#but i think it might be part of my resistance to Changing Labels because like. at least if i'm bi then on some level i did want most of it

[t4tvglow]

i think also. and now this is not well explained but. hm.

[swordsmans]

woagh! rare wip wednesday. i finally found some words and im making... progress? on the other half of mithridatism, aka monster trio poison immunity angst pt. 2, aka zoro's perspective (the parts sanji isnt there for), aka [[a really good title i prommy]].

anyway, thank u @asexualzoro for the funniest thing to happen to me all week, although it is only (as previously mentioned) wednesday. theres still time for comedy. i’m keeping my options open.

text under the cut! as always, keep in mind this is really just a draft…

Then, without another word, he lifts his left hand—fingers splayed—and Zoro feels the fucked up, unnatural buzz of Law’s power blanketing the room like a thousand tiny pinpricks to his senses. He opens his mouth, already halfway to cursing when Law snaps D and A—and suddenly there, in the center of the cold stainless steel operating table, is a jar. 

It’s an unassuming thing—thick purple-red visible through clear surgical-grade glass etched and labeled with a clinical sterility, such a contrast from the repurposed, hand-sealed rows in the Cook’s pantry that Zoro laughs—a half-formed chuckle of disbelief huffed out into the beat of stillness that falls between them. The viscous liquid sits in heavy contrast to the bright, terrible gleam of the room itself; Zoro can’t take his eye off it. Can’t stop staring, like his left lid has been peeled open and taped back, his neck trapped in a vice, his feet nailed to the floor. 

“You’re insane,” Zoro sneers, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Law shrug. 

“This is the New World. I’m not stupid enough to waste valuable resources,” Law replies, unaware or simply uncaring. “The opportunity to study something so potent only rarely—if ever—surfaces. The opportunity to study something resistant to it—well.” Law shrugs again, and Zoro hears the metal edge of the surgical table creak under his own grip. Something in the room snarls, but Law’s expression doesn’t change. “Really, Zoro-ya, you’re being dramatic.”

“You kept his blood,” Zoro spits, and it’s not a question. There’s a sick kind of shine through the glass, an illness to the color that’s not just oxidation but something worse, maybe—because Zoro knows blood. Knows it intimately, deeply, religiously—knows it better than sweat and sake and seawater, and that—

“Oh, I kept more than that,” Law replies. “But two years is a long time, and storage space on a submarine is inherently limited.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

Law raises an eyebrow, unmoved. “Like I said,” he hums, “pragmatist.” 

“We fought for you,” Zoro seethes, “and the whole time Luffy was trying to keep you from killing yourself on Doflamingo’s doorstep, you had this in your cabinets like some kind of fucked-up vampire.” 

“Do you think he would care?” Law asks, and Zoro grits his teeth, silenced, because no, actually. He knows full-well Luffy wouldn’t give a shit if he were even aware of the theft—both because he trusts Law (probably picked him, Zoro knows, the moment the Polar Tang surfaced next to Marineford’s battlefield) and because Luffy would genuinely, honestly, wholeheartedly believe in punching his way through whatever risk a rival Captain’s unrestrained study of his physiology might bring. And Zoro doesn’t doubt he could. 

(Law seems to feel the same—he still hasn’t denied Luffy’s own ability to kill him with a little time and effort, after all.)

[slowd1ving]

HELLOOOOO I'M GONNA SCREAM AGSBSNNS THE COMMENT DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH SPACE SO HERE I AM LOL

Goodness, FIRST OF ALL, I thoroughly enjoyed how you added your own narration to what could've been going in through vil's head leading up to the overblot, the deteriorating thoughts and the desperation,,, so awesome, and how he finally reaches the stage of acceptance both in terms of his rivalry with neige AND the MC?? Ah yes, how bittersweet. And also, I love how the little idea that MC can sort of "read" / look into people's memories post overblot was implemented here, I legit just pointed at the screen and went "AHA. 🫵 GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE"

Aside from that,,, besides The fact that the chapters were appropriately labeled before being posted, I actually kind of predicted what MC might have asked for had they won hehe they're so wicked LMAO (which, speaking of, even if it's not relevant anymore, what would have been their score? I'm quite curious! But it's okay if you didn't think about that particular detail lol, there was a lot more to look toward to hehe)

AND OMG THE PARALLELS BETWEEN VIL'S DREAM AND THE ACTUAL SCENE AAAA I LOVE IT, I LOVE SEEING HIM LOSE HIS MIND LMAOO (also stockings????????? I had to take a walk for a moment 🫠🫠) and rook being an absolute menace when he puts two and two together 😭🙏god bless that freak

Wahhh just a very delightful series overall, your writing is just wonderful and you just earned yourself a new follower HALLO :333

LMAO BRO WENT OVER THE WORD COUNT😭😭

yeah honestly the twst writers missed out on a treasure trove of content when it comes to thoughts pre-ob; like that haze you go through when you're losing it 😔and for the acceptance bit - I feel like Vil's a more dynamic character than one to keep such a grudge without it changing (he's still petty to neige now over MC LMAO). I like how twst did the peek-into-memories bit it makes the ob seem so much more human 😭had to include it ofc

bro MC was DEVIOUS especially with that little flirtatious thing they were doing right after the assessment...in terms of their score they won lmao (like a biological weapon vs a poison comeonnn now) in the original I'd posted on ao3 a while back I did include that they still came out on top with the magical resistivity in play - but only in the notes not the actual work

cuz I felt like not revealing it showed growth for vil since the letter was still unopened by morning which meant he was focusing more on human connection (literally lmao) rather than his 'perfection' for once 😭but yeah revealing it in the fic would've still been brutal for poor vil

YESSS THE PARALLELS WERE MY FAVOURITE PART TO WRITE!! like I needed him to question whether they'd seen his dreams and not just his memories lmao (honestly I'm still not sure if their dreams connected or MC just saw it like they did with the original scenes with the original films - but that would've been a pretty interesting out of body experience)

smth about men in stockings bro.... had the most DEVIOUS smile like hed totally wear them anyway because theyre elegant or whatever bros a little 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 with it 😭😭

rook was putting two and two together a long time ago 😭nah but writing him being romantic earlier made me tempted to make it about him instead

thank youuu i might write a similar style with alhaitham or smth because GODDDDD academic rivalry is so 🤩

you earned yourself a follow back 😭 these comments made me genuinely so happy to read through

HELLO YA :3

[mediaevalmusereads]

The Word for World is Forest. By Ursula K. LeGuin. Tor, 1972.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: science fiction, novella

Part of a Series? Sort of - occurs after The Dispossessed but before Planet of Exile.

Summary: Centuries in the future, Terrans have established a logging colony & military base named "New Tahiti" on a tree-covered planet whose small, green-furred, big-eyed inhabitants have a culture centered on lucid dreaming. Terran greed spirals around native innocence & wisdom, overturning the ancient society.

Humans have learned interstellar travel from the Hainish (the origin-planet of all humanoid races, including Athsheans). Various planets have been expanding independently, but during the novel it's learned that the League of All Worlds has been formed. News arrives via an ansible, a new discovery. Previously they had been cut off, 27 light years from home.

Terran colonists take over the planet locals call Athshe, meaning "forest," rather than "dirt," like their home planet Terra. They follow the 19th century model of colonization: felling trees, planting farms, digging mines & enslaving indigenous peoples. The natives are unequipped to comprehend this. They're a subsistence race who rely on the forests & have no cultural precedent for tyranny, slavery or war. The invaders take their land without resistance until one fatal act sets rebellion in motion & changes the people of both worlds forever.

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: violence, blood, slavery, references to rape

Overview: I love Ursula K. LeGuin's work, but for some reason, I hadn't picked up this novella. It was sitting on my shelf, so I figured "why not" and dove right in. Overall, this is a very well-crafted novella with a strong anti-colonialist narrative. While not every character or plot is as developed as what you might expect out of a novel, it feels like the message matters more than the individual characters, so in that respect, everything works. So partially out of appreciation and partially because of my love for LeGuin, this book gets a high rating from me.

Writing: LeGuin's prose is described as "quiet" and "straightforward" on the cover of my edition, and I think that's apt. Sentences are clear and concise, and I had no real trouble finding my way. The only thing that I think might give readers trouble is some of the lingo, but only if they go into this book cold (having not read other books in the series).

I will say, though, that I very much appreciated that LeGuin depicts violence without indulging in the spectacle. While there are aome shocking moments, LeGuin doesn't spend a long time on the individual acts. Instead, she lingers on the effects, which showcases how violence changes people.

Plot: The plot of this book primarily follows three characters: Selver (an Athshean who leads a revolt against the humans), Lyubov (a scientist who studies the Athsheans), and Davidson (a captain who is hell bent on subduing the Athsheans in order to colonize the planet). The humans have established several settlements on the forrested planet of Athshean for the purposes of shipping wood back to a depleted Earth. They use the Athsheans (who they label "creechies") as slave labor, though they insist the work is "voluntary." The plot begins with Selver gathering support from various "tribes" to attack the human settlements and drive their oppressors from their land.

This plot borrows heavily from the historical treatment of Indigenous Americans as well as some language that justified the enslavement of Africans. Because of this historical consciousness, LeGuin is able to paint a convincing picture of colonialism and unequivocally condemns it. While we may have sympathy for individual humans, LeGuin makes clear that morally, we should be on the Athsheans' side.

But what I also liked was the way LeGuin discusses how colonization changes the Athsheans. LeGuin makes a big deal of the fact that prior to human colonization, the Athsheans did not commit violence against each other (at least, not in hatred). After human occupation, however, their eyes are opened to new concepts, and Selver laments that his people can't unlearn them, even if they drive humans away forever. I didn't get the impression that LeGuin was infantalizing the Athsheans by portraying them as universally peaceful; they had their own ways of resolving conflicts that didn't involve violence, so instead, the message felt like a condemnation of violence itself. But this condemnation, thankfully, is never used to criticize the Athsheans; though they use violence against their oppressors, LeGuin is clear that it is, in this moment, just - probably because the Athsheans have no other options.

Characters: There are a number of characters in this book, but for the purposes of this review, in going to focus on the three main POV ones listed above.

Selver, the Athshean "rebel leader" is incredibly sympathetic in that he desperately wants to free his people but doesn't do so without buy in from respected members of his community. I really appreciated the way LeGuin showed him to be grappling with the effects that both colonization and committing violence has on him; though he never second guesses the morality of his cause, he does feel that violence cops away at some part of him, and it's incredibly sad to watch. The only thing that I didn't like much about Selver was that he had a dead wife in his past; Selver's wife was raped and murdered by Davidson, and though Selver exposes some pain at her loss, she doesn't seem to be missed as much as one might expect. I can't quite tell if I'm glad Selver's actions aren't primarily driven by his angst, but I do wish his wife had more of a presence in his memory.

Lyubov is a human scientist who has a positive relationship with the Athsheans. He has learned their language and visits their settlements, and he is even close friends with Selver. I found the friendship to be incredibly moving, mostly because Lyubov and Selver find themselves torn between loyalty to their people and the necessary actions they must take. Lyubov in particular struggled with trying to figure out his role in the Athshean uprising; he never thinks that the humans are correct, but he also doesn't wish to see more bloodshed. It was a good portrait of what allyship could look like, particularly allyship that is difficult.

Davidson, the captain, is the embodiment of the most racist and elitist characteristics that one might ascribe to settler colonialism. While his perspective wasn't pleasant to read, it was necessary; his thoughts exposed how the humans viewed the Athsheans as beastial and effeminate, just because their way of life doesn't resemble the militaristic one that the humans bring to Athshean. It's quite easy to hate Davidson because LeGuin is not subtle, but perhaps this directness is needed to make her overall message hit home.

TL;DR: The Word for World is Forest is a powerful, anti-colonial novella that justifies the use of violence (against oppression) while lamenting its effects. While not as complex as a full novel, this book had a coherent message that motivates the reader to critique settler colonialism in our own world.

[13-beutelteufel]

Paradise (tlod)- The message - Part I

Paradise - The Lady of Darkness (tlod) is a connected story. The correct order is in the masterlist in my pinned post

"Jeez Moonshine, you can't be serious!" Hermes realised that his grumbling was obviously having no effect. Moonshine was still sitting on the windowsill and staring demonstratively into the rain. But the way she had her legs bent and her arms wrapped around her body showed that, although she wanted to appear disinterested, the whole thing wasn't leaving her unaffected. She didn't look like a goddess, more like a pathetic heap of misery. Hermes realised that she wasn't entirely comfortable with Rosalie's and Green Poud's decisions. But like them, she was probably powerless against the elder's word and sheer stubbornness. Rainbow and Hermes had made it their mission to get the goddess on their side after all. Moonshine was the most sociable of the three and not least the only one who was still on Chamomile at the moment. Rosalie and Green Poud had vanished into nirvana after declaring the discussion over. Rainbow had tried to use logical arguments, but quickly realised that he was getting just as little progress with them as he had with Green Poud or Rosalie. He probably thought the whole thing had failed by now and was even more likely to consider Hermes's nagging a complete waste of time. But the messenger of the gods had a strategy. If he kept nagging for long enough, he was bound to get a reaction at some point. No matter how much Moonshine switched off, she would eventually respond to him, because he wouldn't give up before then. And everyone in the room knew that. "Hello, are you at least talking to me?" … "Look at me, perhaps?" … "Or maybe some kind of emotion?" … "Blinking, perhaps?" … "Hello, blink." … "Can't you blink?" "Damn it Hermes, I can blink!" Moonshine turned away from the window and stared at him angrily. "You can! Now let's have a balanced conversation." Oh yes, she wasn't feeling well. He could clearly see it in her eyes. Everything in her seemed to be resisting the task she had been given. But there was something else. Fear. No wonder, you might think, after all they were in a war that they couldn't actually win, but Hermes had another terrifying thought about the reason for this fear. It was like a dark shadow that seemed to loom over the goddess. A darkness, a deep-seated, bloodcurdling horror. Something that had been sleeping deep inside her and suddenly stirred, like a monster that had slept too long. And it had awoken again with Bargoss's declaration of war. They all had their own baggage to carry after Draragon's attack. Fears, insecurities, nightmares. And this war would definitely add to them. But Hermes had never realised how complex some of these traumas were. How intricately knitted and complicated and detailed they were in their entirety. And that they could fundamentally influence the behaviour of a person, of any being. Or that others could exploit them to manipulate the person concerned. Hermes turned away from Moonshine. There was no point in bullying her. He couldn't understand her actions, but he was no stranger to the fear and desperation behind them. You can't think clearly when the shadows of the past engulf you. And no amount of whingeing in the world would change that. A knock on the window caused him to turn round again. A tall, human figure was crouching in front of the window. Its face was covered with a hood and it was holding some kind of folder under its arm, which looked far too small in comparison to its gigantic body. For a moment, Moonshine and Hermes just stared at the figure. The creature was not one they recognised. Hermes would have labelled it an Alherbio Messenger if it weren't for the darkness emanating from it. It was as if it was absorbing all light. And not just because its clothes were black.

Part II:

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 185

Achilles Castle part 87

Lemonade and lies PART 30

Mentions Olivia Benson from law and order SVU.

Tanner: pov I bet that was hard for her Mr Castle says you have no idea she was a control freak at the time, she is not so much a control freak anymore. Having health issues does that to you. Her father was told by her therapist to Film and take pictures of her recovery as much as possible, that way she and her Dr's can see how far she has come down the road.

Castle: pov Some of it she hasn't seen since then it's too hard for her to watch. I still remember it like it was yesterday her dad was nice enough to text me a video labeled Katie's first steps. The therapist says I'm doing really good and don't need to use the wheelchair anymore just the crutches.

Dave: pov Alexis maybe we should make a video montage for the charity day at college. To show what type of damage a bullet can do and what it's like to recover from heart surgery . I just don't know how we would get the footage. Maybe we can ask around to see if people have footage of their recovery so we can use it. Or.

Alexis: pov Dave I know what you are going to say I will call my dad and ask him if there is any footage of Beckett from when she was recovering. I know it's not a pleasant topic or memory for Beckett. Dad should be done with therapy soon.

Kate: pov turns out the car might have been tampered with before the accident, hmm interesting I say goodbye to the mechanic and head back to the hospital to pick up Castle. The traffic wasn't too bad. Once I help Castle into the car we stop to pick up some food. He suggests brown rice bowls since they are my favorite. The line inside isn't that long and the guy knows me pretty well since I come here so much. He even gives me a free strawberry smoothie.

Castle: pov At the precinct Kate is carrying in the bags of food while I use my crutches. In the briefing room she put the food down Ryan and Esposito are explaining what they found in the papers which isn't much. Kate tells them what the mechanic said about the car being tampered with before the accident.

Kate: pov the smoothie tastes so good. I think I ate to much food after lunch the 4 of us keep looking through the papers the boys found they are a bunch of papers that proved that Blair did not cause the accident, Ryan is suddenly shouting that he found the evidence that points us right to our killer now that we know who the killer is I will send the boys to go pick up the killer. .

Esposito: pov the house looks a mess and run down, we are not sure if anyone is home, no one replies to our shouts so me and Esposito break the door down and clear the house room by room. I let Ryan handcuff our suspect who is resisting arrest.

Ryan: pov back at the station Kate says she will handle the interrogation of our killer. I put our suspect in interrogation room 1. Kate walks in the room and tells Tammy we have proof she killed her sister and that the accident that her boyfriend died in was not Blair's fault because the car had been tampered with by you Tammy. We have proof I talked to the mechanic who worked on the car before the accident.

Castle: pov I make my way over to Kate's office on my crutches, I want to do something special tonight for dinner, maybe go out. Kate suddenly starts laughing. I ask her what is so funny she says something Liv said on the phone to her. She had a random meeting at 1pp and some guy spilled his coffee on her. It took a few seconds before she realized it was Elliot who was in a rush because he was in trouble for something that had to do with his anger issues. Liv also has a rape case and the husband confessed to everything in 1 minute because he say's its not rape if you are married. I guess her day isn't going well and I have no comment on the last thing. Kate says Liv was lucky she had her bag in the car from last night and could quickly change her shirt.

Esposito: pov Castle is now in Kate's office talking with her, he brushes her hair out of her face. We solved our case, and it turns out the twin sister Tammy killed Blair because she was hanging with Tammy's boyfriend and in a shocking turn of events Tammy tampered with the car, the night of the accident she caused the accident and car fire wow.

Kate: pov ugh I have so much paperwork and I'm starting to get tired. Castle says, Kate if you don't want to go out to eat or are too tired it's fine, I know you have issues going out to eat and don't do well with very large crowds.

Castle: pov I head to the breakroom to answer my phone. It is Alexis calling, she mentions her and Dave are thinking about adding a video montage since Alexis picked the heart charity and Dave picked the end gun violence one for charity day at their college. They both want to know if there is any footage of Kate during her recovery and can I ask Kate if she would be willing to let them use the footage for the video. I tell them I know there is some footage from what Jim told me and will ask but I don't know what her answer will be. She is a very private person. I ask Kate if she is ready to head home. The ride home didn't take that long. I decided to ask Kate about the footage. To be continued. ……….

[mineofilms]

duos trilineum nummum

“Why do we accept small segments of society to object ALL of us to this bizarre, weird delusion that is happening EVERYWHERE.” ~Gutfield

What is WOKE?

The Right hijacked the word WOKE some years back and use it to describe the extreme left. WOKE was officially added into the dictionary in 2017 and its definition is listed as “to be awake to sensitive social issues, such as racism.” However, the word and its use date back to at least a 1962 New York Times article; “phrases and words you might hear today in Harlem.” A black-novelist, William Melvin Kelley, wrote the earliest known use of the word under its new definition in an article titled, “If you’re woke, you dig it.” In 1972, in a play by Barry Beckham, “Garvey Lives!” a character says, ‘he’ll “stay woke,” with the line: “I been sleeping all my life. And now that Mr. Garvey done woke me up, I’m gon stay woke. And I’m gon’ help him wake up other black folk.”’ In the modern-day the word also was used by Conspiracy Theorists to describe they were “in the know” on a subject or theory. Other close definitions are “well-informed, up-to-date.” These two are still accepted as definitions of the word. You can see how crazy this one word’s journey through existence has been. It was used by a black writer, in a black story. It wasn’t used again in relation to race till 2014 during the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri. In the play, the word is used in incorrect English to describe the past or pre-tense of awake, waken, awoke. Not all English is worded correctly when spoken aloud, especially by the uneducated (in this case, used by blacks that didn't have any schooling and just talked how they talked). Should be noted I am not being racist by saying this. It’s true. It’s a part of black culture in this country and still is. Hood-talk is a real thing that is discussed within the Black American community. Black America makes its own English slang for words and how they spell names and pronounce them. All the minority races do this. This isn’t new, its cultural diversity. I see no issues with this at all. Is it correct English, no, but who cares. They know what they are saying. It’s us, people, who do not know, who are not educated in "hood talk" that lose the meaning in it all.

WOKE is both a Subculture and Internet Subculture that attempts to make minority issues displayed as majority issues and those issues be labeled as normal and/or everyday ‘FACTS…’ Try to take a bad idea, that is already widely accepted as a bad idea, change some of the attributes that define the idea as bad and make that seem good and chastise others who do not follow suit.

There You Have It…

I say one, anyone, cannot demand a thing to be real just because they want it to be real. That isn’t how concepts are brought into existence to become part of our reality. There is a process for that and the WOKE ideology does not want to learn, work in, towards, the process. They want to invent their own process that fits the path of least resistance. Herded tribalism cannot reverse engineer critical thinking, logic and common sense to fit different groups’ narcissistic delusions; that whatever they feel like when they wake up in the morning dictates what truth, a “FACT” is, what right and/or wrong is, conceptually, on a daily basis. Just because a person or group either identifies with a thing or not is absolutely irrelevant. It is why we are taught or at least used to be taught at a very young age not to react emotionally to very serious/important things. Because in most cases we cannot use our thinking brain to react correctly.

When culture decided demanding feelings come before logic and teaching kids to lash out using their feelings in a militant way is the extreme opposite of what we should teach young humans how to behave to become adults. Sure, one can blame social media and/or the misinformation that is displayed on social media, but it isn't the misinformation on social media. The misinformation of pure concept on the news networks pretending said misinformation is real life, everyday occurrences, that are teaching the young, the hypersensitive WOKE Culture, that if you want to be heard you must be loud, expressionful and militant. This includes acts of defiance, hateful words like reverse racist comments and now perverted into violence with these people gaining access to firearms or destruction of property. We need to vote those very few that rule over the many out with people that really will choose logic, problem-solving, common sense & critical thinking first over "using their feelings in a militant way" to get a society to respond... They change the meaning of a word by using it over and over again in the media and social media all while using it out-of-context. If you challenge them at all, you are either bullied, canceled or forced to change or things, luxuries are slowly stripped from you till one complies.

That Is Exactly What WOKE Is…

The problem lies in both political parties and the two party system in general. Both lie, cheat, steal from us. Both attempt to manipulate us and the media. Both have their own version as to what a “FACT” is, even though there is only one authority that deems a theory into a fact and that is the scientific community. Both do not care if said thing they spew is even accurate as long as it paints the binary opposite bad, evil, wrong. Both sides believe themselves to be right or righteous, as in correct, even if they do not have the evidence to suggest what they just said or did was actually correct or not. How much more would you like to see from this before Right/Left just get blurred so heavily one or many cannot even tell a difference anymore, besides the hue of the same color into two different shades? Red or Blue... Red and Blue are the same exact color just different hues, equals A-One-Size-Fits-ALL...

Gov't itself attempts to apply one-size-fits-all mentalities as their justification for the concept of right and/or wrong, but there is no wrong on each side as both sides believe themselves to be right at all times and the latter, wrong at all times. Like Religion, humans have outgrown the two party system when both systems practice these things as their main attributes for membership. If both parties did what they actually said they were gonna do. Worked more together than against one another and didn't lie/cheat/steal from the American People; most of these problems would not be where/how they appear NOW... Now the simple answer one or many CANNOT make a thing, anything, true or real in this reality solely on belief/faith alone. One or many must have the tangible thing to show said belief is real or just that, a belief. They must put the work in... Something else both sides makes large claims about that their facts are facts but when people who know what facts really are and how that process works, they go a lookin' only to find that these things that are said to be facts have no legs to stand on. All their attributes are built upon belief/faith solely and not any other thing that could/would prove its existence to be real in the first place.

How Does WOKE Die?

1. Move to Florida. 2. Logic.

Me: (to Chat GBT) What are the steps to being a LOGICAL being?

ChatGBT: (to me) Being a logical being involves using reason, critical thinking, and sound judgment to make decisions and solve problems. Here are some steps you can take to become a more logical person:

• Learn the Principles of Logic: There are many books, courses, and resources available that can help you learn the basics of logic, such as; how to identify and avoid fallacies, how to construct valid arguments, and how to evaluate evidence.

• Practice Critical Thinking: Critical thinking involves analyzing information, evaluating arguments, and making decisions based on evidence and reason. You can improve your critical thinking skills by practicing regularly, questioning assumptions, and seeking out diverse perspectives.

• Develop Your Problem-Solving Skills: Logical thinking is essential for effective problem-solving. You can improve your problem-solving skills by breaking problems down into smaller parts, identifying the root causes of problems, and generating multiple possible solutions.

• Pay Attention to Details: Logical thinking requires paying attention to details and being able to identify patterns and connections between different pieces of information. Practice paying close attention to details and looking for relationships between different pieces of information.

• Practice Self-Reflection: Regularly reflecting on your own thought processes, biases, and assumptions can help you become more aware of your own thinking patterns and identify areas for improvement.

• Seek Out Diverse Perspectives: Exposure to diverse perspectives can help you challenge your assumptions, broaden your understanding of different viewpoints, and improve your critical thinking skills. Seek out opportunities to engage with people from different backgrounds and perspectives.

Remember, becoming a logical thinker is a lifelong journey that requires consistent practice and effort. By following these steps and continuing to seek out opportunities for learning and growth, you can become a more logical, rational, and effective thinker.

Me: (to Chat GBT) Thank ChatGBT on your insight…

“In the United States if you made bad decisions or if you did stupid things; this did not make you a victim. What made you a victim was an immutable characteristic and then people picking on you for the immutable characteristic. Instead we have decided is you make bad decisions or you make false claims and if people don't agree with you now you're a victim of American society.” ~Ben Shapiro

If you want a more detailed view of what I think about our two party system there is my “Diatribe” Trilogy where I wrote three blogs equaling 16,631 words on the subject of “why a woman should have total rights to her body, including the child.” It should not even be up for debate, but it was or is. I had my NON-coin perspective and it took me seven-straight days of writing to hash this out for myself. Links Provided:

Mortui Infantes Translation: Dead Babies https://mineofilms.me/93-2/ Emendatione ad Infantes Mortuos Translation: Amendment to Dead Babies https://mineofilms.me/94-2/ Viene una tormenta Translation: A storm is coming https://mineofilms.me/95-2/

This is where I start to get into the journey of exercising binary thinking from my perception as “normal behavior.” I start to talk about both sides as one-in-the-same, but with different hues (digital photography word for different shad/tint of the same exact color).

Serenitas Nunc Translation: Serenity Now https://mineofilms.me/97-2/

Next is the evolution of Serenity Now with breaking down what a “real” and “fact” actually are and why “anyone” saying “air-quotes, ‘FACTS’” doesn’t make what they just said a “real” and “fact.” I again, point to the current cycle we are on with our current system and how things have been going.

Dormiens excitavit Translation: The Sleeper Has Awoken https://mineofilms.me/101-2/

My last reference will be my shortest entry attempting to define what WOKE is and why it is dangerous. After two years of writing about the WOKE; I think I really got a good solid definition of what this “thing” actually is… I do not know if anyone likes ole movies or not but “They Live” comes to mind…

experrectus locos communes Translation: woke clichés https://mineofilms.me/110-2/

Enter at your own approval…

Politica... EXERCITUS... Logica... Latin for: Politics… WOKE… Logic… by David-Angelo Mineo 3/27/2023 1,943 Words

[star-anise]

Hey, thanks for speaking up. I apologize for the way I wrote about this, all slapdash and sloppy. I agree with your points! My phrasing was not trying to demonize personality disorders, although I realize it came out sounding that way. I think that, in broad strokes, we agree. I burned out of work as a therapist a couple years ago, and have gotten slightly rusty when it comes to communicating my ideas to a broader audience.

The overriding idea I was trying to express, and regret that I did not get across clearly enough, is that NPD and BPD are not 1) entirely bad, even at their worst, 2) resistant to change, or 3) permanent lifelong conditions that can never get better.

When I called BPD an "immutable curse", I was not representing my own assessment of it. It's not immutable, nor a curse. Unfortunately, back when I first studied Abnormal Psychology, that was essentially the way my professor described it. The view of people with BPD as "impossible" and "nightmare clients" was a very widespread attitude many therapists would discuss openly, without receiving any significant pushback from their peers.

They were wrong. As it turns out, that was a skill issue on their part. It was therapists with BPD themselves who worked to establish treatments that could reliably and predictably help to take people whose lives were in constant crisis to a place where they were confidently able to face life's ups and downs and get the kinds of belonging and acceptance they wanted.

The biggest miscommunication here was when I talked about NPD and BPD as things that could be "fully treatable", in the sense that you could have BPD, go to therapy, and then not have BPD anymore. That is a massive oversimplification. You're right that treatment can't entirely wipe the damage of early childhood trauma away and completely re-structure someone's personality, so that things like self-worth and intimacy just aren't difficult for them anymore.

It's more about the disorder going into remission, where the most problematic and damaging parts have backed off and stopped significantly impairing someone's happiness and functioning. It can always relapse, and the underlying issues that made it a risk in the first place might still be there, but it can stop being particularly relevant all the time.

I think that it makes perfect sense to use diagnoses as a nexus for community, self-advocacy, and identity. To be able to say, "Hi, yes, I'm the person you'd stick with that label, question your assumptions." I think that so long as that continues to serve you and the community of people like you, that's a really good idea. I don't want to come across as saying the way you relate to those labels is wrong, because for you, it isn't.

My approach to diagnostic labels is honestly based on extreme skepticism of them. Like yes, neurodivergence and different psychological conditions exist, no doubt; but I am really not persuaded that the mental health field is anywhere near able to accurately classify and describe them. We simply don't have enough knowledge to do it, and are like the field of biology back when it said there were mammals and not-mammals, and was about to get its whole mind blown by the existence of the platypus. What we call "depression" is probably twenty separate disorders stacked together under a big trenchcoat, the way "headache" can refer to a hangover, a migraine, a concussion, or a brain tumor.

In sum: I'm sorry. I will do my best to speak more carefully and mindfully about these issues. Thank you for being willing to speak up and advocate for yourself and your community. I think you're right and I agree with you on so many points. I hope that I can be a better ally and/or less bad obstacle in the future.

Currently getting my socks clean blown off by Rethinking Narcissism, by Dr. Craig Malkin. Which I found, in a roundabout way, from this video on Midsommar, grief, and narcissism.

Tonight I woke up from a nap and accidentally took my morning meds, so I'm going to be up for a few hours because of the meth. In place of sleep, I'll try to roughly sum up some basic ideas proposed by the research the book is based on:

That traits of "narcissism" like entitlement, grandiosity, and feeling special are not inherently toxic. There are times and places they are appropriate and beneficial. If you show up at a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, you should not sit and wait to be seen after people with earaches and coughs. (Actually, medical systems are designed to prioritize people with more urgent needs, and you qualify under that system. You are special and are deserving of different treatment than those others, which is why making your needs known, even insisting on it if you're not listened to appropriately the first time, is an extremely good idea. It keeps you from bleeding to death on the floor, and keeps the hospital from getting its pants sued off by your heirs.)

It is more useful to view "narcissism" not as an inherent immutable personality trait, but as a cluster of coping mechanisms. As previously stated, there are times they are exactly the right coping mechanism for the job. However, people we call "narcissists" tend to cling to these ones even when they become detrimental to themselves and others, often because they lack other ways of regulating their emotions and getting their needs met. And that is something they can change, if a person is willing to put in sincere and difficult work. It is not usually fast change; it's a matter of years, not weeks. But a skillbuilding approach turned Borderline Personality Disorder from an immutable curse to a fully treatable (though not quickly treatable) condition, and there's a lot of hope that it can do the same for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Meanwhile, there's an opposite end to the narcissism spectrum, and it is also pathological and destructive to hang out there all the time. It's an aversion, or even a resistance, to expecting yourself or other people to treat your own feelings, thoughts, ideas, needs, or preferences as important. For Greek mythology reasons, its proposed name is Echoism.

Unfortunately, because most of the damage echoism does is, by its very nature, localized to its sufferer and their own personal relationships, its downsides aren't often talked about. In fact, it's often seen as an ideal moral state, a kind of altruism or saintliness everyone should strive for. As a pathological coping mechanism a person is trapped in, though, it's often more a fear-based reflex than a conscious and deliberate attempt to achieve some real and specific good. It's not actually as beneficial as being able to recognize your needs, desires, positive aspects, and areas of competence or excellence, and bring them forward in your relationships with other people and yourself.

To me this has all been a cross between a gut-punch and a cool, sweet drink of water. There have been other ways to describe echoism over the years, but this feels like the most concise and useful one I've seen in ages.

It specifically puts its pin down in the middle of the moral debate a lot of people struggle with—"What right do I have to put myself forward? What hope do I have of being seen and accepted? Isn't it better not to burden anybody else?"—and says that the problem is not feeling in touch with either side of the equation, but specifically, the inability to move from one part of the spectrum to another when it's merited by circumstances.

When I was a child, I thought Echoism was the answer. It was my ideal. I thought it was what would get me the love and acceptance I wanted, and would keep me safe from the pain of rejection or not being understood. I had no idea it would actually, in fact, be the primary cause of alienation and loneliness for the rest of my life.

Now I'm so deeply thankful I couldn't fully achieve it, in practical terms. As hard as I tried to erase myself, there were always things I loved too much to suppress. I still found ways to express and discover myself in the books I read, the stories I wrote, the intellectual work of school and the experience of pursuing hobbies I loved, my ambitions to be helpful even when they demanded I stop being selfless, and the relationships where I felt safe enough to experience love and acceptance even if I didn't think I deserved them.

There's this question I found a while back that echoed in my bones: Who am I allowed to be around you? Because that's what I felt like, as a child. If I wanted to engage with other people and minimize my risk of harm, it was my job to bend into a pretzel and fit the shape they wanted. And thank god, thank god, thank god, I couldn't fully do it. Despite everything, there were parts of me too strong and bright to lop off completely to get my arms and legs inside the carriage. I was able to take care of myself and let them grow in secret until I found social places I could let them out again. Despite myself, I found ways to grow and thrive, well beyond the trauma that said I shouldn't have.

[pearlcages]

That KTB chapter felt random because I think the story didn’t moved forward and it was shorter. And I want to ping out on thing. After years of wearing prosthetic- long walks don’t causes pain. You don’t wear a prosthetic directly, you wear it with knee socket and compression socks and that absorbs any materialistic impact. My gym partner, carries on with a 18 hours rigorous day of training clients on prosthetic and never feels any. The most authentic way of writing prosthetic is to write it as a extended organ, not as something that causes pain. Humbly requesting you to do some research.

like i said, i can’t tell you what to enjoy! it’s okay that you didn’t like it, but i still do. i hope that you enjoy other parts of the story more if you continue reading it (which hopefully you will)

it’s also great that your gym partner doesn’t experience any pain from physical activity. seriously, i’m not being any type of way in saying that— i’m genuinely glad

i have done some research on prostheses and i’m definitely aware that they don’t attach directly to the residual limb. but i’m 100% not an expert, so i’d love to hear more of your thoughts here

this is the information i have/had when i began writing ktb:

from what i understand, it’s relatively common for prosthetic-associated pain to come up when a user isn’t cognizant of their needs or changes in their body— i.e. swelling or shrinking of the residual limb. shrinking occurs as muscle mass changes happen due to amputees using their residual limb in less active ways, and usually stabilizes a few months after surgery; swelling can happen if a prosthetic user irritates the residual limb more than it’s used to, hot or humid weather, dietary choices, lack of consistent exercise or physical therapy. something that came up a lot was using a thicker compression sock to add additional cushion, but doing something last minute might mean that you’re using a thinner, less shock-absorbent sock. on the flip side, using a sock that's too thick can also cause irritation because it won't fit correctly against the gel padding. bear in mind that this is from memory, so it might not be perfect but i'm happy to dig up my original google doc on the subject if this conversation continues. i kept links to my sources on there

we see arizona experiencing residual limb pain almost two years after her amputation, which is probably (but only probably, not certainly) after it would've fully matured and definitely after shrinkage would have occurred. so we know that she, personally, experienced long-term residual limb pain for whatever reason. my theory on this is that while she is aware of what she’s supposed to be doing, she isn’t genuinely cognizant of how her day to day behavior aggravates the residual limb and doesn't take specific measures to minimize the amount of irritation she causes to her it. we see her consistently resisting help/advice from callie and not listening to her prosthesis specialist, and that's definitely a factor for me

from what we know about how arizona thinks about her amputation/prosthetic use, she seems like the kind of person who would ignore the need to get a new prosthetic fitted or wouldn't maintain physical therapy after her initial run. the show never mentions her going to p.t. after s9, even in passing. they also don't mention her having to change her diet at all, so it's likely that she really didn't. but, honestly, i think we can chalk that up to the writers largely forgetting about the amputation by s11

i did consider writing this explanation into ktb, but whenever i tried it started to feel very preachy very quickly, and more than a little performative. it didn't feel right for me to spend the narrative over-explaining something like this to prove i'd done representation Good and Right, like i would've been doing it to make myself look good instead of just telling the story

i don't think something like this can be labelled specifically inaccurate as long-term residual limb pain does occur, but i'm not trying to lean into any harmful stereotypes here. it feels important to arizona's journey emotionally to acknowledge it, since it was such an obviously abandoned plot line in the show, but what do you think? is there a genuine consensus in the amputee community on what's appropriate to portray here? i haven't come across one, but i'm very open to being corrected if you have any resources to share

[skinnyducky]

made for you // v.h.

hello.. im sorry i havent been posting. school has been keeping me busy but i wanted to post this. this idea comes from @yelenasdarling so thank you ! i recommend listening to halley’s comet by billie eilish (as well as the whole album) bc that’s the song that is being discussed in this (as well as many others), so yuh. enjoy ! and i promise i haven’t forgotten about party @ y/ns !

vinnie hacker x singer!fem!reader

Word Count: 1408, edited

WARNING: MAJOR FLUFF LUV

---------

As the year was coming to an end, so was your debut album. For months, you’d been working with the best producers, musicians, and doing endless promo for this album and within a few days, you’d be playing it for the label. Obviously because it is your first record, you’re protective over it. No one had heard it besides the people working on it. So, you were a bit nervous to let your pleading boyfriend, Vinnie, tag along to the studio with you.

It was Friday, and you two had been chilling in his room when your producer, Sarah, said she needed you to go over it before the label meeting. As you bid your goodbyes to Vinnie, informing him of the reason for your departure, he pouted. “Why can’t I come?” he nearly cried, giving you his puppy dog eyes. Because you couldn’t resist them—and you just can’t say “no” to him—you allowed him to come.

Now here the two of you were, in the studio and listening to Sarah go on and on about how long it took for her to finish mastering it. Your manager, Jen, had came too. She had to hear the album for herself also. She couldn’t have her client looking a mess in front of her bosses. Bad for business and her reputation.

“…and after an hour or two of making sure your vocals were clear, I finally finish the album.” Sarah explained. “Honestly, this is probably the best album I’ve produced in a minute, and I worked on SZA’s album.”

“That good?” Vinnie asked with a smirk, leaning against the studio door. “That’s sick. I’m ready to listen to it.”

As that sentence left Vinnie’s mouth, you felt your anxiety overcome you. “Are you sure, Sarah? There has to be some sort of adlib I need to rework or something. Can’t be ready so soon.”

“Y/n, it can’t get any better than this. This is a solid project. I should know, I spent days listening to it over and over again. Trust me, it’s ready.”

“Besides, it’s too late to rerecord now.” Jen added. “The label meeting is next Thursday, and we don’t have a week for Sarah to mix and master all over again. Once the label gives us the greenlight, if there’s anything to tweak, you can do it before you have to submit the final project. But until then, no changes and no additions.”

You sighed, nodded your head. It’s not that you were afraid of it not being perfect. You were more scared of what Vinnie would think. I mean, he’s the one who inspired the album; more than half of the songs are about him. His opinion meant everything to you, and if he didn’t like an inch of it…that would destroy you.

As you were sulking and picking at your chipped nail polish, Vinnie wandered over to you where you sat at the soundboard with Sarah. He leaned against it and smiled down at you. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Nothing.” You sighed, keeping your head down. He scoffed and chuckled. “Y/n, you’re playing with your nail polish. You always do that when you’re upset.”

He pulled you up and took you out of your seat before sitting down himself and placing you on his lap. “Tell Santa what’s up.” He joked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I’m just nervous. This album means so much to me.”

“Completely understandable. It’s your first one, it should mean a lot to you.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just because of that. It’s also because it’s about you. The only reason you haven’t came with me to the studio until now is because I didn’t want you to hate anything on this, and it would kill me if you did.”

“Y/n, look at me”—you finally met his eyes for the first time—“I could never not like anything you do. Especially if it’s dedicated to me. That’s like throwing away a gift you gave me. I wouldn’t ever do that. So don’t think for a minute that I’d hate this. That’s literally impossible.”

You smiled, planting a kiss on his forehead. “You’re too good for me.”

“I know.” He laughed and turned to Sarah. “Play us the album!” He said dramatically, sending the producer into a fit of giggles.

She followed his orders and with a few clicks and the press of a button, the first song from your album rang out from the studio speakers. You watched timidly as Vinnie bobbed his head up and down as it went from track to track.

“This shit slaps!” He exclaimed as “Y/n Bossa Nova” played. He nearly about died during “Oxytocin”, claiming it to be god tier. Minutes went by until you got to the final track “Halley’s Comet”, and you were scared to play him this song.

While the other tracks were quite playful in nature, this one was different. The song was a bit cynical, but it was also like a love letter to Vinnie. Never before have you ever felt what you had with him. And at first that made you scared. But as the months went by and your relationship started to blossom, you realized he was the one for you. This was just your way of telling him that.

When it started, you looked everywhere but at Vinnie. It wasn’t just because you couldn’t bear to see the expression on his face, but also because this song was quite emotional. You didn’t want him to see you “being a little bitch” as you put it.

The sound of your soft vocals bounced off the walls and you felt Vinnie place his chin on your shoulder. His hold on you grew tighter as he swayed you two back forth. A small smile crept it’s way onto your face as you tried your best to stray away from crying.

“I’ve been loved before, but right now in this moment,” you sung, “I feel more and more like I was made for you…”

When those lyrics hit, you felt Vinnie stop swaying. Hell, you were pretty sure he had stopped breathing too. You didn’t know what to think about that; did he not like the song, is he shocked? What was he thinking and feeling? Shortly after, the song came to an end with you singing, “I think I might have fallen in love…what am I to do?”

And with that, the album finished. The room was silent, the only sound being your sniffles. Although that was broken when Sarah screamed. “Wasn’t that amazing!? Ugh, my power…I really outdid myself on this one.”

Thankfully, Jen understood the impact of that last song. “Sarah, why don’t we go get a Snickers or something from the vending machine?”

“I can’t eat anything fatty, Jen. You know this.”

Jen mouthed some profanities and threats at the woman causing her to shoot up from her chair and run out into the hallway. “We’ll leave you two alone for a minute.” Jen smiled, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Neither of you or Vinnie spoke and that somewhat was comforting. However, part of it made you feel insecure about the album, “Halley’s Comet” in specific. Out of all the songs, that’s the one you wanted him to like the most.

The silence soon grew uncomfortable, so you decided to be the first to speak. “Well, that was the album. What’d you think?”

He opened his mouth, but it was obviously he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I-I don’t know how to even put it in words.”

“That bad?” You sighed.

“No, never.” He laughed. “It was beautiful, all of it really. And that last song, that was amazing.”

You pursed your lips, hiding the grin wanting to break free. “You think so?”

“Yeah, it was definitely one of my favorites. To know I had that much of an impact on you, it’s really sweet. I didn’t think I could simp for you any harder than I do now.”

“Shut up!” you laughed, slapping his shoulder.

“It’s the truth!” he said, throwing his hands up in defense. “I love you, Y/n. I really do.”

“I love you too.” And with that, he laid a sweet and gentle kiss on your lips.

Pulling back, he said, “Oh and just so you know, I agree with you.”

“On what?”

“You were definitely made for me.”

[ludi-ling]

hey ludi!

no pressure to answer!! how did you come to terms with the fact that youre asexual, and how did people react (siblings, friends, family in general)? im asexual and find it interesting hearing others expiriences and would like to come out soon aswell!

Hi! No pressure at all, but I did need some time to think about this. Sorry it took so long.

It took me a looooong time to figure out I was ace. Like, I was well into my 30's by the time I figured it out. I'd been trying to label myself for quite a while, doing some research and seeking for something that fit. I initially resisted the asexual label, because... well, a) because society teaches us that asexuality is bad, weird, abnormal, whatever; and b) because I didn't really know what asexuality is. Then, when I started to actually research it in more depth (and Tumblr actually helped a lot with that), I began to realise... hey... that actually IS me. And you know what? Once I said that to myself, I was SO relieved. It was like the final jigsaw piece fell into place. A huge part of me finally made sense. And finally I was at peace with that side of myself.

I'm lucky in that I have an incredibly warm and supportive family, so I've had no problem at all coming out to them, and I feel so blessed to have that in my life, where other people don't. It has emboldened me to come out to friends and even work colleagues. And you know, not once has anyone responded with awkwardness or disgust. A lot of curiosity, maybe, and a lot of misconceptions, yes, but everyone has been incredibly open and those who wanted to know more were respectful and welcoming.

I can't guarantee everyone in your life will be positive about you coming out, but what I will say is that more people than you think are probably going to embrace you for what you are... or even treat it as no big deal. And it is SO empowering to be able to know that the people you love are not going to judge you for something that is fundamental to yourself. Some people might say asexuality is just a label, something you use to pigeonhole yourself. But if the label fits and you're comfortable with it, wear it with pride, because for this moment in time, it is YOU. And if it doesn't fit okay, it's okay to change it. Like so many things in life, sexuality is fluid. Never say never. You will change, and that's okay. 🌈

Whatever happens, I wish you luck in your coming out. And I'm here if you ever need to reach out again. 😊

PS: my siblings have been super awesome and supportive. Shout out to @jeannedarcprice! Love ya, sis! 🤗😘😘

[samwisethewitch]

Witchcraft and Activism

The word “witch” is a politically charged label. If we look at how the word was used historically, it referred to someone who existed outside of the normal social order. The people accused of witchcraft in the European and American witch trials were mostly — experts say between 75% and 80% — women. They were also overwhelmingly poor, single, or members of a minority ethnicity and/or religion. In other words, they were people who did not follow their society’s accepted model of womanhood (or, in the case of accused men, manhood).

If you choose to identify with the witch label, you are choosing to identify with subversion of gender norms, resistance to the dominant social order, and “outsider” status. If that makes you uncomfortable or uneasy, then you may want to use another label for your magical practice. Witchcraft always has been and always will be inherently political.

In her book Witches, Sluts, Feminists, Kristen J. Sollee argues that the “slut” label is in many ways a modern equivalent to the “witch” label. In both cases, the label is used to devalue people, most often women, and to enforce a patriarchal and misogynist social order.

Superstitions around witchcraft are connected to the modern stigma around abortion (and, to a lesser extent, contraception). Midwifery and abortion were directly linked to witchcraft in the European witch hunts. Today, women who seek abortions are condemned as sluts, whores, and murderers. The fight for reproductive freedom remains inextricably linked with the witch label.

During the women’s liberation movement of the 1960s, the socialist feminist group Women’s International Terrorist Conspiracy from Hell (W.I.T.C.H.) used the image of the witch to campaign for women’s rights and other social issues. They were some of the first advocates for intersectional feminism (feminist activism that addresses other social issues that overlap with gendered issues). They performed acts such as hexing Wall Street capitalists and wearing black veils to protest bridal fairs. The W.I.T.C.H. Manifesto calls witches the “original guerrillas and resistance fighters against oppression.”

In her book Revolutionary Witchcraft, Sarah Lyons points out that both witchcraft and politics are about raising and directing power in the world. In a postmodern society, most of our reality is socially constructed — it works because we collectively believe it does. Money only has value because we believe it does. Politicians only have power because we believe they do. Our laws are only just because we believe they are. Like in magic, everything in society is a product of belief and a whole lot of willpower — and that makes witches the ideal social activists.

Lyons argues that witchcraft is inseparable from politics, because witches have always opposed dominant political power. She makes a connection between the witch trials and the rise of capitalism and classism. She connects the basic concepts of magic to historic activist groups like the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP), who used ritual as an act of protest.

Not every witch is a hardcore activist, but every witch should have a basic awareness of political and social issues and be willing to do what they can to make a difference.

Ways to Combine Witchcraft and Activism

Perform a ritual to feel connected to the earth and her people. Activism should come from a place of love, not a place of hate. Make sure you’re fighting for the right reasons by frequently taking time to reconnect with the planet and the people who live here. This can be as simple as laying down on the ground outside and meditating on all the ways you are connected to other people, as well as to the ecosystem, animals, and the earth herself. If getting up close and personal with the grass and dirt isn’t your thing, try to find a beautiful place in nature where you can sit and journal about the interconnected nature of all things.

Unlearn your social programming. This is the most difficult and most important part of any activism. Before you can change the world outside yourself, you have to change your own psyche. Think about how you have been socialized to contribute to (or at least turn a blind eye to) the issues you want to fight against. For example, if you want to fight for racial justice, you need to understand how you have contributed to a racist system. You can do this in a variety of ways: through meditation, journaling, or divination, to name a few. Note that whatever method you choose, this will probably take weeks or months of repeated work. Rewriting your thought and behavior patterns is hard, and it can’t be done in a single day. Also note that if you are a victim of systemic oppression or prejudice, this work may bring up a lot of emotional baggage — you may want to involve a professional therapist or counselor.

Go to protests. Sending energy and doing healing rituals is great, but someone has to get out there and visibly fight for change. If you are able to do so, start going to protests and rallies for causes you care about. Don’t just show up, but be an active participant — make signs, yell and chant, and stand your ground if cops show up. Be safe and responsible, but be loud and assertive, too. If you want to go all out, you can don the black robes, pointed hats, and veils of W.I.T.C.H.es past, which has the added bonus of concealing your identity.

Turn your donations into a spell for change. When you donate to a cause you care about, charge your donation with a spell for positive change. You can do this by holding your cash, check, or debit card in both hands and focusing on your desire for change. Feel this desire flowing into the money, filling it with your determination. From here, make your donation, knowing that you’ll be sending an energy boost along with it.

Organize an activist coven. Do you have a handful of friends who are interested in witchcraft, passionate about activism, or both? Start a coven! Go to protests together, hold monthly rituals to raise energy for change, and collect money for donations. Being part of a group also means having a support system, which can help prevent burnout. Make a plan to check on each other regularly. You may even choose to do monthly group rituals for self care, which may be actual magic rituals or might be as simple as ordering takeout and watching a movie. Activism can be intensely draining work, so it’s important to take breaks when you need them!

Hold public rituals with an activist slant. Nothing gets people’s attention like a bunch of folks standing in a circle and chanting. Holding public rituals is one of the best ways to raise awareness for a cause. You might hold a vigil for victims of police brutality, a healing circle for the environment, or some other ritual that is relevant to the issue at hand. These rituals serve a double purpose, as they both bring people’s attention to the issue and give them an opportunity to work for change on a spiritual level. Use prayers, chants, and symbolism that is appropriate to the theme, and ask participants to make a small donation to a charity related to your cause.

Begin your public rituals with a territory acknowledgement. If you live in the United States, chances are you live on land that was taken from the native people by force. If you seek to have a relationship with the land, you need to first acknowledge the original inhabitants and the suffering they endured so you can be there. Use a website like native-land.ca to find out what your land was originally called and what indigenous groups originally lived there. Publicly acknowledge this legacy at your ritual, and publicly state your intention to support indigenous peoples. (Revolutionary Witchcraft has an excellent territory acknowledgement that you can customize for your area.)

Make an altar to your activist ancestors. If activism or membership in a marginalized group is a big part of your life, you may want to create a space for it in your home. Like an ancestor altar, this is a space to remember influential members of the community who have died. Choose a flat surface like a tabletop or shelf and decorate it with photos of your “ancestors,” as well as other appropriate items like flags, pins, stickers, etc. As a queer person, my altar to my LGBTQ+ ancestors might include images of figures like Sappho, Marsha P. Johnson, and Freddie Mercury, as well as items like a pink triangle patch, a small rainbow pride flag, and dried violets and green carnations. You may also choose to include a candle, an incense burner, and/or a small dish for offerings. Just remember to never place images of living people on an altar honoring the dead!

Do your research. Staying educated is an important part of activism — not only do your actions need to be informed, but you need to be able to speak intelligently about your issues. Read the news (on actual news websites, not just social media). Read lots of books; some I personally recommend are Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson, Love and Rage by Lama Rod Owens, and (as previously mentioned) Revolutionary Witchcraft by Sarah Lyons. If you can get access to them, read scholarly articles about theories that are influential among activists, like the Gaia Hypothesis or Deep Ecology. Read everything you can get your hands on.

VOTE! And I don’t just mean voting for the presidential candidate you like (or, as is often the case, voting against the one you don’t like). Vote for your representatives. Vote for city council. Vote for the county sheriff. Voting gives you a chance to make sure the people in office will be susceptible to your activism. Yes, your side might lose or your electoral college representative might choose to go against the popular vote. Even so, voting is a way to clearly communicate the will of the people, and it puts a lot of pressure on the people in charge. It’s important — don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

In my experience, combining activism with my witchcraft is a deeply fulfilling spiritual experience. It strengthens my connection to the world around me, with helps grow both empathy and magical power. I truly can’t imagine my practice without the activist element.

Resources:

Witches, Sluts, Feminists by Kristen J. Sollee

Revolutionary Witchcraft by Sarah Lyons

The Study of Witchcraft by Deborah Lipp

The Way of Fire and Ice by Ryan Smith

[guardianspirits13]

I wanna talk about Natsuo Todoroki for a second here.

tw// mentions of abuse, self harm, and suicide

Natsuo visibly has the most emotional trauma out of anyone else in his family (Touya not included), and I really wanna talk about why that is.

For starters, we haven't seen him really smile since he was introduced in chapter 187. He's introduced as having a friendly, easygoing persona and it's easy to imagine this is how most people outside of his family know him. However, every time we see him appear since then, another layer of his trauma is revealed and expanded upon, and it cuts DEEP.

I think the main reason that Natsuo still seems so vulnerable compared to the rest of his family is different than what you'd assume. Fuyumi and Shouto both spend a lot of time around Endeavor, and have been in close proximity to his (relatively recent) decision to atone. They have seen his growth firsthand and come to terms with it. Rei has obviously taken a very different path to healing- not entirely voluntarily- but she has been working with doctors and therapists for years to change and recover and reconnect with herself and her children. Natsuo is off at college, and takes every opportunity he can to avoid Endeavor. He (understandably) wants nothing to do with him, and shows stagnant resistance to his attempts to atone.

The reason why Natsuo can't move on from the past is because his trauma didn't come from Endeavor. It came from Touya.

Now initially we were led to believe that it was simply Touya's untimely death that still bothers Natsuo, and it makes sense seeing how Endeavor drove him to the edge. Losing his best friend and brother as a young kid without parents to support him or any therapist to speak of can absolutely been the source of persistent emotional damage, but the more and more we learn about Touya's situation, the more evident it becomes that Natsuo's trauma is much much deeper than even grief.

Touya, as we know, was driven by an ambition instilled in him by his father and experienced extreme rejection sensitivity when those ambitions were no longer realistic. Touya's relationship with his parents could be described as insecure attachment, a psychological term primarily regarding how kids react and respond to their parents and other close relationships. As he was raised, Touya learned to equate his potential to be a hero with his personal worth and similarly confounded attention with love. The difference being, of course, that love is unconditional, but even attention was being continually directed away from him as a punishment for continuing to train and burn himself so he could once again become worthy in his fathers' eyes.

This is where Natsuo comes in. At first it was assumed that all of the Todoroki children were born out of Endeavor's strong-willed desire to have a child that could surpass All Might, but we learned that this isn't exactly the case. I'd argue that it was narratively poetic on Horikoshi's part once this was expanded upon. Fuyumi was born to support and encourage her brother, and that is the exact role she plays 23 years later, keeping her family together.

Natsuo's case is even more intersting.

It was bad enough if Natsuo was only born for the potential of his quirk, but it's even more sinister that the sole intent behind his birth was to discourage Touya from his ambitions. I'd say it was to replace him, but it was more to promote the idea that Touya was expendable than to raise aonther kid with the same ideals but the potential to actually achieve it, although that was definitely a secondary motivation.

The parallelism in this is how much Natsuo's life revolves around Touya. He was born because of Touya, he looked up to and took care of Touya as a kid, and the absence of Touya in the present continues to drive him and his decisions in life (but more on that later).

I continue to pray that we will eventually get more solid backstory on Natsuo and Touya's relationship as kids and where it cut off, wether on a bad note or not, but there are a few things we know for certain. One, Touya was mentally ill. Yes, he was rejected by his parents but he seems to have been particularly vulnerable to this compared to any of his siblings since he was the first of them and thus relied only on his parents for validation in his early years. He shows early signs of a variety of different mental disorders, particularly BPD, which I have previously written a whole analysis for on its own. Touya is shown self-harming both by the very nature of his quirk and even by very directly ripping his hair out. He was incredibly self-destructive.

This is why it is so much more concerning to me that Natsuo, who was AT LEAST four years younger than him, was his primary source of comfort. Natsuo was too young to have known anything more than 'my big brother is sad that daddy won't train him anymore' and he obviously wasn't equipped in any way to handle Touya's severe mental illness. Touya most definitely needed professional treaatment as his forms of coping were abnormal even for the neglect and rejection that he experienced. Natsuo comforted Touya through breakdown after breakdown, and more than that Touya relied on him and came to him voluntarily for support. Natsuo was the best option he had, and he took full advantage of that. The main source of Natsuo's trauma was Touya's reliance on him.

Not to say at all that this was in any way Touya's fault- he was mentally ill and desperately in need of some form of comfort to keep him sane; it was almost a survival method at this point since neither of his parents really acknowleged him at all anymore. Touya's instability hurt Natsuo more than parental neglect ever did, but it was the neglect that enabled it and striped Touya of the supportive atmosphere he would have needed at this point not only to prevent but to heal from the mental damage he had already suffered.

Natsuo dealt with this for years and you can see how much it hurt him to see Touya in so much pain, not only from Endeavor's rejection but from his own self harm as well. For Natuso to know that his brotherly love would never be the same as having loving parents; would neve be enough- but at least it was something so he continued to love and care about his brother for little in return- is indicative of the kind of character he is.

(Edit: After the events of chapter 302 we know that Natsuo's relationship with Touya wasn't perfect. I will elaborate more on this in a different post, but I just wanted to clarify that although we were shown a very high-tension scene between them, it is implied that this was a regular occurrence that Natsuo was usually more receptive too but tired out of, in addition to Touya's spiraling mental health. It fit with the natrative to show the tension Touya was feeling with his family from all directions, but Natsu and Touya clearly had a stronger relationship up to and before this point, evidenced by their sharing a room and playing together regularly.)

He is incredibly selfless, and it's interesting to note how many of his positive qualities as an adult stem from negative experiences as a kid. He never really felt love from his parents, so he relied on Touya (and likely also Fuyumi) for that as well. If he grew up learning he had to give love in order to recieve it back, it absolutely influenced who he became in the future, a solid example of this being the responsibility he feels to reach out and have a relationship with Shouto and further regrets that he wasn't able to help his abuse in the past either. Another aspect of his character that intruigues me is how gentle he is. Personality-wise he seems about as opposite as he could be from the awkward, stoic, emotionally-stunted person that is Endeavor.

There are a couple of reasons for this, beyond what I've already discussed.

One, he had little to no contact with elements of toxic masculinity growing up, especially not from Endeavor.

Two, most of the influence he did have growing up was from Fuyumi, who is established to have endlessly cared for him since he was a literal baby.

Three, he grew up in a household where almost everyone around him was in much more literal, immediate pain than he was so he developed a very strong sense of empathy that might also have been tied to early survivor's guilt.

Now I have one important distinction to make, and that's the temptation to label him as a 'softboy' or something of the like after seeing him caring for his family and more pointedly, watching him break down in tears during chapter 252. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with men being soft or vulnerable (on the contrary it's actually so so important and relevant that Hori is writing characters like this in a mainstream shounen manga but that's an essay for another time), it is unfair to label him as such based on a moment when his trauma is being exposed.

Because his truama stems from such a young age, there is a blurry line between just being born with more emotional intelligence and the situation he was in fostering those traits. You know, the classic nature/nurture thing. My point being, it's important to tread carefully when discussing the nature of his personality to avoid invalidating his trauma; I have no doubt that he is very strong for having survived these things, and the moments we see of him onscreen are definitely among his most vulnerable.

Another thing that people less familiar with Natsuo's character might assume is that he is hot-headed and argumentative. I thought that at first too- after all, he doesn't seem to shy away from yelling at Endeavor when given the opportunity. However, this doesn't seem to be the case at all.

The first real scene we see him in with Endeavor, the man walks into the room and Natsuo decides he can't handle it and goes to leave. However, Endeavor happens to be blocking the doorway. Endeavor physically stops him and provokes him to his face, asking him to say whatever is on him mind. While Natsuo is notably not confrontational, Endeavor is. I think it's fair to say that he felt at least uneasy at this gesture. Natsuo is very honest with his feelings, and it's obvious that he's pissed at the audacity of Endeavor to be so oblivious to his own son. This is presumably one of the first real interactions they've ever really had, and at this point Natsuo has been dealing with trauma (caused by Endeavor!) on his own for years, and Endeavor seems completely oblivious to his pain and dismmisive to the rest of the family's as well.

Again during the internship arc Natsuo tries to get along with Endeavor and this time he actually gives it a fleeting chance. Tensions are high, however, and the conversation very quickly becomes uncomfortable, at which point he leaves. It is continually implied that Natsuo is uncomfortable being around Endeavor because his very presence brings up painful thoughts and memories of a time when sharing the same space as him was a warning to run and hide. This is later directly confirmed by Natsuo as he says that every time he looks at Endeavor's face he remembers Touya and the pain he was in.

I feel like an important side note is that we have never seen Natsuo outside the context of his family, which is understandable, as the role he plays in the story directly relates to them. However, if you take a look at Shouto, even though his experiences have shaped him to become who he is, he definitely acts differently when Endeavor's not in the vicinity.

Back to Touya's death, it would be very rare that someone would mourn a death for an entire decade without finding closure unless there are other factors preventing it, and uncomfortably this seems to be the same thing for both Natsuo and Endeavor: guilt.

This is getting incredibly long already, but it's important to note that Natsuo probably felt an incredible responsibility to take care of Touya and protect him because of his empathetic nature. His love was never going to be the same as having loving parents. His encouragement was never going to be the same as having support from Endeavor. Even further than then neglect and abandonement, it was not being able to save Touya that really made Natsuo feel worthless.

He seems to try and remedy this inability to save Touya and diminish his guilt by doing everything he can to be better. He reaches out to Shouto to be a better brother, he consistently pushes his limits to entertain Fuyumi's notion of a happy family, and he's working hard towards a degree rhat will allow him to help people like Touya (and Rei) because he failed to do so in the past.

His bio mildly implies that he didn't have much of a direction he was heading in after high school, but Fuyumi's encouragement led him to seek out his current college career. This goes back to Natsuo's 'purpose' in a sense revolving arount Touya, from his birth to his relationship with him to his death, after which he lost his direction. They were always rather inseperable, so naturally their seperation hit Natsuo hard. He lost his direction in life so when Fuyumi encouraged him to rediscover it, he thought of helping people, because that's ultimately what he was born to do.

Thank you so, so much for reading this if you made it to the end! I clearly have a lot of thoughts on this. Let me know what you think about it as well, and hopefully we'll get more info on this soon in the manga :)

[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.”

[just-a-creep-babe]

Work Pest

(Habit x Reader)

Commissioned again by @selfshippinglover thank you so much bby, I love this mans 💖👄💖 I hope you like it <3

This ended up having a lot more plot than I initially planned, so I hope that's alright :”) Also I’ve never worked at a grocery store so I hope this isn’t too inaccurate 😅

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

“Hey, (y/n). Hope you’re ready to work a lot today—we just got a shipment twice as big as we’re used to”

You hold back a groan as you set your things down at your spot in the employee’s room

You haven’t even started your shift yet and you’re already dreading the monotonous, repetitive work you’ll be doing for the next eight hours

“And the new person we hired just bailed on us, so you’ll be on your own for a while…” she reluctantly continues

This time, you don’t bother quieting your disapproval

“Crap, really? I thought they liked it here”

“Yeah, well, apparently they didn’t… They said something about the boss being too demanding before leaving”

You sigh

While it is true that your manager orders you around a lot, you don’t think he‘s too overbearing

It is his job, after all—he does what he has to in order to keep things working

“Alright, well, any more problems I should be made aware of?”

You give your coworker a teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood

Despite being the bearer of bad news, you know none of this is her fault, and she’s just trying to make end’s meet

In fact, between the two of you, even though she does have a higher position, you’re probably in a better financial situation than she is, thanks to a certain powerful entity that’s on your side 

“I think that’s it,” she answers, clearly relieved that you’re not upset with her

“And, hey, after our shift is over,” she adds, “how ‘bout we go out for some fast food? On me”

“That sounds good,” you hum, “I could go for some curly fries”

“Great! It’s a date,” she giggles

And before you can pipe in again, she’s gathering her things and heading out to the front

You shake your head, chuckling

She knows you have a boyfriend—and a very possessive one at that—but it never stops her from being flirty

If anything, she finds it funny

If only she knew what she was messing with…

Releasing another sigh, you shake the thought away and ready yourself for the day’s plentiful work

•••

The first half of your shift flies by without a hitch

You lose yourself in your work, mind zoning off to the familiar daydreams that always keep you company

It’s only when you finish stocking the fourth aisle that you realize you might not get everything done today

You hate knowing your boss will ask you to stay overtime, but you tell yourself it’s not your fault

You’re doing everything you can with the time you have—this just wasn’t meant to be a one-person job

Still, you try not to let it get to you as you stack cans of food together in neat little rows

Just as you begin pushing your trolley of now empty shipment boxes back to the storage room, you’re suddenly forced to a halt as you bump into a shopper you hadn’t noticed

“Oh, shoot! I’m so sorry, I didn’t—Habit?”

Surely enough, your one and only possessive lover is standing in front of your cart, his hand outstretched to stop you from hitting him, with that damn grin on his face

He tuts playfully

“You should watch where you’re going, little rabbit~ You could’ve seriously injured little ol’ me”

He flashes his pearly white canines, his lips playfully curling back

“H-habit, what’re you doing here? I have a ton of stuff to do today, I can’t get distracted”

His smile falters, but only for a second before quickly returning

“Aww, c’mon, little rabbit, don’t be like that”

He makes his way around the cart, casually sauntering up to you

You’re forced to step back a few paces as he presses closer into you—all the way until your back’s hitting the shelves and he’s got you cornered

Two strong, thick arms cage you in

You pray to god that no one—especially not your boss or coworker, walk in on you in such a predicament

“Don’t try to tell me your work isn’t boring. I’m just trying to help out by spicing things up a bit~” he practically purrs as he leans in even closer

“Besides, I’ve missed my little rabbit,” he admits, “I haven’t had nearly enough time to spend with you recently. I’m just trying to make up for that”

He’s so close

The distance between the two of you is nearly nonexistent

His eyes keep flickering to your mouth and you can tell he wants you to kiss him

You want to kiss him too

You really, really do

But just as you’re about to lean in, you manage to snap yourself out of it

There’s no way you’ll be able to resist giving in if you press your lips to his

He’ll have you wrapped around his finger if you slip up and you both know it

So, you press your hands to his broad chest and gently push him away, despite already missing his closeness as soon as you do so

“H-Habit, no—stop-stop trying to distract me,” you stutter

He “hmphs,” narrowing his eyes, almost challenging you to change your mind

But you don’t back down—you won’t

You cross your arms and quirk your brow, trying to look as set and confident in your decision as you possibly can

And, surely enough, a few moments of staring each other down, he gives up, sighing grumpily

“Fine. Can you at least finish early today? The house feels so empty without you,” he pouts, and you have to stifle your laughter because here he is, this all-powerful being, acting like a spoiled child because he wants to spend time with you

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” you apologize, “I think I’ll have to work overtime tonight”

You intentionally leave out the part where your coworker asked you out on a date, because even though it is platonic, you know damn well he wouldn’t react too kindly to the news

He groans

“You’re gonna be the death of me, (y/n)”

•••

After Habit leaves, you’re left to return your focus and attention back to your work without any more distractions

Or at least, for the moment, anyways

You fill out more shelves, meticulously restocking every product so that they look as appealing as possible for customers to buy

Back and forth, you move between the back room and the open aisles more times than you care to count, lugging box after box full of fresh, new supplies to place in their designated spots

You’re a little over halfway through the shipment when you get to the breakfast section

Half empty shelves of granola bars, oatmeals and cereals attract a few customers that absent-mindedly compare labels

Maneuvering through them, you spot what needs to be refilled and begin getting to work

You push the few boxes that remain to side to make room for the new ones

And, lo and behold, when you look back through the now open space in the shelves, you’re met with a signature grin from the other side

“Who’s this little cutie? Fancy meeting you here~”

“Habit!” you cry out his name, voice escaping much louder than you expected

You can feel the customers simultaneously all turn their attention to you—like you’re a madwoman for exclaiming his name to yourself

Your face flushes beneath their inquisitive gazes

You lean in, trying to ignore them to talk to the man on the other side

“Why are you still here?” you urge, torn between wanting to keep your voice down and being too surprised to control your volume

“Awh, you aren’t happy to see me again, bunny?~” he teases

Seeing him again does lift your spirits, but you know if you admit it, he won’t let it go

“You know that’s not the case,” you sigh, “I just have a lot to get done today”

A customer passes by behind you, and you watch as Habit’s face tenses and he almost snarls when they linger to give you a strange look

But then they move away, and his eyes snap back to you, carefree grin returning like nothing happened in the first place

“Well, don’t let me distract you. I’m just doing some grocery shopping. Why else would I be here? Certainly not because the enchantingly beautiful employee won’t get out of my head…”

You almost want to look mad at him for tempting you away from your work—again—but his grinning is contagious

And he looks so charming with that playful, mischievous look in his eyes that you’re utterly powerless to stop the smile from spreading to your face

You shake your head, and it seems like his demeanor relaxes a little, seeing that he’s made you smile

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Before he can say anything else and further distract you, you replace the hole in the shelf with a box of cereal, effectively cutting off your opening for conversation

Hearing him grunt from the other side has you snickering

You don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but you do know he’s not gonna make this shift easy for you

Admittedly, can’t say you aren’t thankful for it, though

Finishing the shelf you’re currently on, you move onto the next portion of work ahead of you

You manage to finish up the whole aisle with relative speed and ease, thinking about Habit the whole time and how he‘s probably still lurking around the corner, waiting to surprise you

You bring your cart back to the storage room, unpack the empty boxes, heave on some loaded ones, and return to the front once more

You’re about to finish stocking up the next aisle when you feel a tap on your shoulder

You shake your head, smiling

“Habit, at least let me finish these boxes…”

When you turn around, instead of being faced with who you expect, you find your coworker, her brow quirked expectantly with her lips tugging into a smile

“Crap, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” you laugh awkwardly, your face warming

How many times are you going to embarrass yourself today?

She laughs along

“Yeah, no kidding. I saw your boyfriend, though. He was chatting up the boss... more like threatening, actually. Just figured I should let you know,” she explains with a shrug

“Crap. I shouldn’t have told him I’d have to stay behind tonight,” you groan, smacking your face into your palm

“Hey, it’s no big. Maybe the boss will stop understaffing us if he scares him good enough. Here, why don’t you go check up on them?” she suggests, gently nudging you in the direction of his office, “I’ll finish this up for you real quick”

“Thanks. Really, you’re a lifesaver”

“Oh stop, it’s nothing,” she reassures you, laughing again

“We can reschedule our date, too. I don’t wanna face your guard dog’s wrath,” she teases

If you could sweat-drop like an anime character, you’d be doing that just about now

As much as you love her, she really has no idea what she’s messing with when it comes to Habit

“R-right, thanks again. I’ll try not to be too long. I’ll be back to pick up on the next section!” you call back over your shoulder, already heading to your boss’ rescue

But right as you’re turning around a corner, you bump into something hard and solid

The impact would have knocked you on your ass, if it wasn’t for the warm pair of hands wrapping around your hips to keep you upright

“Easy now, little rabbit. Didn’t I say you should watch where you’re going? You could’ve hurt yourself”

“J-jesus fuck, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day!”

You press your hand to your chest, trying to calm your frantically beating heart

He chuckles, the sound smooth and husky, as he pulls you in closer

“Relax, bunny. You know I’d never let anything bad ever happen to you~”

You groan, stuffing your face into the crook of his neck as he rocks you back and forth

“You’re an absolute pest today, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” he snickers, “But, hey, on the bright side, your manager just had a sudden change of heart and he won’t be making you work overtime. I think he might even let you leave early. Isn’t that great news?”

He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he just threatened the person you work for

You groan and push away from him

“Habit, what did I say about threatening people?” you ask, admonishing him like you’re disciplining a new puppy

His smirk falls

“Not to,” he begrudgingly grumbles

Your mouth quirks into a smile

He’s so adorable, you can’t possibly stay mad at him

“Alright, it’s ok. All is forgiven. But I’m still finishing my shift for the day, m’kay?”

You gently pat him on the cheek, hoping he’ll agree without further argument

But, of course, him being him, he doesn’t drop the matter so quickly

“Why?” he huffs, “You don’t even have to work. I can give you all the money—all the crap you could possibly ever want. Why don’t you let me spoil you?”

He purrs out that last part, his voice splitting

You look off to the side, contemplating how you should word your next sentence

“Habit…” you hesitate, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “I just… I feel like I need to do this. It makes me feel productive, like I’m helping out. I don’t wanna sit around and just do nothing all the time, you know?”

“You wouldn’t be doing nothing all the time, bunny. You’d be keeping me entertained~”

He croons the last word in his true voice again, gently taking both your hands in his and pressing them to his chest, that playful expression never leaving his face

You roll your eyes, fighting off a smile for the umpteenth time today

“I have to get back to work, Habit. My coworker can’t cover me forever”

He groans when you pull away—again

“My shift’s almost done, I’ll see you in a few hours, m’kay?”

Without waiting for his reply, you turn the other way and start making a beeline to the next portion of stock that needs to be refilled

You feel his eyes on you the whole time that you’re walking away

•••

Finally

Finally

After what feels like way too long, you reach the second to last section you need to refill

You’ve skipped over a quarter of the work you’ve had to do, telling yourself you’ll just have to suck it up and do it on your next shift

But, for now, you have about an hour and a half to finish whatever you can

You think for sure Habit’s left the store by now

There’s no way he’d stick around that long just to mess with you

But you’re quick to realize you’re deeply mistaken as a familiar voice croons “missed a spot~” right near your ear as you’re stacking cans of soup

“F-fuck!” you swear loudly, jumping in surprise, hands fumbling with the can you’re holding until it slips from your grasp and onto the floor

But before it can hit the ground, with reflexes faster than you can keep up with, Habit snatches it back up like it’s nothing

Your whirl around to face him, only to find him inches away from you

His mouth, curled up into that same damn smirk, is unbearably tantalizingly close

“Careful, little rabbit,” he chuckles, “you almost made a mess. This could’ve burst open”

He throws the can up in the air as he speaks, then catches it back into his hands, toying with it

He’s so smug

“You scared the shit out of me! What’re you still doing here?”

He steps back, holding his free hand to his heart in mock offence

“I stay with you at your work, trying to make your day brighter, and this is the thanks I get? Unbelievable,” he shakes his head, tsking

As silly as it is, knowing he’s stuck around such a boring place for this long—just for you—has you feeling all kinds of warm and fuzzy

"Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh, trying to bargain with him

It’s all it takes for him to drop the act

“I know,” he winks, “besides, I knew I had to keep an eye on you. You’re so clumsy~”

You decide it’s your turn to fake offence

“Oh yeah? And who’s fault is that?” you ask, sassily placing your hands on your hips

“Mine,” he proudly admits, voice splitting for a moment

You’re torn between wanting to smack that smug grin off of him and wanting to kiss him

Deciding the latter is probably better, you lean in

But just as your lips are ghosting over his, you hear a surprised “oh!” from down the alley

You pull apart immediately to find your coworker standing a few feet away

Her face cracks into a huge grin as you make eye contact

“My bad, didn’t mean to bother you! Carry on, lovebirds~”

“W-wait—!”

Before you can stop her, she’s turning on her heels and speed walking into the opposite direction

You’re mortified

You’re about to chase after her, but Habit wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush to him once more

“Ah ah ah,” he chastises, “no you don’t. I’ve been waiting all damn day for a kiss and I’m not letting you go until I’ve had it”

“B-but Habit—“ you whine, squirming in his hold

Unsurprisingly, you’re helpless to escape him

He’s so much stronger than you; he doesn’t even budge

“No buts! Only kisses,” he insists

You still want to head after your coworker, but how could you possibly resist that lopsided grin?

With an exaggerated defeated sigh, you give in

“Well… I suppose if I don’t have any other choice…”

“You don’t~”

He takes your hands and wraps them around his neck, making you hold onto him so that you can press your nose to his

“In 47 minutes and 56 seconds, I’m gonna get you out of this place and we can go watch some cheesy movie—your pick,” he hums

Your lips twitch into a smile

“I’d like that. But you’re still gonna owe me for distracting me so much today. My shift isn’t even over and you’re making me slack off as if I’m not on the clock”

“Yeah, well, about that…”

His grin widens, and you immediately recognize that look; he’s done something you wouldn’t approve of

“Oh no,” you groan, pulling away, “what did you do?”

He shrugs, snickering to himself

“Your boss thought you were working so damn hard lately that you deserve a break. So he’s been so generous as to give you the day off tomorrow”

“What!? But there’s so much work to be done!”

“Yeah, well, I managed to convince the fucker to hire someone else—someone who won’t bail on you and who’ll actually help out from now on. Tomorrow’s their first day, so you’ve no need to come in”

You look at him, beyond incredulous

“What? How did you manage to get him to do that on such short notice?”

“I have my ways~ Now. If I’m not mistaken, I believe I’m still owed a kiss. Two now, I’d say, since I saved your ass from having to do all this work by yourself”

You roll your eyes

Quickly leaning in, you give him a peck on the cheek

He quirks his brow, expecting more

And when you go to kiss his other cheek, he turns his head and your lips finally connect

You hum against him, savoring his warmth pressing against you, lingering for a moment before parting

“You’re an absolute pest,” you remind him again

“Don’t worry, little rabbit, I know~” he chuckles, “and you love it”

“You’re right, I do,” you agree, as you move back in to connect your lips to his one more time

[thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness]

Kaoru Ongaku to Hito Interview  May 2021

DIR EN GREY  Endless originality. Don't shake, don't move, don't give up. As the leader and main composer of DIR EN GREY,  he made me realize in this interview that even if the band is in a situation in which they can't move forward, they are still striving toward their own determination without losing sight of their desire to create music. The new single "Oboro" is a ballad with a simple sound envision that insists on the melody and lyrics. In this single, which was made with the intention of being widely listened, you can feel a different stance on the sounds and the arrangements. I think his obsession with music and the pursuit of originality are changing because of his age and career. On the other hand, the latest promotional photos are still grotesque and chaotic. The future this band is heading for it’s held by his unchanging desire for music. Here there is a dialogue with him which makes you believe so.

Notes before reading: This is Kaoru’s interview featured in Ongaku to hito music magazine May 2021.

You can get this magazine at cdJapan (totally worth it!) Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts. Links or credits to this post when the content is reposted or captured in other SNS is appreciated :) -----------

Text by Higuchi Yasuyuki Photographs by Amita Mari Hair & make-up by Yamaguchi Atsushi_ EKYQ

“I’m not in the mood to say ‘let’s do this now’ but recently,  making astounding/ crazy songs might be difficult”

(While turning over the latest issue ...)  Kaoru: Did M-AGE make a come back? 

*M-AGE is a Japanese electronic pop/rock band active during the early 90s. They were feature in the previous issue of Ongaku to hito, April 2021* -Are you affected by that band? (laughs). Kaoru: I was surprised (laughs). -A band that disbanded more than 20 years ago did a comeback, there are another band that the drummer who has been a member for 20 years has left, there have been various things happening (in the music industry) in the past year, but DIR EN GREY has not lost to Corona. K: When it comes to losing, there is nothing you can do about it. - What do you think is the reason why these five people are continuing, without stopping, as a band? K: Isn't it because every one of us think we can’t go beyond this band? If someone gives up, we are not confident we can do something better than what we are doing now. It’s like, we can't get away from each other. It's easier to express your opinion if you keep a certain distance in that sense, and you don't have to accumulate stress about it. -By the way, throughout this year you noticed things and had some thoughts about the band. K:  That’s right….well, since the creation process was originally done remotely, I rarely had the opportunity to meet with the members other than the tour, but in reality it was important to have casual conversations with the members during the tour. There was a moment when the ideas changed depending on the words I exchanged with the members on the spot like “we should try to make this kind of song”… But it was a year when I was making songs without this input, so  it’s like there was  a part of me that felt gloomy. -You felt the importance of talking with the members. K: Even if we communicate remotely, we can just communicate by voice or text but, the mood/situation, the temperature, facial expressions etc…that can only be perceived directly so I thought those things are important after all. -In that situation, did the band make a song that only can be made now or tried to aim for something in your work?

K: That’s not case. It was as usual. We are not in the mood to do something like that now. However, it has nothing to do with this situation but we talked about how recently  it’s becoming harder to make crazy songs. -A crazy song? K:  When the band tries to create a song, naturally it turns out quite relaxed/calm. It feels like it’s what our bodies want. -Why do you want that kind of thing? K: I think that kind of songs makes you feel good, isn’t it? If we want to make a song like “Gya!” (fierce), we can make it but if we do it naturally, there will be more calm/relaxed songs. In other words, our previous single (digital single ‘Ochita koto no aru Sora) was a song we made with the intention of creating something fierce. -Intentionally, you made a fierce song. K: So, there was a talk about what kind adjustments should be done. We did it this time as well, but for now we are not thinking too much about it. Originally, ‘ARCHE’ (album released in 2014) was an album that was closer to that feeling. I just tried to do things I liked. There were a lot of slow and calm songs, but maybe it's easier to come up with such songs these days. -That’s why you can’t let yourself go with your natural flow… K: That’s right. So, the next album ('The Insulated World') was shaken off in the opposite direction. Of course, there are still intense/fierce songs coming out from the members. However, the songs everyone selects and remains in the top ranks are generally calm/relaxed. - 'Oboro' is a song that was born in such a situation. K: There was a talk about this single like ‘let’s make it easy for people who listen to DIR EN GREY for the first time, having an easy-to-understand melody”, so this song became a single. -Why did you decide to go in that direction? K: Somehow, we thought there are quite a lot of people who only know the name DIR EN GREY these days, but don't know what kind of music we are playing. Then, we feel like trying to make it easy for such people to get into us. So, I think it's quite challenging for us. -You are not really a band that “goes outside”. But also this song,  it’s a song that can be classified as a ballad in DIR EN GREY. K: It’s the kind of song we usually would keep for the album. It’s also interesting to dare to release it as a single. -It’s certainly a relaxing song and the variety of sounds is small, so it seems easy to approach but the latest promotional photos….(laughs) I was like “what’s your intention?”. K: Fufufufu (laughs) -But it looks like because of those photos the door is going to be closed before they listened to your music (laughs). K: That's why it's not that simple, like the sound or the tone of the song is intense or not. The song is like this, but this band is actually called ‘fierce’. -You mentioned earlier it  may be a matter of age, but the taste of music changes just as the taste of food changes when you get older. K: That's right. -So, recently, I feel this band doesn't try to resist such changes so much, or like you have started to project a realistic/true-to-life self into music. K: By all means, it looks like we became adults, right? -That’s why I’m familiar with it because we are from the same generation, it just fits. You can listen to it and enjoy a song with faint sounds instead of roaring ones. K: That's right. Simply, this kind of song is the one that roots in me. For example, the synthesizer-like sound that comes out first. -The intro with a synthesizer-like sound? K: That's right. That's my roots, originally I liked  the New Wave and listened to it, so I tried to create  what I was waiting for. *New wave is a broad music genre that included numerous pop and rock styles from the late 1970s and the 1980s* -But I think DIR EN GREY was the kind of band in which the roots of each member weren't projected in that way. K: After all, if five people do it, chemical changes will occur and the result will be completely different. But lately, the things I created haven't changed much, and sometimes they reach the end point. Of course, it's arranged in detail, but for this song, it's pretty much the same shape than at the beginning. -So, I got the impression it was a song that was unlikely to be done by DIR EN GREY until now. K: Maybe if we tried to keep it for the album, the arrangement would have been different. Because it’s a single, maybe I tried to listen to the melody. -In other words, it doesn’t feel like DIR EN GREY. K: Yes, if you listen to it with your existing values/sense of values, you might think it's not like DIR EN GREY. But this time we wanted to do that. That’s why when the president of our label listened to the demo first, said something like ‘This, isn’t it a bit insufficient/unsatisfactory?’ the reply was ‘No, that’s not the case’ (laughs) -Ahahahaha K: So, I think it's a new type of song. But just because this song seems to happen once in a while, the other songs are going to change steadily due to chemical changes going on. "This new song isn't fierce or shocking. Certainly, you can listen to it smoothly but actually….” -Then, I have a question for you Kaoru, not for the band, but do you think your personality has changed a lot from 10 years ago? K: How is that in reality? - Specifically, "DUM SPIRO SPERO" that came out 10 years ago is your commitment and obsession/attachment. In other words, I think it's an album that is full of personality. So, this time 'Oboro' comes from your roots,In other words, it's a song that is full of personality. However, if you compare these two works, the contrast is so huge that you can't think they were made by the same person. K: That's not true. -Oh really? (laughs). K: That's not true (laughs). For me, both are the same me. -But as a listener, I get the impression that the music is exactly the opposite, or that it's completely different. K: Certainly it’s the exact opposite when you  are referring to a band called DIR EN GREY, but it’s not that different for me, rather, it’s connected. -What kind of connection do you have? K: The sound may be different, but the points we are focused are the same. Especially this time, it feels like we've created each sound in detail, so it's more like I'm playing with the precision of a machine inside rather than the outward appearance of the music. -I see. K: Anyway, the most particular thing about this song is the sound of the synthesizer at the intro  I mentioned earlier. I thought the sound at the beginning would determine everything in this song. - Since that kind of determination/passion has disappeared, I was wondering if it would be a song that would allow me to listen to the melody simply. K: That's not true. Is it natural to stick to that? For example, I bought a synthesizer,  and it makes interesting sounds so I tried to create something. But the preset sounds you got when you bought the synthesizer (Note: it's set in advance) don’t work for me. -Why not? K: You have to create your own original ones. Even if I think the preset sounds are are catchy the way they are, I dare to stick to my original ones. Otherwise I can't be satisfied. - I wondered if you had finally abandoned that kind of troublesome pickiness(laughs). K: I’m really picky about that (laughs). But I think that’s normal when you make music. Even commercial pop music can be really picky about it. -You're right. You're right. K: Because it was created with that detail,I think people who listen to it will say "Oh!".If it wasn’t created in that way, it won't convey anything, and if it's as simple as this song, it won't be interesting unless you are committed to it. That is why it is the same as "DUM ". -Surely, but what if you could make it smoothly without being so committed/picky about it? K: Sometimes it’s easy to create, still, it would be nice if it makes you feel something. -I agree. K: This new song isn’t intense or shocking when it comes to the music, so you can listen to it  smoothly, that’s why there is  something for sure that makes you go like  “this song!”. But in reality, there are several sounds, I’m just not trying to hear them properly. It sounds like something that makes you feel it, you can’t hear it clearly, but it’s there. It’s not something new, to stick to that kind that sound, but in that sense it might feel like different or new. -At first, I had the impression that it was new or something different from what I heard before , but that may be the result of your commitment, to the point  that you couldn't hear it. K: I don't know if the word "new" is correct, but now I want to create  in a way that makes easy to project ourselves, while blending  it with something that makes our guts/intestines stick out. If we can do that, I think it will be something different and interesting, like "DIR EN GREY is doing something interesting again". I feel like I'm exploring that aspect now. -We talked about age before but, Isn't this age the time to imagine something like the time remaining? Like taking it easy at this point…..that kind of idea. K: Rather the opposite. I don't know how long I'll be able to create something I'm compromised with, and whether if I will keep having this  energy or physical strength. I want to keep doing it as long as I can. I can only make music with what I have, so I'm not overdoing it in that sense, but I'm overdoing it in a different sense (laughs). You can't create it without straining yourself. -I see, you are not lying to yourself. K: Of course. However, if you rely only on yourself, it won’t beat your expectations. I don’t think that this will change, no matter how many things happen. Still, at last I started to think that our music has some power of persuasion. Do you think we can keep competing with just our music? -It's been like that for a long time. But this band is like asking for something impossible, it’s a band that won’t disappear. K: But isn’t it about creating things? -I agree. Is it still fun to create things? K: It's fun (laughs) -Immediate answer (laughs) K: If we can do it forever, I want to do it forever. There are a lot of difficult moments, but I really like it. -As long as these five people are able to share that feeling, this band will continue. K: I think so. It's okay as long as  I believe in myself and the members. -I see……your speech was  much worse than reading a bad self-help book (laughs). K: hahahaha