manipulate me again, he said he would only tell me if I accepted to play a game with him: I could ask him one question if he would ask me one in exchange and so on, and we had to be ttly honest with each other. I really didn't wanna get into his shenanigans but I only had one question (wtf do u exactly know about me, creep?) so I accepted. He asked his question first (dID u fEeL sAd wHeN i bLoCkEd U?) and I asked mine. I thought he maybe knew something about my school stuff and MAYBE that I had been dating someone else. Turns out he knew every. single. detail about my personal life. Not only he KNEW I was with other guy...

2/2 Not only he KNEW I was with other guy. He knew his entire name, the school he attended and every little detail from our relationship and other stuff about my personal life. Every single thing I told Anne, opening my heart to her, she told him. I felt terribly violated. I felt like a dissected frog, open for anyone to see my most inner parts. I felt ashamed, unprotected, sad and angry, all at the same time. I told him what he did was disgusting, to never reach me again or try to "keep an eye on me", and that I would make that job easier for him by getting Anne out of my life. He apologized, said he understood the situation, would respect my wishes, and wished me a happy life. I thought that was it. It took me a while but I got to heal, to feel safe again, although I still have a hard time trusting my friends. But I was wrong. Months later he sent me a Friend Resquest. I was a lil afraid, but tried to calm myself saying he probably just was checking if I was still upset, so I rejected the request and again convinced myself that was really it. But then he sent some girls to take pictures of me during my high school graduation ceremony and recently, his cousin (who was my friend when we were 14 but haven't talked since) texted me. I know that sometimes nostalgia makes you reach out to old friends, but we weren't close at all. Besides, he acted super weird, didn't even try to make small talk or let the convo flow naturally, but went straight for super specific and weird questions: are you studying college? what are you doing with your life? are you in a relationship? I was really weirded out and considered the possibility he may have been asking all those things because my ex asked him to do so, so I kept my answers short and vague, not giving him the info he wanted, and although I def came out as cutting, he kept asking. I tried to still be friendly because I didn't wanna seem paranoid, but I think he realized I wasn't telling him anything over texts, so he asked me to meet again over some beers with his friends on October 27th and that's when I stopped answering. I thought about that strange invitation for a few days until it hit me: October 27th is my ex's birthday. So much about respecting my wishes. I spent the rest of that month really nervous that cousing would try to reach out again, but nothing happened and I started to feel calmed again. Until, in November, he wrote me again, this time asking me if I wanted to go to the beach with his friends. I haven't even bother to open that text. Since them, I've been super paranoid. I know my ex's attacks aren't that consecutive (more like every two years: he contacted me and sent me that friend request when I was 16, hijacked my graduation at 18 and now sends his cousin at 20) but I can't help but think he's always there "keeping an eye on me" and planning his next move. I stopped accepting any friend requests because I'm afraid he will send someone for me, and if someone I already have on my friend list but idk texts me and after some small talks asks me about my life, I get paranoid and ask them why they wanna know and if they have some hidden intentions. Also, there's a mall near his house, and everytime I have to go there to buy something, I feel like crying because I'm afraid I'll stumble with him. I probably sound crazy. Some people may think I'm exaggerating and I should just let my ex stalk me and act all obsessed, but I feel dirty everytime I think about him knowing my personal stuff. It was just so traumatizing the first time. Do you get me? I feel like nobody gets me. Please help me, what can I do? I don't know how to make him stop, I'm tired of living in fear.

Not to start this off with an unrelated thought, but when did Tumblr get rid of its character limit on asks? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it let someone send in a message this long in one ask.

To get to your situation, I can definitely see why this would be a stressful and uncomfortable situation for you.  The first thing I would do is to stop interacting with your ex and people related to your ex.  You don’t owe his cousin anything.  Block both of their numbers, block their social media accounts, etc., and do that for everyone else who’s friends with your ex (or put them on limited profile/create a “close friends” list on social media).  Tell all of your friends in no uncertain terms that you don’t want them talking about you to your ex, even if it’s stuff that seems harmless, and cut those people off if they do talk to your ex about you.  

The other action you could take is to file a restraining order.  If you go down that route, you’ll have to fill out some forms and file them with the court, and then have a hearing with a judge where you explain your situation.  Then, you’ll have a second appearance in court where the stalker is present, and you both get the opportunity to explain the situation.  The judge will then determine the final order and the conditions of that order.  It can be a bit of an involved process, but it may give you some peace of mind.

The last thing I would suggest is going to therapy.  It seems like you’ve been through something traumatic, and a mental health professional can help you to work through that and move on from it.  There are many options for therapy, both online and in-person.  If you have health insurance, your insurance should cover at least some therapy sessions.  If not, some therapists provide services on a sliding-scale, and online services like BetterHelp can be less expensive than traditional therapy. 

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #451

Top Ten British Films of My Lifetime

Here we are with another of my semi-regular “this has nothing to do with anything but I just thought about it” lists. Nothing to tie into, nothing to celebrate, just a moderately interesting topic. Hopefully.

I don’t feel like people talk about British films the way they did in the nineties. Maybe that’s just because I'm not a teenage wannabe film director reading Empire anymore so I'm not picking up on a meta-narrative or looking for ways into the industry, but I think it’s more the changing nature of the film “biz”. The nineties proved that there was a functioning film industry in Britain, and the subsequent rise (or return) of huge blockbusters filming here has meant that there’s always a lot of money flowing through British studios and companies. Star Wars, the Wizarding World, and James Bond are just three franchises where, whichever country owns the rights or the IP, there’s still a strong UK flavour to the productions, even if they have American actors and directors. Even indie films get money from all over the globe now, further muddying any attempt to define the nationality of a film. For a long time there, the Coens were making films for Working Title, so arguably they were British films too.

I'm going to insert a depressing caveat here and say that, with Covid shutting the cinemas and the government’s reluctance to offer ongoing support to the industry, there is a chance that our position as a great location or a destination for a raft of production and post-production services may be under serious threat. Like with Thatcherism, we could end up seeing a return to the bad old days of the eighties, when despite stone-cold gems emerging, the industry did struggle. But anyway.

Basically, I don’t always know if a British film is a British film these days, and their Britishness does not get ballyhooed as much as it did 25 years ago.  But all the same, for reasons undefinable (because Lord knows I’m not feeling very patriotic at the moment), I have here decided to list my Top Ten British Films. I’ve focused on “in my lifetime” because, well, it’s easier, and there are fewer huge films that I've missed. But like I always say, I'm not a journalist or a professional film critic, so there certainly are some huge films that I've missed. Off the top of my head, three very big films I've never seen are Naked, Sexy Beast and In God’s Country; maybe they would be on the list. Also, with the 2020 of it all, I've seen virtually nothing this year (Farmageddon and – is it British? – Cats are the only Brit-flicks I saw at the cinema before the Dark Times; if you’re after a review, well, Farmageddon is better). But, look, this is my list and It's utterly arbitrary, as always.

Rule Britannia, etc.

Paddington 2 (2017): yes, it’s utterly delightful, which we need more of in this day and age, but it’s also exquisitely constructed on a technical level. It's phenomenally well-shot, Paddington himself is an extremely good effect, the scripts are tight, the performances spot-on (give Grant an Oscar!)… honestly, this film is perfect. I try to be arch or cynical but I can’t. It's a masterpiece and it does not get enough love.

Withnail & I (1987): as sublime a piece of screenwriting as you’re likely to find, the film is also bolstered with two stand-out performances for the ages (three, really, if you include Uncle Monty). Simultaneously a hilarious character comedy, a gritty but nostalgic look at a lost decade, and an utterly tragic tale of self-destruction.

Brazil (1985): one of those films that’s disturbingly, increasingly prescient. A grim look at the future through a dirty lens, a visual tour-de-force, Michael Palin playing a delightful monster, pathos, romance, tragedy… almost certainly Gilliam’s best film.

Trainspotting (1996): utterly seminal; stands alongside Pulp Fiction as one of the definitive films of my youth. Boyle’s direction is so assured, Hodge’s screenplay distils an unfilmable novel into something utterly cinematic, and McGregor delivers an unforgettable performance. Cool, slick, funny, strange, tragic, and very, very British.

In Bruges (2008): another film with two people swearing a lot and just having terrific dialogue, this time against an ironically beautiful backdrop. A neat character study, great performances, devastatingly sad, just damn funny. Also inspired my wife and I to take a real holiday to Bruges, so top marks.

Hot Fuzz (2007): probably, on balance, the best of the Cornetto Trilogy, perfecting the intense montage-heavy style but giving us a bigger canvas, excellent action, a neat puzzle box of a plot (the forward-referencing is at its peak here), a series of increasingly amazing cameos, and arguably the best incarnation of the classic Pegg/Frost double act.

United 93 (2006): unlike many on the list, not one I’d relish watching again; a blisteringly tense, heartbreaking interpretation of the last moments of flight United 93 on 9/11. Taking something seemingly unfilmable, Greengrass gives us a thriller of the highest calibre, a director working at the top of his game to make something unbearable but unmissable.

Ex Machina (2014): it’s rare that a film can be a tense chamber piece and also a groundbreaking sci-fi and also a great special effects movie, but Ex Machina is that, as well as a directorial debut (Dredd rumours notwithstanding). Gleeson and Isaac are incredible in their cat-and-mouse relationship, Vikander is a revelation as Ava, and the whole thing is shot through with such assuredness, walking well-trod paths but absolutely giving us something new and interesting.

Notting Hill (1999): I kinda had to have a “traditional” romcom in here, of the kind popularised by the writing of Richard Curtis; I think common logic says Four Weddings is the best but I’ve always preferred Notting Hill as it’s simultaneously more focused (just dealing with Grant and Roberts) but also has a bigger canvas as it touches on celebrity and fame. As a piece of popular writing it’s exceptional; funny and genuinely romantic and moving, with a great central couple you’re always rooting for.

Brassed Off (1996): sneaking into my Top Ten, displacing the likes of The Descent, Richard III, and 12 Years a Slave, simply because its message of resilience in the face of governmental cruelty and its quiet depiction of nurturing northern socialism is striking a chord at the moment. Stephen Tompkinson should have been able to launch a Hollywood career off the back of this performance, and the late, great Pete Postlethwaite is a beacon of tragic, stoic heroism, especially in the climax of the film. The Fully Monty went into similar areas to greater financial success, but Brassed Off is the sadder film, the film that stays with you longer.

Right, there we are; a definitive list. Sorta. I’m kind of surprised there are so many relatively recent films up there; I thought it’d be full of stuff from the late eighties and mid-nineties (I’m note sure why I feel that “mid-nineties” needs a hyphen whilst “late eighties” doesn’t, but there you go). As I flicked through my mental album, however, I realised that a lot of films from that period I hadn’t seen in twenty years or more, and I just didn’t feel like I could justly rank them; A Fish Called Wanda, Time Bandits, The Company of Wolves, Educating Rita, The Cook, the Thief, his Wife, and her Lover, Secrets and Lies, Mona Lisa… all of these might have been included if either my memory was better or if I’d whacked a DVD on more recently.

Anyway, there you. Brits are good at some things. Obviously those things don’t include feeding hungry children or successfully negotiating international trade agreements, but there you go. Can’t have everything.

[rigelmejo]

Ok adjustment to suddenly no flashcards is strangely weird I think it’s cause I grinded too much. On the upside, if I suddenly slack off then it’s not like it was a priority ovo)/

So I got the better version of the SpoonFed Chinese anki deck today, it’s 8000 cards. A lot of it is very basic for me. but I figure it’s still good comprehension practice, good for reviewing words I know in context (instead of in isolation), good for me practicing shadowing and production, good for me practicing seeing correct grammar.

I’m using the settings: good for good, again for the ones I need review. I heard that’s the best for the “Lazy Anki” mass immersion approach setup. I am also using easy for the cards I ALREADY KNOW completely. Because it’s fine if their intervals are huge - I know them already. Also I would like to normally use the option of 20 cards a day. I’m just bulking it up rn because I know most of the sentences and want to speed through all the completely known ones.

I’m toggling with the deck a bit - because when I learn the deck it gives me very basic sentences I could probably skip. But when I went through it in the Browse area and tried to ‘suspend’ cards I knew so I can save them in case I want them, but have them not be in my learning/reviews - I saw a lot of sentences that went from simple to complex fast! Like 1 new word or grammar point building from the prior sentence. So together studied in order, every sentence is easy - but if I came across one right away, it might have 3-4 things I don’t know in it. I’m not sure if it takes a couple hundred cards in to start seeing this? But I figure if these cards are really building off each other, I might as well just keep most of them. Even the ones I know completely are good production practice and good review. I’m also contemplating ‘suspending’ all the Card 2 types In my deck that prompt with English first. I decided ultimately to leave them for now - since they give me practice on production. But if I find they bother me, I’m suspending them since they just cover the same material twice.

Anyway flashcard wise, I figured this deck is simple and easy to stick to. It covers stuff I can use, and it’s easy to study. I do think the Pleco pre made sentence decks I have are good (maybe even better for ME since the difficulty spikes quicker and my brain learns when its being challenged a lot and loves to slack when it’s not). But I don’t like using flashcards in Pleco for srs much. I prefer to use it like a big notebook of words I know/am studying/etc. Also i guess just mentally, it lets me keep seeing Pleco as my reading/notes/reference area. I like to keep it separate from srs flashcards I guess since... I usually hate flashcards, but love Pleco a lot lol.

I also was trying out my Chinese Grammar deck on anki - it’s a great deck. This one again has sentences mostly of stuff I know and understand - but this one is focused on grammar patterns and I think it’s a bit helpful for improving my production and grammar understanding. Along with just being more review of things I know. I also have a Hanzi deck on anki with simplified and traditional - idk how I feel about it or if I’ll use it. It’s not mnemonic containing, it’s just ordered on frequency, but I do like that it includes traditional so I can see both. Ultimately, these are just optional things I’m checking out. These two decks are free.

The SpoonFed Chinese deck has a free version - which I used to use and is perfectly useful so I recommend it. The big drawback I guess with it, was it seemed to occasionally have the same issues Clozemaster sentences have - since a beginner made it the sentences came from a bigger site source and if there were mistakes they were unedited, also the audio is compressed and sounds a bit harsh (but usable). If you look up the deck it shows up on anki, and the shared deck page also includes the creator’s link to the paid version they made. The paid version is $4 (or more if you’d like to tip etc). Its the version of the deck that’s been gone through for errors (so significantly less errors), for usefulness, so that the sentences are more sequentially I+1 instead of only sometimes I+1, the audio is WAY better.

It’s clear the creator went through it with more language experience, and they stated their Chinese wife also helped go through this version of the deck. I do think as I’m going through it, its noticeably better organized than the original was. Most noticeably though, I think the material is a little more thematically coherent and the difficulty curve is much more steady - it reads almost like the difficulty progression of some paid course or some college classes I’ve taken. This might make it easier for beginners to start it.

In the 4$ version of the deck I started today, my 20 cards basically introduced some ‘new’ words in simple sentences, then in more complex sentences with new grammar happening, and over time with new words added. It felt well structured like a purposeful course rather then a random list of sentences organized by ‘word frequency’ and length’ without much further work. The original deck is mostly like this too, just bulkier, and with a bit more of a chaotic I+1 organization where some chunks of sentences are all completely comprehensible them suddenly there’s a chunk of I+i sentences mixed in with totally new unknown sentences and I+2 or more type sentences. I think how well organized the 4$ version is... definitely motivates me to study more. Also I do think, If you had ZERO prior chinese knowledge of Hanzi or vocab words, the new structure helps guide you through learning the sentences much easier.

Also, just in general, the person who made the deck put instructions up as well on how to download and install it, how to change certain settings if you prefer, what to study beforehand if you have zero prior knowledge (it links to pinyin and tones), and I just really appreciated how thought out the instructions and notes were. Again, it makes it much easier as a beginner (and easier for me since I know almost nothing about anki and dearly needed the instructions today lol).

Lol this is all assuming... I stick to using anki instead of dropping it like always >o> we’ll see

Here’s the original deck on its page on anki: https://ankiweb.net/shared/info/867291675

Here’s the edited $4 deck: https://gumroad.com/products/IEmpwF

And, if you are wondering, no I still didn’t buy the $25 dollar anki app for iPhone. I’m just using the mobile website anki, as usual. Maybe life would be easier if I used the app but oh well. As far as I’ve heard there’s not a noticeable enough difference...

[tabletopinfinities]

Mage: the Ascension

Reality is a lie. The truth is magic. Open your eyes and Awaken.

What’s the premise?

It’s our modern world, but magic is real. Technology is just a different form of magic. Other forms of magic were driven underground and are harder to conjure up, because consensus belief shapes reality, and people these days find it easier to believe in, say, cars and guns than they do fireballs or flying carpets. Oh, and also there’s a war on for control over reality itself.

You see, a long time ago (circa the 13th century to be precise), a group of mages got tired of wizards being able to throw fireballs willy-nilly, summon up demons, and generally make life a pain for everyone. They wanted to bring order to the world and tame and control magic for the good of all. Of course, they would be the ones in charge of this new world order. These guys would become the Technocracy, the all-seeing, all-powerful architects of consensus reality. Using advanced hypertechnology beyond mundane comprehension, they’re trying to wipe out magic for good and make the world safe for Sleepers - the mundane masses that have no idea that magic even exists.

Fighting on the side of magical freedom is the Council of Nine Mystic Traditions. Formed in response to the Technocracy, each Tradition represents a particular form of magical practice. In brief, they are: wizards, druids, priests, shamans, martial artists, hippies, assassins, mad scientists, and hackers. They don’t always get along with each other, but they band together to fight the Technocracy and try and bring “real” magic back into the world. So far, they’re still losing, but the fight is far from over.

In between these guys are a wide range of other independent magical societies and solo mages, everything from goths (well, it is a White Wolf game) to ancient African sorcerer-kings. There’s also the Nephandi, who are evil mages who serve demons and other beings beyond our world. They just want to drag the world down into Hell (and they might be the ones truly winning, in the end). There’s the Marauders, who are mages who’ve lost their grip on reality so bad that they actually warp reality around themselves. And there are whole other realms of supernatural weirdness to explore, including crossing over with the other World of Darkness games (Vampire: the Masquerade, Werewolf: the Apocalypse, Wraith: the Oblivion, etc).

You’d like it if you’re into: Harry Potter, The Matrix, The Magicians, The Invisibles, Mr. Robot

Why do you recommend it?

Lots of games have you playing as magic-users and casting spells. This one lets you do it however you want to. The magic system is almost totally freeform, meaning that rather than being locked to a list of spells you figure out what you want your spell to do and how you want that effect to appear. This means you can make whatever kind of character you want, from the classic wizard archetype to cyberpunk technomancers to priestesses of forgotten goddesses whose sacred gun shoots bullets that sprout into roses. The only limit is your imagination (and your dice rolls).

The setting reflects that limitlessness. It’s a clash between high tech and high magic that can fit all your wild ideas inside it. If you want to have a journey through the realms of faerie one session and then invade an orbital cyborg factory the next, you can do that all with the same characters. I love settings that let you pit genres against each other like that, and Mage is among the most flexible of them.

Finally - Mage is a game about personal discovery that encourages you to make your own personal discoveries. It asks you to explore what it really means to control reality - and maybe see if you can apply that to your own reality. Especially with the 20th Anniversary Edition, which is one of the most welcoming, hopeful RPG sourcebooks I’ve ever read.

What are the rules like?

The Storyteller System that powers the World of Darkness games is pretty straightforward - roll a bunch of d10s, see how many dice beat the difficulty number, subtract the number of 1s you rolled from that, and the result is the number of successes you got, which tells you how well you did at what you were trying to do. Roll too many 1s and you get a critical failure. It lets you describe a more evocative set of outcomes than systems like D&D where you simply succeed or fail.

Combat is fairly realistic, with guns and all being about as lethal as you’d expect - although of course there are various magical weapons and defenses to complicate things.

The bulk of the system rules is devoted, of course, to magic. Here’s where the game both shines and gets bogged down. You get to come up with spells for your character with effects based on how skilled they are in the various spheres of magic, with flavor filtered through their particular magical style. It’s a twist that really lets you feel like you’re working with reality-changing magic. Want to cast a basic fireball? Sure. Want to represent that as an Atlantean plasma gun or God smiting your enemies with a pillar of flame? Go for it. Want to use magic to grow a snail to giant size and then send it an hour into the past to destroy your enemies before they caught up with you? That is definitely something you can try and do in this game, although that one might require a lot of successes.

The catch is that if you don’t do what consensus reality expects, e.g., growing a snail to giant size in front of a street full of onlookers, the universe is likely to smack you down with the force of Paradox. That’s what keeps reality cohesive and stops mages from battling it out in the streets. Push the universe too far and it starts pushing back, in the form of bad luck, spontaneous human combustion, or, in extreme cases, popping you out of reality altogether for a little bit (or maybe forever). Paradox might even manifest as a physical spirit to haunt you. This applies to Technocrats as much as it does to Tradition mages, because the masses aren’t ready to accept giant robots or cyber-tooth tigers just yet. In fact, there might be pockets of reality where magic works and technology doesn’t… go to an Amish community and heal them with laying on hands versus a fancy tricorder and see which one attracts more Paradox.

The tradeoff for such flexibility is that it becomes a bit time-consuming to figure out what your character’s capable of, how well they’ll have to roll to pull it off, and what it looks like within the rules. Most complicated spells require proficiency in a few different spheres, e.g., Correspondence to do stuff at long range, Prime to create something out of nothing, or Time to bind a spell to a certain duration. Once you’ve got a firmer grasp on the systems and a few standardized “rote” spells in your pocket you start to get the hang of it though.

What’s my character like?

Starting as a neophyte mage, you’ll be capable of basic spells in a couple of Spheres, but you won’t be able to change reality in major ways. You get to choose whether you’re better at Physical, Social, or Mental attributes, and put points into different skills. You’ll get some Backgrounds, which represent the resources your character has - allies, a familiar, access to arcane libraries, magic artifacts, etc. You’ll also decide what your character’s exterior Demeanor and inner Nature are, as well as the Essence of their enlightened soul. These are, sort of, your character’s alignment, and roleplaying in accordance with them will let you regain Willpower, which you can use to reroll dice (among other things). Finally, you’ll decide what the trappings of your character’s magic are and what instruments and rituals they use as foci for their different Spheres.

Those spheres of magic, in case you were wondering, are Mind, Prime (manipulating Quintessence, the raw force of magic), Time, Spirit, Entropy (which covers both death and probability), Forces (fire, wind, energy, etc.), Matter, Life, and Correspondence (travel, distance, and connection).

Most characters also belong to some particular faction, which shapes what Spheres they’re skilled in. Each of the Traditions corresponds to one of the nine Spheres, but most factions get a choice between two or three appropriate Spheres to receive a bonus. I’m listing the factions out in the 20th Anniversary Edition; there are a few other factions from older editions lurking in the corners of the world, but these are the big players.

Traditions:

Akashic Brotherhood (Mind): Asian martial artists and spiritualists devoted to mastery of the self and harmony with the universe. They practice Do, which is the primal martial art from which all others descend.

Celestial Chorus (Prime): Monotheists who believe that all should be harmonized under the pure unity of the One and its beautiful Song.

Cult of Ecstasy (Time): Hedonistic hippies who embrace altered consciousness through drugs, sex, meditation, music, pain, dance, and all that other good stuff.

Dreamspeakers (Spirit): African and Native American spirit-talkers and medicine men who, honestly, sort of got folded together by the rest of the Traditions so they could put all the brown-skinned mages in one place. They’re dedicated to restoring the health of the spirit world and thus also our own.

Euthanatos (Entropy): Ancient Greek and Indian (and elsewhere) cultists devoted to maintaining the great wheel of reincarnation by ensuring that everything dies at its proper time. Essentially, they’re death-worshipping assassins with a strict moral code.

Order of Hermes (Forces): These are they guys who probably come to mind when you think of a mage, all complicated spell components and dusty books and Enochian incantations. Haughty and pedantic, and sort of the de facto leadership of the Traditions. They’re the ones who founded the whole thing, after all.

Sons of Ether (Matter): Mad scientists, steampunks, and pulp explorers, each with their own crackpot theories that they vigorously defend. Formerly a part of the Technocracy, they got kicked out for clinging to outmoded forms of science. But they’ll show them all.

Verbena (Life): Pagan, druid, and witch types who believe in the power of nature and the old ways. They think technology has made the modern world too soft and that struggle and sacrifice are part of the natural order - sometimes very literal sacrifice.

Virtual Adepts (Correspondence): The newest members of the Traditions, this bunch of hackers left the Technocracy to go their own way - spurred on by one of their founders, Alan Turing, martyring himself to create the Internet (really!). Anarchists and tricksters who can hack reality as well as they can hack computers, the Adepts spend a lot of time hanging out in the Digital Web, the magical version of cyberspace.

Technocracy:

Iteration X: The engineers and efficiency experts of the Technocracy, Iteration X believes in a grand vision of mechanized perfection. They specialize in robotics, weapons, and cybernetics. Ultimately, they want to merge man with machine - even if that doesn’t align with the goals of the rest of the Technocracy.

New World Order: The NWO are the ones running the Technocracy - and thus the world. Illuminati and panopticon rolled into one, their legions of men in black specialize in surveillance, media manipulation, and “social conditioning,” all of which they use to advance their vision of a controlled and productive reality.

Progenitors: The biologists. Cloning, genetic engineering, and controlled evolution are all at their command. They research new medicine and biotechnology for the benefit of all mankind, though sometimes their methodology is a little extreme.

Syndicate: The money men. Actually, they literally invented money. A healthy mix of thugs and Gordon Gekko types, the Syndicate controls the world’s corporations (and quite a few extralegal organizations) to fund the rest of the Technocracy and get rich in the process. Their “magic” focuses on self-discipline, psychology, and manipulating the raw Primal Utility of the universe like an Econ textbook come to life.

Void Engineers: Exploring the worlds beyond ours - and defending humanity from the threats that live there. The Void Engineers are the most out-there (literally) Convention of the Technocracy, the most unorthodox and also the most willing to work with mages and other “reality deviants” as necessary. They specialize in Spirit magic - although to them, it’s “Dimensional Science.” Their spaceships scout the outer reaches of the universe and beyond, carrying contingents of power-armored marines ready to blast anything dangerous.

The Disparate Alliance:

Once scattered, separate magical traditions and organizations, in recent times these “disparates” have banded together to maintain power separate from the Traditions or the Technocracy.

Ahl-i-Batin: Once a part of the Traditions, sitting where the Virtual Adepts do now on the seat of Correspondence, the “subtle ones” believe in a grand unity of all things, influenced by Islamic mysticism. These days they work in secret, observing and acting only when necessary. They hold a particular hatred of the Nephandi and will always act to stop them.

Bata’a: Vodouists and other African-diaspora Loa worshippers who derive their magic from respectful agreement with the spirits. Largely an informal group, they have a wide membership across the world.

Children of Knowledge: The descendants of the Solificati, an ancient group of alchemists that was once a Tradition, the Children of Knowledge use their alchemical knowledge to purify base souls into golden souls. Sometimes that process involves designer psychotropic drugs - the Children actually invented LSD.

Hollow Ones: A ragtag group of goths, punks, and other weirdos and misfits who seek to bring capital-R Romance back to the world, a la the era of Shelley and Byron. They spend a lot of time looking fashionable in the club scene, but also sheltering other mages who don’t have a place to belong. Their magic tends to be a patchwork of various styles and tools.

Kopa Loei: The descendants of Hawaiian and other Polynesian wizard-priests, dedicated to preserving their arts and native lands against the predations of ha’ole influence.

Ngoma: Powerful wizards of ancient Africa who took offense to being lumped in en masse with the Dreamspeakers at the first meeting of the Traditions, and went their own way. Decimated by imperialism and slavery that nearly destroyed their ancient ways, the surviving Ngoma seek out positions of power and respect in mortal society while also establishing schools to revive their art.

Orphans: A catch-all term for any mage that doesn’t belong to a particular faction, this can include deeply idiosyncratic self-taught mages, small groups who follow a particular paradigm together, or even defectors from one of the major factions. Quite often, they might not even be aware of larger magical society.

Sisters of Hippolyta: Tracing their descent from the ancient Amazons, the Hippolytoi largely live in separate enclaves from the rest of society. They dedicate themselves to worshipping the Divine Feminine, striving towards world peace, and liberating oppressed peoples of all types. Their magic focuses around pagan medicine-work.

Taftani: Middle Eastern mages who are masters of creating magical artifacts, as well as binding djinni to their will. They believe in a dualistic universe of Truth and Lies, and that working vulgar magic and exposing people to the Truth that magic is real is a moral good.

Templar Knights: Yes, those Templars, now existing as a secretive paramilitary order. Formerly (and largely still) male-only, the Templars fight evil and await the return of Christ, when they will become His army.

Wu Lung: Ancient Chinese sorcerers (and longstanding enemies of the Akashic Brotherhood) who wielded great wealth and power before the Cultural Revolution drove them out of China. Having adapted to the modern world, they seek to regain their power and lead a rebirth of traditional Chinese magic and culture.

What’s the campaign like?

Most games focus on mages of different Traditions coming together as a cabal (or Technocratic Conventions as an Amalgam), but where it goes from there is up to you. Really, it could be like anything you can imagine. You could be trying to use your magic to change the world for the better while avoiding the attention of the Technocracy, playing as the Technocracy trying to stop mages who are using their powers carelessly, dealing with magical politics, or even ignoring all of that and going on mystical quests in otherworldly realms (or, for technomancers, exploring strange dimensions in your spaceship).

Cabals can pool their resources into making a magical Sanctum that serves as a base of power, a place to safely work magic, and a source of Quintessence for magical fuel. You can upgrade it in numerous ways, from defenses to libraries, and maintaining a sanctum and its role in the local magical community can be a storyline in its own right.

As your characters increase their magical skills, they’ll be guided along spiritual journeys by their Avatar - the Awakened essence of their soul that allows them to perform magic. One by one, they cast aside their tools and embrace the truth that it is they themselves that are the source of magic. Eventually, they might even achieve Ascension - whatever that is.

The classic Mage campaign strikes a balance between the magical and the mundane, high fantasy and sci-fi action contrasted against personal dramas and worldly problems. The central themes of the game are power, morality, and belief. As a mage, you can change reality to suit your will. What do you do with that power? What if reality doesn’t want to be changed? Is it right to force your viewpoint on others? Despite all your power, you’re still just one person, and the universe is stacked against you. What do you do?

What books should I get?

The 20th Anniversary Edition, or M20, is the edition I’d recommend, published in recent years as the result of a Kickstarter (which, full disclosure, I backed, although it’s not as though I get anything out of promoting it). It advances the timeline past the apocalyptic Revised setting into something brighter and more hopeful - while also providing tools and advice to play with other eras or flavors of Mage if you want. Getting physical copies of it can be a little pricey though, so if you want something physical on a budget you might look at getting used copies of the other editions - they float around pretty frequently for about $10-$40. PDFs and print-on-demand copies of most books are available on Drivethrurpg as well. Each of the older editions are fine in their own right (although be advised that the further back you go, the less balanced the magic system is). 1st Edition is very clear-cut good Traditions versus evil Technocracy. 2nd Edition muddies that morality and fleshes out the Technocracy and other factions. Revised Edition does away with a lot of the weirder elements of prior editions and presents a grimmer vision of the world where the Technocracy has more or less won, Paradox is a much harsher force, the other worlds are mostly cut off and very difficult to travel to, and the world in general is plunging towards apocalypse (and the end of the original game line). There’s also Mage: the Sorcerer’s Crusade, which presents the world in a medieval/Renaissance setting at the beginning of the Ascension War, and Dark Ages: Mage, which takes the setting into medieval times.

M20 has a separate book going into further detail on the magic system. It’s called, appropriately enough, How Do You DO That? and I’d recommend it if you’re looking to get into M20, as it provides rules guidelines for a wide range of common spell effects that goes more in-depth than the core rules. There are two other M20 books published to date. The Book of Secrets contains more character options, expanded rules (including creating magical items), a closer look at magical paradigms, and other assorted information. Gods and Monsters has an assortment of NPCs, spirits, and, well, monsters.

The Tradition/Convention books detail each of the respective factions and were reprinted for multiple eras (note that all the Revised Convention Books except for Iteration X were PDF-only though). For Revised, there were also the Guides to the Traditions/Technocracy. If you’re thinking about focusing your campaign around a particular faction or playing a character of that faction, I’d recommend picking one of those books up for more detail and inspiration. The various Disparate Crafts never got their own dedicated books for the most part, but some of them are detailed in various sourcebooks across editions, such as the Book of Crafts.

The Book of Worlds and Horizon present the different Umbral realms and otherworldly magical/technological sanctuaries you can travel to. Much of these setting details have been superseded (or in the case of Horizon, destroyed entirely), but if you want your campaign to lean on the weirder high fantasy end it’ll give you a lot to play with.

Ascension was the book that ended the old product line, presenting several different world-ending scenarios - one of which is pretty much the canon ending to the Mage story (at least until M20 came along) and the others being alternate ways to cap out a chronicle, like the Nephandi winning, aliens showing up to drain magic from the world, or just a giant asteroid hitting Earth. While you probably don’t want to start your campaign out that way, it’s an interesting read that gives ideas for an epic campaign ending.

Note that Mage: the Awakening, while very similar, is a completely separate game that’s part of the new World of Darkness (now also known as the Chronicles of Darkness) that rebooted the product line with a different setting.

What equipment do I need?

As with all Storyteller games, Mage uses d10s exclusively. About 6 per character is the most you’ll need on average to start out with. Having extra space beyond the character sheet to write down spells is a good idea.

[elliot-orion]

New Years Resolutions

Personally, I have a love-hate relationship with resolutions. On one hand, I love how people take the time to make new goals that they want to follow and look at this as a new beginning even if its just another day! But also, we joke about them constantly and people go into them almost with the mindset of “im not going to follow this,” and they set unrealistic goals like “git fit” and stuff, when they should set something like “do a 30 min workout three days a week” and then they beat themselves up over failing anyways. And i don’t like that. But nevertheless, I’m making my own. Because idk tradition or something. Here goes nothing!

1. Get 25 rejections

I’m intending to start querying for my first time this year, and to make this easier on myself, I’m going to do that tried and true writer thing of making it into a bit of a game to see how many rejections i can get. My goal is 25. Probably going to get more, but hell, start small. 

2. Start one of my Projects, and upkeep it for three months 

Projects include: Etsy store, youtube channel, any of the many blogs i want to start (studyblr, official writing blog, restart tea one...), etc. DO IT ELLIOT! and don’t give up bc it gets hard/you get bored/whatever the hell excuse i want to give. I always give up on stuff. THIS IS THE YEAR IM COMMITTING!! 

3. Read 10 books, review them all (Goodreads or here, either works)

Okay, yea, that’s a small number of books for a writer. But listen. LISTEN. Reading is HARD okay?? My ADD ass can’t concentrate for that fucking long okay? This is probably a reach anyways, but i’m going to try. I want to make at least 3 of them be from indie authors, either people i meet on tumblr, or something. This is honestly the hardest of all the goals. 2 is tough too, but i’m capable of starting all my projects, its the upkeep thats harder, and that’s just a matter of wills. but this? This is a toughie, partially bc i just can’t find books i like enough to keep engaged with, and partially bc of my mental illness.

4. Achieve the AestheticTM

Okay, I know this sounds super dumb, but its something really important to me, okay? Call me basic, but it really is. After years of struggling with what i want and what i feel comfortable wearing and struggling with identity, I’ve finally really figured out what it is that i love and that i feel comfortable in. I really want to actually achieve True Aesthetic, and I know I can now. My wardrobe is already half there, I’m going to the perfect college for it, I’ve got my cat and everything. Im almost there. Just gotta get that last bit, and i’m there, and I’m so excited to really be living my best life. 

So yea. These are my resolutions. I’ve spent every year since 6th grade with the resolution “work on depression/anxiety” being my only, goal. I’ve FINALLY made it to a point where i don’t think that’s a goal anymore. I did it. I’m a functional bi, and not a disaster one. 2019 isn’t going to be the year of surviving by a thread. It’s going to be the year of living my best life. I’m going to do it. Somehow. And that’s the tea, sis. ;)

[brxedens]

silent night // self-para

WHO: Ben Braeden

MENTIONED CHARACTERS: Lisa Braeden, Dean Winchester. 

WHEN:  December 25th, 2018

WHERE: Battle Creek, Michigan. 

TW:  violence, assault,  guns, blood. 

After his mother and step-father had come to pick Ben up from campus, there’s a sigh of relief after a rough couple of weeks that he’s going home to somewhere familiar. To things he knows as opposed to things, he was still getting used to. 

Christmas afternoon. Presents well already opened. The crackling hot flames of the Braeden home’s fireplace, shining bright as Ben is in some ridiculous Christmas sweater his step-father had gotten them so himself, Ben and Lisa could match. Ben thought it was completely unesssicary but who was he to ruin a Christmas tradition set by them?  What was Christmas without traditions and spent with those closest to you? Ben could be always pretty good with life as long as he had his mom around. He could sit there and reflect now. 

College to him had been a blast. An experience in its own that Ben had just scratched the surface of. He was getting good grades. He was a hotshot amongst his peers, older and freshman alike.  It was pretty perfect with no faults until Troy had died. Ben didn’t have many experiences with death, especially not to a friend his age. This was really the first that it had affected on a primary level because it was someone he knew. Not someone his friend knew. Not someone in his family. Not someone his mom knew. It was his friend.

He was from his baseball team died and the closest thing he had to a best friend there under circumstances he still didn’t completely understand. He’d been questioned by the police and then the FBI and still, he’d heard nothing. He got no closure. He hadn’t even gotten a real goodbye. He couldn’t help but feel slightly responsible. It was a shock to the fun mentality Ben had built up for himself in prepping for college but nothing could have prepared him for that. He contemplated on calling Dean for updates. How is it that some FBI agent he only spoke to for a few minutes seemed to care more about this case than anyone other than Troy’s parents? More than all the police. How could Ben tell all of that after a few minutes of discussion as opposed serval long hours by the police so they could get the most information they could. 

All he could think about while he was staring at the fire was what could he have done? What more could have done so that his friend never would have died? What could he have changed about that particular night of the part? Did Troy’s parents blame him as much as he blamed himself behind closed doors? He didn’t even know. 

The TV in the background was on the local New Channel. Talking about how there was a series of break-ins around the area, though to been done by youngers. Ben’s not really listening though. His attention is brought by his step-father asking him if he’d delivered the presents to his old school friends who lived not too far from him in which Ben responded that he’d forgotten.

He got up, ran upstairs and grabbed his coat, his hat, his scarf, some gloves and left with the presents he’d collected on the counter of the kitchen. He left through the back and went around the house. He’d done so much planning these last few weeks that maybe a walk would be good for him to clear his head.

Lisa, his mother, kept asking him if he was okay. Mainly because he was uncharacteristically quiet for this time of year and she definitely knew Troy’s death and that he needed some time but Ben didn’t want to intentionally push his mother away in the process but that seemed to be what he was doing. Ben and Lisa had an honest and open relationship. It’s hard for them to ever keep things and even if they did, it’s not for long. 

30 MINUTES LATER. 

Ben had only taken a little longer in delivering those gifts to his friends because he was invited inside to try some fresh pie they’d made and who was he to resist an offer like that? So it took him a little extra and he had come back with Christmas cards by there’s an eerie feeling that sets into his stomach when he gets to his front door.

The door was open. His first thought was that maybe he’d left it open? But then it hits him that he went through the back door and not the front. His knots tighten and his throat gulps as he slowly sets through the door with a Christmas bell chiming as he enters. Maybe he had nothing to worry about? Maybe his mom went out and forgot or maybe they were close by? Maybe had had a reason not to act as if the world was ending right before his very eyes.

Nothing seemed out of place other than that when he finally came inside. He shut the door behind him and lingers in the entrance of his house. It wasn’t quiet. If anything, the house was just as nosy as he left it. Or louder. Instead of the News he left on, the television noise of static is prominent and that freaks Ben out a little. His nerves skyrocket. He can hear the music of the radio playing in the kitchen. It’s nostalgic and it’s playing Sleigh Ride. 

But it’s the absent sounds that leave him concerned so he calls.

“Mom? Pierson?” 

Once.

“Guys? Hey, I’m back.” 

Twice

“Just letting you know I’m alive?.... Mom?” 

Third times was when his body froze over like the ice on the streets outside when he enters the living room. His body felt like it was going to shut down at what he was seeing now in the shape of three average size boys in black ski masks. The one in the middle clearly bigger than the other by his side and had a noticeable black leather jacket that’s hood came on top.  It’s striking to Ben’s memory. His mom and his step-father tied up by their hands and mouths.  Then it made sense, though Ben had passively been watching, he knew this was the people they were referring to on the news. 

Nothing is audible but Ben’s parents are almost pleading with their eyes and grumbles for Ben to run away and to get away. To get help but all that’s running through his mind is that they’re in tragedy. That they’re in need and Ben’s honest frozen. He doesn’t know what he should do at this moment? He should be taught right. Pierson, his step father’s seems to be the loudest which annoyed them apparently. With the handle of a gun, Ben’s stepfather is knocked cleaned out with a quick swing that makes Ben jump. 

His hands shaking with sweat, Ben’s turned around as if he was going to make a run for it but he wouldn’t? His mom was still there with an unconscious Pierson laying next to her. 

Don’t even think about it, kid. Or your mom here is gunna get it next.

Ben wanted to gather up all the strength and courage he had to do more. He couldn’t let anyone, especially these pathetic human beings of robbers hurt his mom but what was he supposed to do. So Ben has a fake facade of confidence on now even though he’s shaking with everything in his body. 

“Is that supposed to scare me? You think you guys are scary?”

No. But this should.

And with that, the guy in the middle, the clear ringleader in this messed up circus’ act was now pointing a gun at Lisa and it’s like his mother has dead eyes as she stared at the armed weapon. Ben wouldn’t have this? Threats to his mom who had been nothing but give kindness to those who deserved it. Who’d singlehandedly raised him into the guy he was today? No. Threats on her were unacceptable. So it took Ben’s whole being and willpower to do this but he threw himself in front of the gun as if to say fuck it. 

The guy laughed. All of them did. Before the leader moved his gun right to Ben’s head whilst the others continue to take stuff from the house to their vehicles outside that Ben had walked past thinking it wasn’t too strange. The streets were empty, everyone in their homes for Christmas.

The bravery is cute and all kid but how about you quit your yapping and get on your fucking knees and shut the fuck up. You hear me? I can do this so many ways but it’d be easier if you stop fucking talking. Or do you want to end up like your old man over there?

Ben’s shaking like a leaf. What now? He looked towards his mom and thought that somehow she might be disappointed in him. Instead, she nods. Just do what they say. Maybe they’d get out of this better of then Ben doing anything stupid but how could Ben do that? He shouldn’t play hero. but somehow that was in his veins and maybe it was stupid. Ben slowly lowered to his knees, hand above behind his head. Hereos had power, right? But how could he unlock that when this gun is pointed at his head. He’s facing the possibility of death right on him and his life would be taken away with a pure click.

He was anything but powerful. He felt pathetic. That he wasn’t doing a good job as a son in protecting his mother from crap like this. 

The other two minions of trio with black masks were in and out of the house, waving to neighbours as if they were friends of the Braeden household clan but had no clue that Ben was inside facing life or death. Lisa was tied up. Pierson was unconscious but while a few minutes that get longer and longer pass by, Ben’s anger bubbles until a breaking point where he explodes like a bomb going off. 

So quick fear had turned to anger had turned to rage. 

He charged where he used all the strength he had within him to knock the guy down. The gun slid a little distance towards the Christmas tree and Ben just throws punches at his face for a while until it gets him to bleed. 

Son of a bitch. How the fuck? Y-....You are dead, kid. You are so fucking dead.

They wrestle each other and the guy should have had the advantage. He slips Ben onto the floor to pin him there while he tries reaching for his gun. Ben also trying to reach for it just so he can have it. To gain power. To gain that advantage and make this guy feel as useless as Ben had felt a few moments ago with that weapon to his head. But it’s only occurred to him that these kids didn’t sound like old men. They sound around his age which was sad for only a short while. He could never forgive anyone who tried to hurt his family. 

In the midst of the brawling, the robber got hold of the gun again and Ben panicked.

“No!”

He screamed as he did a lunch jump from the ground to tackle him and in that tackled the gun went off. It was loaded, as he expected but from his position on the floor, he looked forward to seeing that his mom was silent and was bleeding. 

It got her. 

The robber took that time to get up and run. He didn’t actually plan on shooting anybody. It was just leverage. The power he needed and he didn’t someone blood on his hands so he took off without thought. 

“Mom.” Ben got up and went to her side immediately to press on the wound but hadn’t thought straight. He had her literally blood on his hands. “N-No...No. Mom. Please stay with me okay. Don’t close your eyes. You’re going to be okay.” he spoke to reassure himself before he ran to get some actual cloth. He heard on television or film or something of the kind he was supposed to put pressure on the wound right whilst he called 991. So he did that. Exactly that. He did what he was supposed to do. 

He sat by her side, cling onto her but not too tight.

“This was my fault mom...Stay with me, okay. The ambulance is coming. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.” 

And now there are years running through his eyes whilst the continuation of television static and another random Christmas song on the radio playing. Silent Night lyrics. Sleep in Heavenly Peace. 

[eldritchsurveys]

220.

What is your favorite type of cat? >> The quiet, fastidiously clean, low-shed kind.

If you could delete any word from existence, which word would it be and why? >> Meh.

What is your favorite swearword? >> I guess fuck, I say it a lot.

What celebrity do you wish you looked more like? >> ---

If you had your way, what color(s) would you dye your hair? >> I mean, I do have my way, and I still don’t bother with colouring my hair (although I did a few times when I was a bit younger). It’s fine the way it is, I generally don’t wear my hair long enough to bother, and colouring is way too much work (or money, if I pay someone reputable to do it).

Do you support the LGBTQ community? If not, state your reasons. You are entitled to your opinions. >> I mean, yes.

Do you like seafood? If so, what is your favorite? If not, what is your favorite type of food? >> I love seafood. Scallops and tilapia are two favourites.

Have you ever gone vegan/vegetarian? >> I was raised pescetarian -- or, more accurately, “vegan, but fish was the sole exception”.

Have you ever eaten a veggie burger? >> Yeah, I eat them daily.

If you could master any sport, which one would you choose? >> I don’t want to master any sports.

If you could meet any major political figure, who would it be? What would you say to him/her?  >> I don’t want to do this.

Do you play any unique instruments? >> No.

In school, did you take any classes to learn how to play any instruments? >> I didn’t, I was a choir kid.

Do you like applesauce? >> Yep.

Do you know any German words? >> I do, since it’s my Duolingo focus.

How about any Portuguese words? >> I know “obrigado”, and that’s because I heard it a lot from an ex-friend.

Did you actually pay attention in Spanish class? >> I did.

If you drink Monster, what is your favorite flavor? If you don't drink Monster, why not?  >> I don’t drink it because I find it repulsive. Also, I’m not sure the stuff in them is any good for me, and it doesn’t have any benefits, so it’d be pointless for me to drink it unless I just wanted to punish my body for some reason.

Do you think any of your family members voted for Mitt Romney? Did you/would you? >> I don’t know anything about this. No, I didn’t vote at all that year.

Do you have a reason to hate anyone at the moment? >> I’m sure I could invent one, but I’d rather not bother.

Is it easier for you to forgive or to pretend it never happened? >> I usually just try to move on with my life as quickly as I can, and make a mental note to avoid whatever situation fucked me over in the future.

Are you one of those people who remembers EVERYTHING? >> In comparison to other people I know, it might seem that way sometimes.

Do you sometimes pretend you don't remember something about someone? >> No.

Do you own any Webkinz stuffed animals? If so, do you have a Webkinz online account? Do you still go on it? >> No.

If you had/have a Club Penguin account, how old were you when you got it? >> I’ve never had an account there.

Do you own any Nintendo video game consoles/handhelds? >> We have a Switch and a 3DS. Mostly Sparrow plays them.

Do/did you ever own a Blackberry? >> I did own one, when they were popular.

Do you know the band Noah & the Whale? >> I’ve heard of them, but never listened.

Do you listen to Ingrid Michaelson? >> No.

If you have a song stuck in your head, what's the name of it & the artist? >> I don’t.

Do you know who Sue Lyons is? How about Dominique Swain? >> No and no.

Unpopular opinion time. Be honest. The Beatles - overrated or not? >> I’ve never much cared for them, and I’m a little dim on their impact on popular music -- mostly because I never cared enough to research it.

What religion were you raised in? Are you still that religion, if you had one? >> I was raised casually-Christian. I am not a Christian now. (I highly doubt I ever was one, even when I was attempting to be.)

What religion/spiritual path intrigues you the most, if any? >> I mean, all of them do, really. Christianity is just the one that intrigues me least (although the Bible’s kinda neat in parts).

What ancient culture intrigues you the most, if any? >> All of them.

What was/is your favorite subject in school? >> ---

What was the last name of your second grade teacher? >> Condor, I think. She was technically a sub because the actual teacher was out all year for some reason.

Who was your favorite teacher of all time? >> ---

Were/are you a teacher's pet? >> No.

Do you like pink lemonade? >> Sometimes. I generally prefer plain lemonade.

Do you have a Spotify account? >> Yup.

Firefox or Chrome? >> Chrome.

Safari or Internet Explorer? >> Neither.

Windows or Mac? >> Windows.

Desktop or laptop? >> Laptops are what I’m used to by now.

What's your favorite U2 song, if you have one? >> I’ve always really liked Walk On and Sunday Bloody Sunday.

What's your favorite song that's playing on the radio, if you have one? >> ---

What's a song that you remember from your childhood? >> All Coming Back to Me Now, Céline Dion.

Are/were your parents hippies? >> No.

Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? >> I’ve wanted them for most of my life, but I know I don’t have the executive function to maintain them properly, so I’ve given up on the idea.

If you had a baby boy right now, what would his middle name(s) be? >> ---

What heritage does your last name imply? >> I don’t know.

How about your middle name? >> None, it’s a word.

And first? >> Arthurian...? lmao.

What is your heritage, anyway? >> Black American, Haitian, Native American.

Were your parents born in the United States? Most importantly, were you? If not, what country?  >> One parent was, one wasn’t. I was.

Name an American stereotype? >> I’d rather not.

Name a stereotype from your country/culture? >> ---

Do you have any paint in your house? Is it wall paint, art paint, or something else? >> No.

Do you ever swing at the playground & listen to music? >> I haven’t done that in a very long time, but it’s a pretty good way to pass the time.

What was your favorite age so far? >> ---

What was your least favorite age so far? >> ---

Were you/are you in a rush to grow up? >> I was in a rush to grow up because I couldn’t abide my father’s tyrannical style of parenting. Now, it’s irrelevant.

What's your opinion on tattoos in the workforce? How about piercings?  >> It’s not even my place to have an opinion, I’m not a part of the workforce.

Do women breastfeeding in public make you feel uncomfortable? Why or why not? >> No. Because... why would it???

Do you know the band The Last Place You Look? >> No.

If not, you should check them out. Do you like A Day To Remember? If not, they're a lot like The Last Place You Look. >> I don’t know anything about their music.

What is the most annoying commercial you've seen/heard this past week? >> I haven’t seen any commercials.

What is your favorite holiday? >> Christmas.

What holidays do you choose not to participate in, but others celebrate? >> Valentine’s Day, Independence Day, Easter... most of them, I guess, huh.

"Happy Holidays," "Merry Christmas," or "Merry X-Mas?' >> I really don’t give a fuck. Either way, it’s someone being polite, so.

Does it even matter to you which one people say? >> Fuck no.

Why is that every major Christian holiday adopts Pagan traditions in its celebrations? >> That’s an essay-level question that requires multiple citations and fact-checking and I am not going to get into that on a survey, of all places.