#or if you get so worked up by certain jokes common to this website that you have to make multiple posts IN ALL CAPS

[foxxsong]

Some people... really should not be running these poll competitions.

[system-of-a-feather]

Some Anecdotal Debunking Things About DID Treatment and DID in General

So we're thinking of possibly taking a VOLUNTARY break from therapy as we swap insurances, pick up a new job, open a new part in life etc due to it being an additional complication and we have gotten to a place in healing where we are not as dependent on regular professional support (though we do intend to return when settled to work through a few more things)

And while I know its no where compared to how long some others have been in it, after 7 years of weekly / biweekly therapy and 5 years of DID specialist therapist who explicitly worked with the FBI that helped victims from trafficking cases (luckily not us) just some straight up things about DID that I see non-DID people saying especially on a certain other website that starts with r and ends int t.

Thought it would be a fun thing to do while biking and before studying.

DISCLAIMER: This is based on my experience in healing and working with my therapist. My answers are not the only experience. This is 100% anecdotal. I don't think this will get big enough for me to need to say this, but do not use this post as evidence for literally anything.

"DID isn't having a bunch of friends in your head talking and making jokes and waiting for turns!"

Eh, usually not but why can't it be? Like it takes time and work but people without DID can sit in their head and make jokes at themselves and have fun with themselves. Why is it so outlandish that someone with DID could eventually be happy enough with themselves to get that? Cause tbh, its a lot of how thing are now for us so...

"DID is due to severe and horrific childhood trauma! There can't be this many people who experienced that!"

Oh how I WISH I had your naivety.

"No therapist would just acknowledge something! They would always diagnose! If they don't diagnose you don't have it."

Nah they do. Sometimes its not the main or relevant concern to diagnose (as DID is the primary diagnosis) and other times the diagnosis itself is stigmatizing and/or not the strongest in its construct (a lot of personality disorders) or most of the symptoms of that disorder are mostly covered by other disorders; or just straight up they don't like to diagnose those disorders for a number of clinical reasons. Also, sometimes people are undiagnosable which does not mean "does not have" but that their specific case makes it impossible to create a certain diagnostic differential as it is unclear which came first. We are undiagnosable for autism as we have had an autism and trauma specialist both say we behave and appear very autistic however we have too few overt dysfunctions so it is unsure if we "learned it" from the two family members we have + have OCD, OCPD and PTSD or if we are just a well-adjusted / adapted individual. Either way, it would hardly be a relevant diagnosis, so no therapist finds value in trying to spend time getting the the core of it.

"You can't switch on command!"

Yes but no. You can learn to be really good at switching and drawing parts out but there will always be a margin of error cause shit be like that.

"You can't have two alters talking at the same time at the front! You can't rapid switch"

Yeah nah, we've had four it's chill. Welcome to lessening dissociative barriers.

"You can't split alters after childhood"

the fuck you on about of course you can life sucks after childhood too dumbass

"Introjects / Fictional Introjects aren't real!"

Nah. *sips drink in introject*

"Animal alters aren't real! Inanimate object alters aren't real!"

Nah. Our therapist has seen dragons and zombies and werewolves, we had even specifically mentioned this. They're pretty darn common.

"Why are all their alters QUEER?"

Have you considered.... that they might be queer? Just a thought.

"If you had DID people would know! It would be obvious!"

Nope.

"If you had DID no one would know! It would be covert!"

Also nope.

"A GOOD therapist would not let you operate as different parts! They wouldn't feed into the delusion! They'd have you fuse"

Wow, I didn't know forcing your patient to do anything is the HALLMARK of a good therapist, thanks for letting me know. /s

"DID is a life altering disorder! It would ruin your life! You would be unable to do anything!"

Uhhhh no. That's just infantilizing and honestly a really negative / problematic thing to say about anyone with mental illness. Thats the shit that perpetuates the "this mentally ill person should be institutionalized 24/7

"People with DID can't drive!"

Partially true. A lot of people with DID can struggle with driving, but plenty can navigate that.

"Parts can't talk to one another! Parts don't know about eachother! Parts dont know / talk / do XYZ"

Nope. Just that shits all dumb ngl get your head out of your ass.

"People with DID would hate having parts! People with DID would not actually identify as multiple people! People with DID would be chronically miserable!"

Bro stop. Not true.

"People with DID would ALWAYS identify as multiple people. People with DID would LOVE having parts"

Not as common of a thing I've heard but also not true

"Befriending and sharing your experiences / being overt with your DID expression is only harmful and only worsening the condition."

Nah a large part of DID recovery is learning about your disorder and the parts you have to navigate life with and realistically it is very difficult to hide this disorder from people who are permanent parts in your life so a lot of the time - at least with your close personnel - it's very important to be open and communicative about it and leave space for all parts to exist as they wish.

"You can't have THAT many disorders"

Have you read about how badly chronic childhood stress fucks up the body and brain? People with DID tend to have a fucking essay worth of diagnoses. Chronic childhood traumatic stress is extremely damaging and taxing.

That's all for now cause I need to get to studying but just a few. Maybe Ill add more as I think of more stupid things I've heard.

EDIT: one more important one

"XYZ trauma isn't real! This is all just the Satanic Panic! False Memories! Iatrogenic! XYZ trauma is fake! RAMCOA isn't real!"

You are a mother fucking little bitchy asshole huh. Who the fuck do you think you are? Please refer to fucking #2 and I wish I had your naivety

[sistervirtue]

making a copy of this bc op disabled reblogs and i just got reminded it existed and would like to not lose it

ok so . im outing myself to the world but thats fine this is too funny to not share

so. ive run a roleplay blog for a few years. i keep it separate from my main, yknow, its just a side hobby and ive been doing it since i was like, 12. its cringe but hey yknow at least im not 30 and writing ya novels

now its pretty common for rp blogs these days to have rules. right? you dont want to just bag any weirdo on this website, and as you can imagine bnha roleplayers are batshit crazy (see: conversion therapy todoroki) so mine are pretty strict and detailed. because ive been doing it long enough to be exposed to what counts as carbon monoxide poison from a screen. one of those rules is "if youre mutuals with people who write porn of the kids even aged up im blocking you we're keeping a ten foot pole on this". because as a 20 year old man i have a healthy disinterest in seeing paragraphs of teenagers fucking

so the dash is astir with talk of a guy writing age up bakugou porn and im like ok whatever. make a post bitching about it . mutual likes those posts but then the mutual is turning around and being buddy buddy with this guy so i dm the mutual like hey whats going on here . mutual is like "well why dont you talk it out with him hes not as mean as he seems i prommy" and im like sure whatever i can have civil conversation and if it ends with One Less Person writing weirdo porn then i might be able to get into heaven

so i dm him and he loses his fucking mind. it lasted all of 10 minutes because he was sending paragraphs like this and i was too tired to give a shit

(take note of my icon thats a special tool thatll help us later)

(also he goes by the name rxgelord. WITH the x. thats also important just because its funny as fuck)

so the guys clearly bothered by the idea that people might possibly talk about him without his permission and im a little miffed after being misgendered (which hed do again later) so i just post our dms. swing first and hey batter batter lets play ball i dont give a shit this is bnha roleplay

once again: loses his damn mind. he makes a psa post about me talking about how im just some pussy infant and hes too HARD for me and shit and also they do bakudeku muffin roleplay in the comments of that post which is fucking insane

anyway. at one point while joking about the whole thing i called him a "wannabe bakugou kinnie" as a joke and apparently he felt a very serious need to address this

and im like holllllllllllllly fucking shit

you may have noticed that his posts are incredibly over-formatted. this goes for everything he does he is pouring a LOT of time and energy into typing his 9 paragraphs about how im an insane bitch or whatever. (if theres literally one thing i can give him credit on its that his graphic editing skills are kinda good. i will be honest) his rules document is also just as insane and features gems such as:

(this dude thinks hes pulling bitches on a bnha roleplay blog)

so we're just full on ragging on him at this point and hes getting MADDDDDDD MAD. he misgenders me again and when i point it out he has the following excuse:

(art by @/pcktknife. anyways)

after a certain point i get dmd an old copy of a 130+ page callout he had a year prior and im like WHAT and it included his yugioh rp blog career and various allegations like having been involved in gang violence, doxxing, etc. also a picture of the hickies he bragged about leaving on his uwu pink glitter gf which looked more like he was trying to go for the killing bite but hey. yknow. apparently im a toddler idk how that works

along in this we also find his twitch account, which was under the name rxgelord, and it featured edited graphics of his real life face with bakugou. he posts selfies a lot too i wont share them even if theyre public but he has knuckle tats and a goatee and uses the greyscale filter. if this gives you an idea. he also had 5 twitch followers and detailed his desire to be a rapper/dj and im like holllllly fucking shit this guy cant be a real person. holy fuck.

anyways. skipping a lot of unnecessary bullshit and paragraphs of text with gifs from 2013 attached hes constantly going on about how we wont just "say it to his face" which i think is hilarious bc i was, the entire time. but im like ok fine you want me so bad

so i send him this. he posts about how "he won when he got all might" (for some reason hes calling my ex mutual by the character name. i dont know) and then hasnt posted in 4 days. he deleted his twitch. im a little worried bakugou. dont say that. may have actually chased this man off the internet . to go have real life sex with his real life girlfriend so he isnt so mad

anyway we ended up turning one of his posts into an eminem uberduck

im honestly probably forgetting something this was so much and it was so fucking funny and honestly im glad to have been there

update: he has not in fact posted since last summer. god bless.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

This is a post I decided to make entirely for my own reasons and is definitely not just me doing that thing I do sometimes where I read something elsewhere on the internet and write a reply to it in a post on a different website to people who don’t have the original context. Such petty behaviour is beneath me and I would never do that. But anyway, here is how a post comparing Jon Richardson to John Robins should look.

They have a lot in common, obviously. They’ve both based their comedy personas on “I am bitter and anxious and think about things until it ruins my life and get upset when other people do things differently from me, and for related reasons I have a drinking problem”. Both of these comedic personas are… I mean, if it’s that far apart from the reality, then they’ve done a hell of a job of committing to the bit for nearly 20 years. I assume the truth in overlapping personas is why they venerate each other’s work so much, and get along so well, Jon Richardson seemed to get Robins in the divorce (his, um, first divorce – the first time he got divorced from a blond comedian with ADHD). There’s not a lot of point in pitting them against each other when they seem to go together in many ways.

However, here are some differences that immediately come to mind:

- I guess I can’t speak to this for sure as I haven’t listened to Jon Richardson’s solo radio show (aside from the couple of Robins-featuring episodes that I’ve listened to as part of my Robins-completism), but based on the radio shows I’ve heard – all of the Jon/Russell 6 Music era from 2006 to 2008 and almost all of the Elis/John XFM/Radio X era from 2014-2019 – Jon Richardson is really harsh on the radio and mellows a bit in his stand-up. While John Robins gives us a bit of a moderated and euphemized version of his darkness on the radio, and then just unleashes it all in stand-up. The latter version seems like the logical way to do it, given the nature of radio and the nature of stand-up. But I think Russell specifically brought out something in Jon that made him furious, so when he was on his own he comparatively calmed down.

- Having said that, I would argue that mostly, Jon Richardson’s stand-up is about how his outsider way of doing things is better and everyone else should do that too. While John Robins, in stand-up, will tell you his manifesto and then quickly acknowledge that trying to live this way has ruined his life and it would be better if he could be more like other people. But on the radio it’s the opposite. John Robins mostly defending his own darkness-based choices, while Jon Richardson was moaning about how the reality of living that way was actually pretty harrowing and he should stop.

- In stand-up, at least, Jon Richardson tends to keep it fairly superficial, getting deep into household things and only making tenuous ties to bigger stuff. While John Robins will do the jokes about domestic things only as a way into what Elis James has eloquently called “the cynical inclusion of emotional heft”. And that was true for several years before his Darkness of Robins show, even if he didn’t go as big on it before then. Jon Richardson is willing to imply the emotional heft a little more, rather than staring the audience down and laying it out.

- This is me speculating but it doesn’t take a lot of speculative inferring to say Jon Richardson might be more capable of adjusting his most difficult qualities in certain situations to make himself easier to work with, which would be how he got the decade-long panel show career and Robins not so much. Also, it takes no speculation at all to say Jon Richardson can usually “play along” his way through an awkward panel show situation, which John Robins demonstrably cannot. Though there are some exceptions to Richardson’s ability to do this, ie. the Jimmy Carr tax episode and that time when they made him go talk to strangers in America with Sean Lock.

- John Robins wrote a fun and friendly book with a positive message about mental health and Jon Richardson wrote the most harrowing fucking memoir I’ve ever read.

- John Robins has a pointlessly intense and earnest side that Richardson never quite reaches – not in his public persona, at least. I have never seen Jon Richardson unironically quote both Phil Kay and Anthony Burgess while describing breaking up a fight in the streets of Edinburgh.

On the other hand, I’ve never heard John Robins get jealous of a clock because someone else was checking the time instead of looking at him. Richardson certainly has his own brand of intensity.

And here are some similarities besides the very obvious (anxiety, alcoholism):

- Both have politics that are left-wing but less left-wing than I am, both are very pragmatic in their political views and seem to have more pragmatic than ideological objections to the far-left, both specifically a big fan of taxes.

- Both fairly obsessive about letting people know when they have done more work on something than other people, and generally cannot even the slightest disparity in fairness.

- Both are highly competitive, and by and large, pretty good at the thing they get to be competitive about during public performance on a long-term basis (Jon is pretty good at Countdown, John is good at quizzes and quick-thinking-based games). This comes into play in their actual competitions (Catsdown, the games they play on John and Elis’ radio show, they’ve both done Taskmaster), but it’s also a much larger part of their overall comedic persona.

This is interesting as a status thing, because it can be both. When they’re winning, it can be a way for them to claw the high status from a persona that usually isn’t that. But even then, it isn’t always. Even at the best of times, it’s very easy for their competitive nature to get turned around on them, it just takes one person (this person can be someone else in a competition, or it can be Jon/John pointing it out about themselves) to point out how pitiful it is to want to win something unimportant that badly, and it turns into a low status thing.

Of course I’ve thought of this lately because Taskmaster’s airing again, and various people have wildly different views on whether competitiveness on a comedy show is a good thing, but I’ve realized that one of the ways I diverge with other people on that is on how I view it, status-wise. I don’t like the hyper-competitive contestants because they’re cool, I like them because they’re not. Even if they actually are very good at the thing they’re competitive about, they’re still walking around caring deeply about something arbitrary and pointless. The cool people are the ones who don’t give a shit, and in many cases I dislike them for being so cool. To use the current example, fuck Steve Pemberton for being “together” enough to do a whole Taskmaster task while still thinking about how to best show off for the cameras and help them with their edit. I like John Robins and his inability to moderate his maladaptive qualities even when doing so would be professionally beneficial to him. And through that, I like the guy who is winning points-wise, but it still feels like supporting the flawed/lower status one.

This has been a post I've made for no particular reason and not as a response to anything whatsoever, but on an unrelated note, I may have made a compilation almost four years ago of John Robins and Sara Pascoe on that one car crash of a Mock the Week episode, because I wanted to show someone why I didn't like that guy, and Tumblr didn't let you embed videos in the middle of posts back then, and I hadn't yet figured out that it's easier to just share videos via Google Drive, so if I wanted to embed a video in my Tumblr post, I'd upload it to YouTube to do it from there. I did not properly think through the ways which that can cause a video you've made to break containment, and may someday be used to make a point you don't even agree with anymore, now that you've gained a view of John Robins that's broader than that one terrible Mock the Week episode. The point is, never post anything outside of Tumblr. And don't let Mock the Week be your introduction to John Robins. And if you're a comedian who gets invited on a panel show, maybe think carefully about which of your stand-up bits you want to take out of context on camera.

Oh, John Robins has better music taste. There's another big difference. That's important.

[gojo-kisser-9000]

Hmmm my opinions on your fic. Lucky for you I’m somewhat decent at giving writing feedback.

I do like the idea of the AU a lot. Geto lives but is still the enemy is not very common at all. There were multiple set ups and clever follow throughs like Yuji’s makeup that was introduced as a joke hiding Sukuna’s tatts, or Geto only killing cursed spirits after they hurt a child. The themes seem to be about changing oneself for the sake of love. My main criticisms are length and pacing. There are so many interesting moving parts that could be more fleshed out. Fanfic gives you the unique opprotunity to really dig into the characters and make a reader feel like them.

For example, every human has their own unique way emoting. How someone shows embarassment varies from person to person. Someone might turn beet red from head to toe, another might have pink pool in certain locations and nowhere else. Sometimes the heat is felt everywhere or only in the cheeks. Those kinds of intimate details feel like they’re missing to me.

I also have a difficult time feeling the location. How the air feels, the temperature, the lighting etc helps set the mood and grounds a reader.

You can also use syntax to torment readers. Yuji is kind of dumb right? So when writing his POV the vocabulary and sentences can be simple. Just like him! And rather than saying a character is overwhelmed you can make sentences run on and on without commas or breaks to make the reader feel like they’re trapped with the character in their mental breakdown.

I also saw the comments on how writing action is difficult. I’m not very good at it either but I borrow from how Beserk shows Guts’s power. Rather than illustrating the moment of impact, it shows the initial swing of his sword and then the aftermath. For some reason when I write action like this it works for me.

My advice to you is reading things where these individual parts are done extremely well and then mimicking them in some capacity. Like have them open as a reference as you’re writing. It helps a lot. Do not forget to credit those inspirations!

You are so sweet thank you for all of this ‼️‼️ This advice means the world to me ♥️♥️

This helps SO much more with the other AU I have in the works, so I’m definitely going to revise the first three chapters before releasing them into the wild(AO3).

As for the vocabulary, that would always be my beloved friend and mutual @/catgirlkirigiri’s stong suit. Luckily, I remember things that in all seriousness Shouldn’t help me, but end up helping anyways! Case in point: they use a thesaurus website to change out words for more impact.

I admit, I shy away from action because of not understanding much of how it works. It’s easier for me to write emotion, especially when I’m having my overwhelming emotions or have been in a particular experience. I really did lose touch with describing how a character feels without having to state it, which is what I’ll be working on.

Something I Did try to do was keep Megumi and Gojo’s emotes similar, as Gojo was raising him during parts of the most impressionable years of his life.

The fic was initially going to be SO much longer; Kenjaku was supposed to be elaborated on, Choso and Yuji were supposed to meet, Jogo would NOT have survived, more elaboration on Yuji’s own gauntlet, Nobara and the twins were meant to get more chapters. And then the dreaded writer’s block hit. And my made up deadlines told me, “wow. You haven’t released anything. Better end it here.”

And then I did 💔💔

But I do have plans to revisit it soon. Make it better than it was, and absolutely try to use all the advice you gave.

Sorry if any of these sound like excuses, I’m just trying to explain more of how the process of writing my first actual fic was 💀💀 (Learning from my mistakes, I am now writing multiple chapters before releasing chapter one so I have more time to work on this before freaking out with Made Up Deadlines)(posting my writing always makes me believe I have deadlines or people Will Lose Interest and I don’t want that 💔💔)

And the thing I saved last because I felt a lil stupid: environmental lighting and such. I really, REALLY should have thought about this, ‘specially as someone who has been in theatre classes where these matter.

I’m able to (somewhat) capture it in my art (ignore how Megumi looks 💀💀 I need to go back and redraw him at some point [dont speedrun art late at night, it’s not healthy]), the blue of the aquarium shining on Megumi, Yuji seemingly consumed by shadows, being highlighted by the light Megumi stands in.

Ignore the background. I’m not good at drawing animals 😭😭 Or drawing aquariums for that matter. But even there, I tried to capture symbolism. The stingray and a blue head wrasse supposedly get along from what I’ve read (mutualistic relationship!), thought it was fitting for the (now scrapped) situation :)) [Once again please ignore how most of this looks, it’s not my best work]

[onlinemarketingjuice]

How to Really Win at Getting Followers and Customers on Social Media

So, you’re on a mission to grab social media attention and turn those double-taps and heart reactions into real-deal followers or even customers? Think of it like leveling up in your favorite game, but instead of quests, you’ve got posts, and instead of game points, you’re earning likes, shares, and follows. Ready for the cheat codes? Let’s dive in.

1. Know Your Crowd: It’s Personal

First thing first: who are you talking to? This isn’t about blasting messages into the void and hoping someone listens. Use tools like Instagram Insights or Twitter Analytics to see who’s paying attention. These are like your social media detective kits, showing you what your audience likes when they’re online and even what kind of content makes them hit that follow button.

2. Quality Beats Quantity: Make It Worth Their Time

Do you know how one great post can get more love than 10 just-okay ones? Focus on making content that matters. But how do you know what works? That’s where analytics come in again. Look at your top-performing posts. What do they have in common? Is it humor, helpful tips, or maybe behind-the-scenes looks? Use this intel to make your next post a hit.

3. Learn and Adapt: Be a Quick Study

Here’s where you turn into a social media ninja. Tools like Google Analytics can show you who’s coming to your page and how they interact with your content. It’s like having a map that shows where treasure is buried. See a spike in visits after a certain post? Do more of that. If a post gets likes and clicks that re-direct to your website, put it in a daily rotation at different time slots. Experiment with popular posts. Post in early moring and post again in 2 days in the evening. Notice that certain time zones are more effective in the spike in visits. Create variations of the most social media posts. Notice a drop when you post something specific? Maybe steer clear of that in the future.

4. Solve Their Problems: Be the Hero

Everyone loves a problem-solver. Use your posts to be the hero your followers didn’t know they needed. And yes, there’s a tool for figuring out what problems they have. BuzzSumo lets you see what topics are trending and what questions people have related to your niche. It’s like knowing the questions to a test before you take it – gives you a serious edge.

So, What’s the Game Plan?

Imagine you’re the new kid trying to make friends. You find out what they’re into, share awesome stuff that’s actually interesting, adapt your approach based on what works, and always have the best advice or jokes. But with a twist – you’ve got a secret weapon: analytics tools that tell you exactly what your new friends want to hear.

[michael6618]

Here's some fun fact travel advisories from around the world.

Before everybody goes gung ho on America let's take a look at some things. We depend on foreign tourists, a lot.

Let's take Germany for example. Most employers grant up to 30 days of annual leave. The average across Germany is 28 days per year. The number of Urlaubstage is listed in your employment contract or collective agreement (Tarifvertrag).

French law mandates a minimum of 5 weeks vacation per year. And actually, that 5 weeks is a minimum. Most French people get anywhere from 6-10 weeks annual leave depending on their profession and where they work. And this is on top of paid public holidays. Don't let your jaw drop.

So you have all these vacation days that are astounding in different countries. And we have all these International tourists. Would you like to bet that the local chamber of commerce wants those people visiting their City?

So don't be so uppity when you read the following below.

Australia’s SmartTraveller website warns its citizens that it’s legal for Americans to openly carry guns in public and that people who choose to live here should “learn active shooter drills.” It also says, “Violent crime is more common than in Australia and gun crime is possible in all areas. Follow local guidance and instructions.”

Canada advises its citizens to observe normal security measures while visiting America, but to take extra precautions at our border with Mexico. Canada’s travel risk advisories also mention the potential for stumbling upon “criminal incidents associated with drug trafficking” when traveling at night in border towns and large urban areas.

The United Kingdom’s travel risk advice includes the same warnings about large cities and the U.S.-Mexico border. They add that travelers should never make terrorism jokes, especially in airports. They also say that mass shootings can and have occurred, but rightly include that they account for “a very small percentage of homicide deaths.”

As for Mexico’s travel risk warnings to its citizens visiting their northern neighbor, they focus on the potential for violence related to racial and ethnic tensions. One advisory cites an El Paso, Texas mass shooting where more than 20 people were killed. Mexico’s government advises its citizens to always carry their Mexican passport and avoid large crowds where rioting could erupt.

France lists America as one of the safest countries when it comes to travel risk, but also provides specific information about crime in certain cities. Visitors to Boston are told, “it is recommended to avoid traveling alone, on foot and at night, in certain parts of Dorchester, Mattapan and Roxbury.” French tourists visiting Atlanta are told to “be vigilant in isolated areas of the city center (downtown) after the close of business and favor taxi travel at night.”

Germany’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs warns of U.S. travel risks related to gun violence. Potential visitors are reminded that it’s easier to obtain firearms in the U.S. than in Germany and to beware of large gatherings. New Zealand’s warnings are similar, and they take the extra step of directing them to an active shooter response pamphlet published by the U.S. Cybersecurity & Infrastructure Security Agency.

Japan, however, takes an entirely different approach, providing specific actions to take if travelers find themselves in an active shooter situation. Travel risk advice includes hiding in a room and barricading the door, muting cell phones and escaping even if it means leaving alone. If those actions are impossible, Japanese citizens are told to “throw things close to the criminal, use them as weapons; scream; act with all your might.”

Israel gives the U.S. its best safety rating. Because of the level of terrorism the tiny country continually faces, it saves its harshest travel risk warnings for countries experiencing citizen-focused terrorism. Israel is less concerned about general crime issues.

[dodson85hayes]

All About Tole Portray, Exploring the Rules

There are distinctive varieties or kinds of portray and for the common indivudal, it can be relatively puzzling. You likely have look throughout oil paintings, watercolor paintings, physique portray, offer with portray, and several quite a few other folks but did you know about tole portray? Tole painting is imagined of as folks artwork. It is the portray of picket and tin utensils, furnishings, and other objects in a eye-catching way. Objects might refer to metallic objects like espresso pots, kitchen area utensils, and other property factors. The picket objects can be chairs, tables, chests, jewellery bins, and even toy bins. When did tole portray begun off? It all started in New England way again in the eighteenth century specially in Pennsylvania. It was performed by the German immigrants at that time. The correct depth occurred in Scandinavian nations close to the entire world and its Swedes, Danes, and Norwegian immigrants. The Germans concentrated added in tin and metal tole portray. On the other hand, Scandinavians worked on house household furniture and wood objects. There is a slight variance in the designs of these two traditions. armorthane reviews portray in modern-day fashionable day durations makes use of very long-long lasting, strong, and reasonably priced acrylic paints. How is tole portray done? First, the picket objects are sealed and then primed. Correct following that, the object is sanded and the paint is decoratively used. What would make tole painting helpful? Frequently, the talent in tole portray operates in the kin. For that cause, the tale and favored designs of the family members members are shown in the diverse tole paintings. The paintings are painted in freehand and it can be of humorous themes, quite a few colors, family members jokes, and illustrations of husband or wife and youngsters tales. There are costly as beautifully as low cost tole paintings. It all relies on on the higher good quality of the utensil, the personalization, the art, the get the career done, and the tale. There is a excellent benefit in tole portray specifically if it is your craft. For celebration, if you arrive up with a not-so-outstanding portray, you can conveniently sand it off and then repaint the utensil. Specialists even although can tell if a specified tole painting is repainted - there is an indistinct background of a certain product. Repainting usually requires location if the painter is nevertheless inexperienced. Some products of property furnishings, utensils, and identical objects are repainted for the cause that it is way way too useful to the operator and they definitely will not want to get rid of it and so relatively, they have it repainted. Now, you can come across tole paintings in a variety of surfaces in contrast to just in advance of in which you only see them in metallic-ware and tin surfaces. If you want to learn further about tole portray, examination to look for the entire world broad website for crucial aspects relating to this form of artwork. If you do your look into, you can learn tole portray property like task suggestions, suggestions on how to do tole painting, and your necessary materials. There are on the internet tole portray outlets that you can pay a go to to that market place handmade and tole painted goods. You choose a utensil, furnishings, upper overall body, chair, desk, or other objects that are tole painted. You can only buy them on-line as prolonged as you have a credit historical past card. Be careful whilst when producing online buys just make certain that the website page is encrypted so that you can safeguard your self from on the net scammers. Tole painting is getting more common at this time. With the motivation for tole painted objects increasing, the price tag of these sorts of products can increase in the likely. If you want, you can spend in tole portray and have a firm of your very very own. You can even do the function you in unique if you transpire to be imaginative and resourceful.

[cloudteawrites]

chapter: six ( 15.5k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

what is hybrid marking

8.2 million results. 

While scent mixing (heretofore referred to as ‘scenting’) is temporary and lasts a maximum of twelve hours if left undisturbed, scent marking (‘marking’ in common parlance) is semi-permanent. A ‘mark’ is created when the pheromones present in a hybrid’s bodily fluids are applied directly to their markee’s skin. When said chemical compounds seep below the epidermis and bond to the sweat glands found within the dermal layer of the skin, the target has been officially ‘marked’. Between domesticated hybrids and their human caretakers, this is most commonly done by applying hybrid saliva to the skin of the neck, where a human’s scent tends to be strongest. While the behavior involved in marking resembles some aspects of human foreplay, it is a non-sexual expression of mutual trust and affection. It is important to note that most hybrids of age are able to mitigate the oral secretion of pheromones and cannot mark accidentally-

“How do I look?” 

The sound of Jimin’s voice makes you jump. You fumble with your phone, trying to exit out of the website, shove it in your pocket and look at the leopard hybrid’s outfit at the same time.

“You look great!” You tell him once the device is safely tucked away.

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’ve said that about everything I’ve shown you.”

You had, but only because it was true. No matter what the trio of hybrids tried on, they all looked great. You weren’t sure what it was, but seeing them in something other than neutral sweat suits made them look even better than they already had. You were discovering they all had unique senses of fashion too. Taehyung preferred earth tones, soft fabrics and slouchy cardigans, Yoongi tended toward plaid overshirts and dark denim and Jimin had just come out of the dressing room in his sixth button down and second pair of chelsea boots. 

When the four of you had arrived at the mall that afternoon, you’d told them to go wild and call you when they were ready to check out. There was an entire section of the shopping center that catered specifically to hybrids and you were certain they’d be able to find everything they needed and more. You’d been all set to sequester yourself in a booth in the food court and indulge your hybrid research habit, but Taehyung had fixed you with a forlorn look the moment you tried to part with them and Jimin had insisted that you personally review every piece of clothing he put on. You wouldn’t deny that you were having fun, but surreptitiously trying to google what every little thing they did meant without getting caught was getting harder and harder. 

Jimin breezes past you to the semi-circle of mirrors on the far end of the fitting rooms, brushing his tail against your shins as he passes. That was another thing that had changed. Since the talk you’d had with the boys last night, it seemed like they were always finding some excuse to touch you or brush up against you . You didn’t know if it was a manifestation of their cat genes or them just wanting physical reassurance that you were there, but it seemed like every time you turned around there was a tail curling around your calf or a nose tip against your ear or a shoulder brushing your own. You were practically wreathed in them. Even Yoongi hadn’t seemed to mind when your fingertips had brushed against each other at breakfast when you’d passed him the juice. You didn’t know if you should count that as progress, but you want to. 

You’re not entirely used to physical contact and nearly every time Taehyung rubs his cheek on the top of your head or Jimin reaches out to link your fingers together, you jump. It feels strange, to have people be so blatantly physically affectionate with you. It’s not like you dislike it, exactly, it’ll just take some getting used to. Whatever adjustments you need to make, you know you’ll need to make them quickly. You don’t think the hybrids will give up on friendly hugs just because you never initiate them first.  

“Y/N-ah,”Jimin calls, catching your attention. He’s twisting this way and that on the platform, trying to catch his reflection in every possible angle. He hums in disappointment as he turns back to the front, tail waving behind him. “This collar,” he says, tugging on the offending band of bright green plastic around his neck, “-is ruining my outfit. We’ll need to get real ones today.” 

You feel like a stone has settled in your stomach. Your shoulders sag, but if the leopard hybrid notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah, you’re right.” In truth, you’d hoped to put it off for a little while longer. Collaring and leashing a hybrid had always seemed odd to you. After all, weren’t they people too? The law was the law, you knew, but something about publicly and visibly marking someone as property...well, the morality of it was gray at best. The temporary collars had provided you with a stay from the inevitable, but there was no avoiding it any longer, you supposed. They’d have to get collars. 

“I saw a store for them a couple shops down,” Taehyung supplies as he steps out of his dressing room in a white linen shirt and cream drawstring pants. “We could go there?” 

“That works for me...Taehyung, one of your buttons is in the wrong hole.” 

The tiger hybrid squints down at his shirt, feels blindly for the hole he missed, but can’t seem to find it. 

“No,” you tell him. “Not that one, the other- do you just want me to fix it?”

He pauses and looks up at you for a solid three seconds before giving a single, slow nod. 

You come to stand in front of him and start undoing the buttons from the top. There’s only four of them but each one you pop open reveals more and more of his honey brown skin and prominent collar bones. Your fingers brush his skin accidentally and he chuffs happily, one hand resting on your lower back as you start buttoning him up again. Heat starts crawling up your neck unbidden. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, you can feel the warmth of his palm, how long his fingers are. He presses you closer until your arms are nearly flat against your chest as you try to finish buttoning him up. It’s hard to move squished between the insistent pressure of his hand and the- surprisingly- hard line of his body, but you make do. “There!” You pat him gently on the chest as you finish the last button. “All done.”

He dips forward and rubs his cheek against your forehead, rumbling so deep in his chest that the vibrations pass into you. “Thank you.” He releases you and pulls away, but as he does, his lips brush against your hairline. You try not to read too deep into it. 

The tiger hybrid sidles over to his friend in the mirror, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist and dipping his head into his neck. Jimin reaches back and scratches behind one of his ears and your heart swells in your chest. It was nice to see them be so openly affectionate with each other. They’re so close in a way you can’t even begin to understand. It’s beautiful. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you thumb the screen to life. An incoming call from Mr. Seo. “You guys keep trying stuff on,” you tell the pair, already standing to make your way out of the dressing room. “I’ve gotta take this.”  They both call at you to hurry back and you give them a shout of assent as you rush away. 

The second you’re outside the store, you answer. “Hello?”

“Ms. L/N,” Mr. Seo’s voice crackles on the other end of the line. “I trust you’ve settled in well.” It isn’t a question and the tone of his voice makes it clear that he doesn’t wish to spend what precious time he has exchanging pleasantries with you. 

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Everything had most certainly not been okay when you’d emergency dialed him two days ago about the tiger on your couch. The text he’d sent you back six hours later had told you to figure it out. You had and you knew you weren’t his responsibility, but him tossing you in the deep end was still a sore spot for you. 

“There’s been a change of plans.” 

You grimace. Straight to it, then. “What’s going on?” 

“Black Mountain Canines- the company your uncle purchased two of the hybrids from- changed their pick-up date. They want you to come get them in person today.”

“Pick-up?” You frown. “No, they were supposed to drop them off.”

“They were,” Mr. Seo confirms, “But it’s apparently no longer profitable for them to drive all the way into Seoul to hand-deliver two of their charges. They also claim they’re incurring additional expenses by feeding and housing two hybrids who’ve already been purchased, but we’ll see about that when we arrive.”

Your anxiety spikes and your fingers wrap tighter around your phone. You’d promised the boys a whole day out. All you’d done so far was get them phones of their own and furniture for their room. There was still so much to do, so much to see. “What about Yoongi and Jimin and Taehyung?” You blurt out.

Mr. Seo sighs and his breath crackles over the receiver. “Those are the cats, I assume? I suggest you let them know sooner rather than later that they’ll have to share their space.” There’s a flurry of movement on his end of the line, the sound of someone calling his name and papers shuffling. “I have to go; they need me to look over some case files.” He tells you. “I’ll be at Haneul Tower to pick you up in three hours. Be downstairs waiting.”And the line clicks off. 

You sigh and hang up. What were you going to tell the boys? Day one of your new friendship and you were already breaking promises. 

“Trouble?” Yoongi’s voice right behind you makes you flinch and whirl on him. His ears press back against his head and he takes a step back at your sudden movements. 

“Sorry!” You tell him, forcing your spine to relax. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there; I thought you were still shopping. ”

“I can tell,” he snarks, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes trace the line of your shoulders, still tense and flick to the phone in your hand. “I dropped my stuff at the register. What’s going on?”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, nerves making your stomach ache. “C’mon,” you tell him, walking back into the store. “Let’s pay and grab some lunch. I’ll tell you when we sit down.” He follows after you a few paces behind, trying not to let worry prick in him at the anxious shift in your scent. Something was about to change, he was sure, and not entirely for the better. 

Twenty minutes later, the four of you are sitting in the food court, a mess of shopping bags at your feet and a bowl of tteokbokki between you. Yoongi and Jimin had picked out all the fish cakes first and were bickering good-naturedly over who the last one should go to, but Taehyung seemed content to just gnaw at his rice cakes. You’d hardly touched anything, your eyes flicking back to the time on your phone. 1:20 P.M. Two hours and forty minutes ‘til Mr. Seo would be at your apartment to pick you up and bring you to get two more of the hybrids your uncle had bought. You push a rice cake around on your paper plate with the end of your chopstick. Well, no point delaying the inevitable. 

“Hey, guys?” You call softly. Three pairs of ears swivel toward you immediately. The words die in your throat and your tongue feels like lead as they look at you, all their eyes focused and expectant. You clear your throat and force yourself to continue. “So...you know how I…” You search for the right word, but there’s really no other way to say it. “...inherited you guys from my uncle?” 

Taehyung’s eyes flick toward Jimin and the leopard hybrid brushes his tail against the tiger’s. Silent communication you couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Yeah,” Yoongi says, tossing his chopsticks down and leaning back in his chair. “I told them.”

That was right. What you’d blurted out at Yoongi yesterday on the street you had yet to disclose to his juniors. “Thanks, Yoongi,” You tell him, meaning every word of it. He’d spared you from yet another uncomfortable conversation. 

“...For what it’s worth, we’re glad it’s you,” Taehyung tells you, his tail twining around your ankle under the table. He looks at his hyungs for confirmation and when neither of them deny it, he settles his amber gaze back on you. “We like being here with you, even if you didn’t pick us. It’s...It’s nice.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his words. He beams at you, his boxy smile soft despite the sharp incisors poking his bottom lip. “I like having you guys around, too,” you admit, taking the time to meet each of their eyes. Jimin purrs as you look at him, the corners of his mouth curling. When your gaze meets Yoongi’s, his ears twitch but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink either, just holds your stare with an intensity that makes heat crawl up your neck. You suddenly remember the warm stretch of his body over your’s, the sensation of his lips against your neck. You snatch your eyes away and cough to cover your lapse in speech.  “It would’ve been scary, I think, if I had to deal with all this alone.” 

You couldn’t even imagine it.That clinically clean apartment with its blank white walls and its imposing emptiness would have driven you down until you couldn’t stand it anymore. You’d always had a little pit of loneliness inside you. You didn’t know how long it’d been there. Maybe it always had been, a seed of something sad and dark at the core of your soul. You’d done well keeping it contained. You felt it in your goshiwon, but your room was small. It couldn’t grow beyond your keeping. In Oliver’s penthouse, it would’ve had endless room to sprawl and with no one to clip it back, you would’ve choked to death on vines of doubt.

“There are others,” you tell them, before you can down spiral into the mire of your own thoughts. “He bought other hybrids before he died. They weren’t supposed to be coming until next week but their company wants me to come get them today.” 

The mood at the table shifts almost immediately. Taehyung’s ears and tail sag, Jimin’s smile goes sharp at the edges and Yoongi’s lip curls. “How many others?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You notice he does that when he’s nervous or uncomfortable. It’s a defense mechanism, no matter how at ease it makes him seem. 

“Four,” you answer and the bobcat hybrid’s ears tilt back in irritation. “Two are coming home today and the other two toward the end of next week.” Jimin doesn’t say anything, but you see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. He’s annoyed. Taehyung drops a hand onto the smaller hybrid’s back and rubs circles in it, trying to soothe him. 

“Maybe it’ll be okay?” The tiger hybrid offers. He’s trying his best to be diplomatic, but you hear the strain in the deep timbre of his voice. “Having other cats around again might be nice. We used to live with a lot back at the center…”

You wince. “...they’re canines.” Almost immediately, all of their ears go flat against their skulls and they hiss in unison. Yoongi stifles himself the quickest, setting a hand on Jimin’s knee and squeezing to get the leopard hybrid to get a hold of himself. 

“Hybrids of different species don’t play well together,” he explains. “Especially not when our animals are solitary in the wild. The only reason Jimin, Tae and I are able to stand sharing the same territory is because we’ve known each other since we were kids and we’ve had to do it before.”

Before? A question forms in the back of your mind, but now isn’t the time to ask it.

“We don’t like sharing what’s ours,” Jimin continues for his hyung, interlocking his fingers with yours on the plastic table top. “It’s instinctual.”

“I know, I know.” You squeeze his hand lightly, trying to reassure him. “But the apartment is big; can’t you avoid each other starting out?”

All three of them give you a strange look and Jimin’s lips curl in a way that isn’t quite a smile. “...right,” he purrs, a little delayed. “The apartment.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, anxiety sinking its claws into you. “I’m really sorry to spring this on you guys, I know it’s not great, but…” Your shoulders sag. “I don’t want to have promised someone a home and rip the rug out from under them, you know?” You knew what that felt like. You wouldn’t wish that feeling on your worst enemy. “I’m just...I’m worried that they’re not being treated well.”

“They were up for sale,” Yoongi drawls. “They definitely aren’t.” 

The taxi ride back to Haneul Tower is uncomfortably quiet. Jimin still holds your hand and Taehyung still leans on your shoulder, but nobody says a word. You help them carry their bags upstairs and drop them off in the master bedroom. You’d told them they could have separate rooms if they wanted, but they’d insisted on sharing, so you thought it was only fair that they get the largest room in the penthouse. Clothes went onto hangars and into closets and before you knew it, there were only ten minutes until Mr. Seo’s arrival. 

“You don’t have to go,” Taehyung huffs. He’s got you wrapped in a bear- well, you suppose a tiger hug and his cheek is mashed against the top of your head. You don’t even think he’s actively scenting you at this point, just keeping you from leaving. “Send your assistant instead and stay here with us.”

You let out a puff of laughter and pat the hybrid on the back in a way you hope is soothing. “Mr. Seo isn’t my assistant, buddy, he’s my uncle’s attorney.” You give a little tug away from him and he lets you go, albeit with a sad little mrow that makes him sound just like a disappointed cat. “I couldn’t ask him to do that. The only reason he’s coming is because they broke the contract. And I can’t drive.” 

The look Taehyung gives you is so downtrodden that you toy with the idea of calling the whole day off and staying with them- but no. You can’t bail out now, especially not with what you’d put Mr. Seo through when the first group of hybrids were delivered. “I’ll be back before you know it,” You tell him with a steadfast smile. 

“You’d better,” Jimin says, nudging the taller hybrid out of the way. Taehyung gives a half-hearted growl, but settles as Yoongi squeezes his shoulder. “The longer you’re away, the longer you’ll have to sit in the stench of those mutts.”

You frown. “Jimin-”

“Only joking,” He soothes, bringing both of your hands up to his cheeks. You don’t believe him, but you don’t press it. The leopard hybrid nuzzles into your palms, purring happily at the feeling of your skin against his. Your palms nearly burn from how warm he is. You feel a warm puff of air against your fingers and tense as Jimin presses all ten of them against his lips. 

“Jimin.” Yoongi’s voice is hard, but his junior’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile, one of his incisors pricking at the pad of your index finger. 

“Hurry back,” he murmurs. You try not to shiver at the feeling of his plush lips moving against your oversensitive fingertips. 

“I’ll do my best!” You say,  a pained smile tugging your lips apart. He hums in response and drops your hands, his fingers trailing across yours as he lets you go. 

“Hyung,” he calls over his shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Y/N-ah?”

“Don’t let them scent you.” Is all Yoongi says as he breezes toward the stairs. “You know better now.” 

It’s as much as you were expecting. “I’ll see you guys later,” You tell them as you head out the door. “Finish setting your phones up and text me if you need anything!”

True to his word, Mr. Seo is parked out front at 4 o’clock on the dot. You haven’t seen him in a little over a week and you’d almost forgotten how imposing he was. He cuts a sharp figure against the backdrop of the bustling street, dressed in all black and leaning against a brand new Buick Enclave. The poor valet stationed at the front door looks like he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask to park his car for the past twenty minutes and sags in relief as you start heading over.

The lawyer dips his head in acknowledgement at you and checks his watch. “Miracle of miracles,” he says, popping open the passenger side door for you. “You’re on time.”

“I was late one time,” you huff, sliding past him and into your seat.

“And that was enough,” he snips back, closing your door before you can come up with a retort. You grumble to yourself, but don’t press him. You know he’s right. He’d gone out of his way to help you and you’d put him out. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as he settles into his seat and reaches for his seatbelt. “It won’t happen again; I know you’ve got other things to do.”

He stills and looks at you over the gold frames of his glasses. For a long moment he holds your gaze, unblinking. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Had you done something wrong? 

Finally Mr. Seo blinks and finishes buckling himself in. “I apologize for staring, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard you correctly.” He push starts his car and pulls away from the curb. “I never thought I’d see the day a L/N would apologize to me.” He edges the car into the steady stream of Seoul traffic and you’re off, zooming toward the freeway.

Silence fills the car again, but as Mr. Seo takes on-ramp, you work up the courage to ask your question. “Did Oliver never apologize to you?”

Mr. Seo snorts and it’s such an undignified sound that you almost can’t believe it comes from him. “You could tell your uncle the sky was blue and he’d argue that it was red until he was. And your grandfather-” He seems to catch himself, reigning back whatever meager bits of his personality had managed to slip through the cracks in his normally flawless veneer. You’re all ears.

Up until a week and a half ago, you hadn’t known you had any family, much less an uncle who owned buildings and bugattis. Now you were finding out that you had a grandfather too. “What about my grandfather?” The word feels strange in your mouth. It’d been years since you’d followed the word ‘my’ up with any type of familial relation. 

Mr. Seo cuts his eyes at you, and flicks them back to the front. “Nothing,” he replies, clearly done talking about him. “I spoke out of turn.” He reaches forward and turns on the radio, the sound of national news filling the silence.

You pout and slouch in your seat, disappointment setting in as the promise of new information slipped out of your grasp.

The rest of the drive is easy. Mr. Seo takes the highway out of Seoul and up into the foothills but you’re asleep before he even finds the exit. You’d slept more in the past two days than you had in the previous three weeks, but it seemed like years of bad habits were catching up to you.

Last night, you’d passed out halfway through the second movie snuggled up between Jimin and Taehyung. They’d been so warm and soft and the quiet thrumming of their heartbeats had lulled you to sleep before you knew what was happening.You’d woken up with them still curled around you and -maybe most surprising of all- Yoongi plating breakfast in the kitchen.

Still, it seemed even twelve hours of the best sleep you’d gotten in years and a peaceful morning devoid of stress -for the most part- hadn’t been enough.

You wake up just as the asphalt transitions into gravel, the sound of it crunching under the tires and the car’s shaking waking you up. You’re bleary-eyed and confused, but a sign up ahead snaps you to wakefulness. Standing like a guardian over a chain link fence topped with barbed wire is a metal sign, imposing as it is tall: Black Mountain K-9s, written in stark font.

“We’re here,” Mr. Seo says, as if it’s not obvious. He kills the engine and without its purring to distract you, you feel nerves starting to boil in your belly. What kind of place was this? You half expect sinister organ music to kick on and lightning to start flashing from black clouds. Neither of those things happen, though. The sky remains startlingly clear and the only things you can pick up are the sounds of whistles being blown, dozens of people doing call and response, and one voice, louder than all the others screaming for people to ‘Run faster! Get those knees up!’

You pop the door and step out of the car before Mr. Seo can open it for you and head around to the nose of the car, taking in the compound. 

“This facility produces some of the highest caliber bodyguards in the country,” He says, coming to stand beside you. The attorney rebuttons his suit jacket and flicks his sleeves up before settling his arms over his chest. “Politicians, celebrities, even a few former presidents all have hybrids from this training center.”

“It looks more like a prison,” You remark, nodding toward the barbed wire. “First big cat hybrids, now this...Why didn’t Oliver just get regular pets if he was lonely? Was he worried someone was after him?” 

“Anything I can tell you would be pure speculation,” He replies, walking away from you and heading for the callbox. “Your uncle very rarely confided in me.”

“But you were his attorney.” 

For just a second, the tight grip Mr. Seo has on his composure slips. His lips press together and his shoulders sag- but just as quickly as it’d lapsed, his mask is in place again. “Yes,” he says after a beat. “I was.” And he presses the button on the call box before you can pester him with any more questions about the dead men he’d known.

The call box crackles to life, speakers squealing with feedback. You flinch and slap your hands over your ears to protect them from the splitting sound. Mr. Seo doesn’t react at all and you’re stunned, wondering how he can stand it.

“Seo Seunghan and Y/N L/N for Lim Hangyeol.” 

The person on the other end doesn’t respond. The speaker cuts and a second later, the metal gate before you starts rolling to the side, pushed by invisible hands. It’s like a curtain going up at the theater. 

Before you lies a wide, dusty yard, devoid of any plant life. The thick-trunked trees and lush grasses of the surrounding mountainside had been stripped down to the roots here. All that remains are a few weeds poking out around the base of the long metal buildings that ring the fence, and even those seem like an intrusion. People are making use of the space in whatever way they can. A group of people with matching cropped black ears and docked tails run past you in four straight lines, all perfectly in step with each other. Over to your right, there’s a pack of teenagers working in pairs to scale a ten-foot tall sheer wooden wall and in the center of the field, twenty kids are running through taekwondo forms, supervised by a widely smiling instructor.

You’re in awe of it all. Every single person is like a cog in a well-oiled machine, all in the same black tactical pants and compression shirt. You’d never seen so many hybrids in one place before and certainly not all of the same breed.

Mr. Seo places a hand in the center of your back, steering you away from staring and toward a squat cement building.You let him lead you.

“When we get inside,” the lawyer begins, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “Let me speak first. If we can get him to admit to breaching the contract right away, it’ll be much easier to get him to agree to a settlement.”

You frown at that. “Why would we settle?” You ask him. “It’s not like I need the money.”

“It’s a matter of principle, Ms. L/N.” He sighs, pulling open the heavy metal door and ushering you into the building. “He did something wrong, and it’s most easy for him to bear the brunt of atonement financially. Without requiring damages be paid for breaches, contract law would collapse.” 

“Can’t you just have him apologize?”

Mr. Seo’s mouth twists up like he’s just tasted something unpleasant. “As you attorney, it is my duty to advise you against accepting restitution in the form of an apology. You’ll get a reputation for being a pushover.” 

You wanted to be anything but. “Alright, alright,” you concede, “Do whatever you think is best.”

The building you’ve ducked into seems to be an office. Along one wall are a set of metal folding chairs doing their best impression of a waiting room. Along the other is a metal door covered in peeling paint and one suspicious dent bearing a plaque that reads ‘DIRECTOR LIM’. Set between you and it is a desk covered in a mess of paperwork. An old desktop stands among it like an island in the ocean and middle aged hybrid woman in coke bottle glasses is hunched before it, tapping away at the keyboard at a mind-boggling speed. One of her ears twitches as the pair of you approach. 

“Take a seat,” she orders in a reedy voice, not bothering to look up from her work. “The Director will be with you shortly.”

“Send them in, Eunjung!” Someone shouts from behind the metal door  just as she’s finished. She doesn’t look up or stop typing or even acknowledge you two again. Mr. Seo takes it upon himself to breeze past her desk and open the door for you. 

The office is militaristically organized, all right angles and bare metal surfaces. There’s a black leather couch that’d seen better days to your left as you enter, a half empty water cooler to your right. Bookshelves lined with trophies and textbooks dominate the western wall. You scan the titles as you pass: Predatory Instinct: The Teaching and Training Canines, The Utility of Force, On Raising Hybrids, The Art of War, all dangerous and daunting as the man they belonged to.

Lim Hangyeol is the most grizzled man you’ve ever seen and the only other human besides yourself and Mr. Seo in the compound, it seems. He looks like a drill sergeant from an old action movie, his salt and pepper hair buzzed short and his face craggy with frown lines. There’s a semicircle of pockmark scars marring the skin of his right cheek and as you get closer, you realize they’re teeth marks. You shoot a concerned look to Mr. Seo, but he’s more focused on giving the director a shallow bow than allaying any of your fears. 

“Director,” He says, straightening back up. “Thank you for having us-”

“Spare me the bullshit,” The older man orders, kicking back his office chair and sinking back into it. “Take a seat. Let’s talk business.” 

A cold smile settles on your attorney’s lips and you see a cord twitching in his jaw, but he merely nods and replies in a breezy voice, “Of course.” 

The two of you do as you told, settling into two metal chairs in front of his desk. These ones are nicer than the folding ones in the waiting room, but no more comfortable. You try to slide yours forward only to find that it’s bolted to the floor. 

“Stops the dogs from throwin’ em when they get bad news,” Director Lim tells you as you uselessly tug at the legs. “Got tired of replacing windows.”

You grimace. If the awards on the bookshelf, what Mr. Seo had told you and the dozens of hybrids running boot camp drills outside were any indication, the man before you must’ve had some idea what he was doing. You didn’t end up providing security for high profile public figures without a smidge of credibility, you knew, but the bite marks on his cheek, the little crack about people throwing chairs at him and the way he’d referred to them as ‘dogs’ didn’t inspire confidence in you. 

This was your first time visiting a place that produced hybrids, you realized. You’d never even been into a shelter before and certainly not a breeding center. Were they all like this? Devoid of anything soft or comforting, rigid with rules and regulations? Had Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung come from a place like this? You don’t know and you’re not sure you’d like the answer if you did. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Mr. Seo starts, popping open the hinges on his briefcase and pulling out a few sheaves of paper. “After the sudden cancellation of your company’s contract with Ms. L/N, I was concerned for the state of our business relationship.” He slides one of the packets across the desk to the director. 

“If I remember correctly,” Director Lim says, scanning the lines of ink and unintelligible legalese, “Me and your boss signed for delivery, not me and whoever this little girl is you brought.” 

Your eyes narrow and your lips curl, but before you can give voice to the nasty thing crawling up your throat, Mr. Seo gives a subtle shake of his head and taps you twice on the knee, out of eyeshot of the director. You grumble, but cage it behind your teeth. 

“See?” The man jabs one gnarled finger at the page, right over your late uncle’s flourishing signature. “It says it right there: L/N Oliver. Last I checked, he was dead. I’m not holding on to a dead man’s dogs. ”

That same muscle tenses in Mr. Seo’s jaw. “The contract states that Black Mountain Canines would deliver the hybrids my client purchased to his residence on December the eighteenth and that they would be received by a proxy if he was unavailable. You were made aware of the fact that he was unavailable, as well as the fact that he now has a proxy-

“I’ll pay the goddamn fine!” The Director barks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Christ above, I don’t know why he wanted those two fuck-ups in the first place, but I don’t want them on my property a second longer.” 

You shoot Mr. Seo a look of confusion, but he just watches, blasé, as the Director rifles through his desk drawers. The man finds what he’s looking for and drops two manila folders on top of the contract. “The pair of them are useless. If it weren’t for my reputation, I’d’ve had them both sent to shelters years ago. Or put down, but you know how touchy the law is about that.”

“I don’t.” You say, your voice edging dangerously close to a snarl. It slips out before you can stop it. Mr. Seo shoots you a warning look and you ball your fists up in your sweater sleeves, fingernails biting crescent moons into your palms with the effort of keeping your mouth shut. 

You can’t stand this man, you decide. He’s awful. You should’ve known that from the moment you saw elementary school aged hybrids stumbling through taekwondo drills with their ears taped and bandages on their tails. You’re going to take whatever hybrids Oliver bought, get them the fuck out of there and never look back. 

If Director Lim had heard you growl at him, he gives no sign of it, just flips open the folders. “To be honest, I should be paying you to take them off my hands. They’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since they aged out of training. I told your uncle he could have his pick of the litter for what he was paying, but he wanted a wide-eyed buffoon and a mutt who’d rip your hand off soon as look at you.” Clipped to the insides are photos of two men, staring back at you in black and white. 

One has the same black and tan cropped ears as every other hybrid you’ve seen thus far. Unlike them, he’s smiling. His eyes are little upturned crescent moons and he beams at you through the photo paper. There’s so much light in his face it’s nearly blinding. 

The other is not nearly as inviting. The photo is taken at an odd angle and it’s blurry at the edges, like whoever took it was much shorter than the subject and had to zoom in to even get the shot. His ears, larger than any of the other hybrids and longer furred, are pinned back against his head. His jaw is clenched and he glowers down into the lens, one eye soot black and the other piercing blue. 

There are stats listed on the pages behind their photos: height, weight, shot records and the like. Among them, you see their call signs, highlighted in yellow: Hope and Monster. 

“I don’t know where I went wrong with him,” the director says, tapping Hope’s photo. “He went through all the training, passed all the tests, but when it comes down to it, he just doesn’t have the instinct.” He gives a single shake of his head, clicks the tip of his tongue against his teeth. “No one wants a guard dog that’d sooner talk an intruder’s ear off than actually guard what he’s supposed to. He’s not good for much but nannying the pups, but he’s too soft on them too.”

A light bulb clicks on and you realize the hybrid in question had been the one instructing the kids outside in the center of the yard, his tail wagging a mile a minute as they completed another form correctly.

“Now this bastard…” the director continues, jamming a finger onto the second photo with so much force, it rattled the cup of pens on his desk. “Is my biggest failure.” He crosses his arms and kicks back in his chair, his dislike of the hybrid in question obvious. “His mother was the cornerstone of this facility for nearly a decade. I sold her pups to assemblymen and actors alike. Centers around the country wanted pups with her genetics. If it weren’t for her, we’d never have grown to this size.” He sounds wistful as he spreads his hands out, gesturing around himself like a king taking in his holdings. “But all good things come to an end,” He sighs. “A pack of wild hybrids settled a little higher up on the mountain.” His face darkens and his lips twist. “Wolves,” he snarls with all the disdain he can muster. 

“All that about them being noble and self-sacrificing? Complete and utter bullshit,” He scoffs. “They’re transient lowlifes who’d slit your throat as soon as look at you. At first I didn’t care. They stayed on their side of the mountain and I stayed on mine, but then they started sneaking down here at night to steal my food and fuck my dogs. By the time I managed to get the cops out here, they’d cleared out and my top breeder had gone with them.”

He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “I tell you, I thought I was ruined. But wouldn’t you know it, she came stumbling back here six months later, barefoot and howling to be let in and heavy with some wild thing’s pup.” Director Lim snaps both the folders shut and slides them to you across the desk. “The thing about breeding hybrids is, the money’s all in the bloodlines. No one wants a dog with mystery genetics. The only way to solve that problem is to cut it off at the root- but it was already too late by the time she got here.” 

You feel sick to your stomach. You hope he isn’t implying what you think he is- that hybrid children he hadn’t planned out himself were mistakes in need of correction- but you know he is. Deep in your gut you know.

“And she spoiled him. She let him run roughshod over everyone and everybody in this compound. I tried telling her wild hybrids need a firmer hand- he certainly did if we were gonna break that wolf he’s got inside him, but she wouldn’t hear it. I tried to crop him with the other pups his age, he gave me these,” he said, gesturing to the teeth marks in his cheeks. “We keep him shut up away from the others, now, in the back when he can’t bother anyone. He gets his meals delivered but we don’t ever let him out.” The grizzled man shakes his head. “A drain on resources is what he is.”

“And his mother?” You ask, quietly. 

“Eunjung?” he questions. “You met her on the way in.” The director stands and unclips a ring of keys from his belt buckle, making his way around the desk and gesturing for you and Mr. Seo to follow. “I’ve got her doing desk work now. Gotta keep her close so she doesn’t cause any more trouble.” He pushes open the door to his office, barks something at his secretary and steps outside, not looking back to see if you two are following. 

You shoot Mr. Seo a look before you stand and he meets it, evenly. “We’ll discuss this in the car,” he says, stuffing papers back into his briefcase and flicking the clasps shut. Oh, you most certainly will discuss ‘it’ in the car. 

You don’t really know what it is or where to even begin. The kids with bandaged ears? The fact that Director Lim seemingly decided who was allowed to see the sun and who wasn’t? You think back to the conversation you’d had with Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi last night. Right now, it seems years away, in some unreachable, idyllic past before you knew how breeding centers worked and how security hybrids were made. You feel foolish. Who were you to try to get them to let go of their pain and their hurt? If what they’d been through was even a little like what was going on here, they wouldn’t be able to for a long time. You’re angry. You’re disgusted. You are unquantifiably fucking sad. 

You pass Eunjung on your way out. In your time in the director’s office, she’s pulled her ash brown hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Peeking out of the collar of her sweatshirt you can see a faded scar in the shape of a ring, little puncture marks pale and glossy. It looked similar to the one on the director’s cheek, but this one was a complete circle and not ragged at all, like she’d stayed completely still while it was given. Teeth marks. 

You swallow. You want to do something, to give her some words of encouragement, but you have no idea what to say. You still don’t as you slow to a stop beside her desk, but you open your mouth to speak anyway. “I’m sorry,” You tell her, with all the sincerity in your heart. 

She doesn’t answer, but one cropped ear flicks toward you and her fingers slow in their incessant race across her keyboard. 

You turn to go. Mr. Seo was holding the door open for you and you can hear the director barking orders at a group of trainees to run an obstacle course faster. Just as you set foot over the threshold, she speaks. Her voice is so quiet, you have to strain to hear her over the steady clack-click-clack of her nails on the keys. 

“He likes green things,” she says, not looking up from her work. “And old books.” 

You look over your shoulder at her. Her face is a mask of neutrality, her eyes clear and her mouth set in a relaxed line. She looks fine, but there’s an ocean of meaning behind her words. You see her, just for a moment, as she’d been all those years ago, barefoot in the snow and begging for shelter, her stomach full with one of the moon’s own children. You commit the sight of her to memory. Then you turn and you go.

The director is waiting outside, shielding his eyes from the sun and regaling Mr. Seo with some long-winded explanation on the best way to treat hip dysplasia in Doberman hybrids. “Where to?” you ask, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. 

The man gives you a disgruntled look but despite the anxiety you feel spiking in your belly, you meet it evenly. Once upon a time, anyone in a position of authority looking at you the way he was would’ve sent you into a tailspin of self-doubt and nerves, leaving you shivering as your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, warning you of non-existent danger. If you were honest, it still did- but you didn’t have the luxury of running away and hiding anymore, not when there were people who needed you. 

“Hope’s bags are in the barracks. He just needs to grab them, and he can be on his merry way,” The direction grunts. “Monster’s still locked up, so I’ll-”

“I’ll go.” You can feel Mr. Seo stiffen beside you. 

“Ms. Y/N-”

“If he’s really that aggressive,” you start, your eyes not leaving the director’s for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to meet him now instead of when we’re packed into a car on a two hour car ride?” Director Lim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t falter. You hold your hand out for the key. Your boldness surprises you. He drops the key ring into your open palm and you wrap your fingers around it, stuffing it in your pocket before he can snatch them back. You turn on your heels and march off in the direction he tilts his head in, nothing but a hiss of your name from Mr. Seo’s lips to accompany you. 

You walk quickly, eyes straight and willing your legs to go faster with every stride. It’s a long way across the compound but the less time you spend walking, the less time you have to stew in anxiety. None of the hybrids training in little packs spread across the yard pay you any mind- except for Hope. 

Your path takes you directly behind the group of kids he’s working with. You give them a wide berth, not wanting to disturb them, but you get a little distracted. Your steps slow for just a moment as you drink him in. He’s tall- the same height as Taehyung, if you’re judging it right, but there’s an ease about him the tiger hybrid hasn’t yet mastered. Everything about Taehyung is pulled in. He’s always coiled tight, like he’s preparing to spring forward at any moment, all his energy drawn into the center of his being. Even last night, when you’d been cuddled up with him on the couch, he’d pulled you tight against his side, shifting and rearranging himself til you both fit on one cushion. He’d held you tight through both films, his tail curled around the both of you and his spine tight, like if he let himself relax for a moment, you’d both turn to dust on the wind. 

Hope has no such fear. Everything about him is spread wide open, from the heart-shaped smile on his lips to his arms as he demonstrates a series of punches to his little pack of students. They all watch him with rapt attention, ears perked up and bandaged tails wagging. One of them asks him a question and he laughs, ruffles their hair. He laughs in a way you’ve never seen before, shoulders shaking like he can’t contain the force of it alone. It makes your heart flip. 

His ears twitch, picking up the change in the cadence of your footsteps. He looks up and your eyes meet for the first time. He looks surprised to see you, for a moment, face blank- but then it melts into a soft smile, brimming with affection you’ve done nothing to earn. You snatch your gaze away and fix it to the dirt in front of you, embarrassed at being caught. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him cock his head to the side in confusion, but he doesn’t go after you. All the better, you’re all but running away from him now. 

You shuffle across the compound in a blur of scuffed sneakers and frayed nerves. You barely give yourself time to look up at the small cinder block building before you, shoving the key in the padlock before you can lose what unearned confidence you have left. You twist it, yank the rusted thing open, take a deep breath and enter.

You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but it’s certainly not what you find. The way Director Lim had spoken about him and this place, you’d been expecting cobwebs on the ceiling, blood spatters on the wall and rusty nails on the floor. What’s before you is almost entirely the opposite.

The room is a veritable Eden. 

There are vines climbing every available wall, wrapping around structural posts and digging their way between concrete blocks. Every surface is crammed full of flowering plants in makeshift pots: lilies in old water jugs, violets in a worn out boot, black-eyed susans dripping orange petals from an upturned helmet. The floor is in a similar state, ferns and foxgloves turning what little space around his bed there is into a meadow. It’s beautiful. 

“He likes green things,” you marvel, stepping into the room and pushing the door shut behind you. It seemed every living thing that’d been uprooted to expand the compound had found a second life here, sheltered from the Director’s violence. Maybe the hybrid who lived here had too. 

A plant different from all the others catches your eye. It’s set up on the cardboard box serving as his bedside table and it’s the only one in a real pot from what you can tell. It looks just like a miniature tree, complete with knobs on it’s trunk and tiny leaves. You let out a little sound of wonder and crouch in front of it, your fingers reaching out on their own to trail across the delicate branches-

A massive hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you cold. “Don’t touch that.” 

You hadn’t heard him approach, but now you knew he was there. You could feel his presence behind you, heavy and warm. He’s looming over you. You swallow and make your arm go limp in his grip. No need to give him a reason. “I won’t,” You tell him. “Will you please let go of my wrist?”

He drops your arm without protest and relief floods your body. You weren’t sure if there was a hybrid version of lockjaw and you certainly weren’t itching to find out. You sit back on your heels and struggle to your feet, still hyper aware of the person behind you, his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. By the time you turn around, he’s back where he came from, standing in the entrance for a bathroom you hadn’t seen, half hidden behind a curtain of vines. 

He looks different than the others. You’d been expecting that, but the full-length fluffy tail held stiffly behind his back and the long-furred ears pointed away from you are still a surprise. His fur, instead of being in rigid black and tan points, is marked by whorls of black, brown and gray. Instead of the lean musculature all the other hybrids had -all trim waists and narrow ankles- he’s sturdier, his shoulders broad and the veins in his forearms popping as he clenches his fists. He’s looking at you with that mismatched glare, his chin tilted toward his chest and his eyes shining aquamarine and obsidian. 

“If you’re new,” he starts, voice raspy. “They should’ve told you: you’re supposed to knock before you come in.”

“No, I’m not-”

“You can leave the food over there.” He nods toward a little plastic folding table jammed into one corner. It’s the one surface in his room that’s devoid of plants and there’s nothing on it besides a metal cafeteria tray, licked clean. “I won’t move when your back is turned.”

“I’m not here to deliver your food.”

He frowns, brows drawing together as his shoulders tense. “Then why are you…?”

You ball your hands up in your sweater sleeves and turn to face him full on. “I’m here to take you home with me.” You tell him. “They didn’t tell you?”

He laughs, but it’s a cold sound, devoid of joy. “Nobody tells me anything.”

Based on the short conversation you’d had with Director Lim, his sudden cancellation of contracts and the way he seemed ready to bulldoze over anything and everyone that didn’t fit his agenda, he didn’t seem the sharing type. Still it was hard to believe he hadn’t told him he’d be leaving the compound that’s been his home for over twenty years. 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you add, softly. “If you don’t want to. I know I’m a stranger. But you can leave-”

“I can’t go anywhere.” He taps the collar around his neck. At first, you’d thought it was the same as the ones every other hybrid had been wearing. You can see now that it isn’t. Theirs had all been leather with thin silver buckles holding them in place. His was leather too, but the band was broader and double-layered. There’s a little box on the side with hinges and a small drawing of a lighting bolt. A shock collar. 

Your stomach turns. 

You take a slow step toward him, but the second you do, his ears go flat against his head and he pulls his lips back, revealing sharp teeth. You freeze, hands held up and the keys dangling from your thumb. “I have the keys,” you say, extending them toward him. 

His eyes flick from your face, to the keys in your hand and back again, like he doesn’t believe what’s happening, like he can’t believe you’d actually want him free. The silence drags out into a little eternity before he speaks again. “If I try to unlock it, it’ll shock me.”

You blink up at him and risk another slow step forward, hoping you’ve caught his meaning correctly. This time, he doesn’t growl but his ears stay pinned back as he watches you through narrowed eyes. You close the distance between the two of you. 

When you were six, your mom scraped together enough money to take you to Busan for your birthday. You’d spent the day down at the beach, building sand castles with sea shell windows and wading through tide pools. After the sun had set, someone had set off fireworks and you’d watched them cuddled up in your mom’s arms, eyes wide and filled with a riot of colors you had no name for. It’s strange, you know. The ocean is miles away, but that’s what he smells like: the sea and the sand, and the last curls of smoke from homemade bottle rockets. He smells like that day. 

You lift your hands to the clasp on his neck and slide the key home. You twist it and the collar falls to the ground, a monster that can’t hurt him anymore. His skin is warm under your fingers, but puckered with scar tissue. There’s a ring of it around his neck, branching with whatever current had run through him in different directions. There’s no way this was legal, no way anyone with half a heart could treat another person like this. Your fingers trail one of the splits over his adam’s apple and he swallows beneath your touch, snatching your wrist again. 

“Dont.” His voice is cold. You blink, shaking off whatever spell you’d been under and shuffle back quickly, eager to give him space. He cradles his throat with one long-fingered hand, massaging the skin. He rolls his neck and you look away. You shouldn’t stare; the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable. “I’ll go with you,” he rasps, answering the question before you can ask it again.

You gape for a second. You really hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “Really?” You can’t stop a note of relief from creeping into your voice.

“Anywhere’s better than here.” He answers back. So, you were a means to an end. It doesn’t bother you. You’ll be whatever you need to be to get him away from this place and that man who seemed to only want to drive him down. 

“Do you need time to pack, or-?”

He gives a firm shake of his head. “There’s nothing from this place I want to keep.” And that’s the end of it. You push open the door and stride back out into the cold mountain air, trying your best to exude the confidence you know you lack. The hybrid slinks behind you, head hunched between his shoulders and every step stiff. He hesitates at the threshold and looks up at you, uncertainty written in the rigid line of his spine. He’s nervous. He has every right to be. 

How long had he spent in that little cinderblock room, shut away from every living thing? How long had he spent being told that he was a monster? You didn’t believe it, not for one second. No one who was as violent as the director had painted him out to be could’ve raised that garden. 

He leans out of the door frame, sniffs the air and lurches forward, out of the shadow of his room, His shoulders bunch up even higher around his head and he goes stiff like he’s waiting for a shock or a shot or a shout- but none comes. The sun is still shining and he’s barefoot in the sand, standing for the first time in years under the open sky. He exhales in a short puff and it looks like he’s going to walk beside you- but he turns on his heels on goes back inside. 

You make a little noise of distress in the back of your throat. Had he changed his mind? Did he not want to come with you anymore? You go to call his name out of concern- but realize you don’t know it. All you have is the call sign he’d been given and you sure as fuck aren’t calling him ‘Monster’. You don’t have to flounder for long. He comes back out two seconds later, cradling the bonsai that’d caught your attention to his chest. 

“I’ll take this,” he mutters, shuffling into place behind you. You can’t smother the smile that starts tugging at your lips. Yeah, no one hateful would hold a little tree with as much tenderness as an infant. 

You give him a little nod. “There’s a terrace where I live,” you tell him, starting your trek across the yard once again. “It’s got a garden and a little greenhouse on it. It’s not very big, and it’s not as pretty as your’s, but you could grow new things there, if you wanted.”

His ears twitch in response, but he keeps his glower firmly focused on the plant in his arms as he shuffles along beside you. It’s then you notice he’s barefoot. “Do you wanna go back and get your shoes?” You ask, trying to make the question sound as innocuous as possible.

“Don’t have any,” he grumbles back. “Don’t need them; I never go outside.” 

Alright, that was understandable. Your first stop when you got back into the city would be a shoe store to get him a pair to wear- or maybe not with the way he kept flinching every time a whistle blew and his ears were swivelling like satellites at each new sound that reached them. You chew the inside of your lip. You don’t want to ask, but you know you should. Better to rip the bandaid off now, than get surprised later. “How long were you shut in for?”

“Fourteen.” He bites out. 

“...weeks?” You venture. There's a hopeful uptick at the end of your words. Even that would’ve been horrible, even that would be worthy of the litany of profanity you’re mentally lobbing at Director Lim- but it’s still better than the truth. 

The hybrid cuts a flat look at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Years.” 

A wall of your scent hits him like a freight train, vacillating between the thick, cloying odor of sadness and the burn of anger. His nose wrinkles at it, brows drawing together in confusion. 

However little you might’ve known about hybrids, however limited your view of them was, you knew they weren’t supposed to be locked up. Domesticated hybrids like hamsters and cats might’ve been fine inside a house all day, assuming they still had regular interaction with people- but dogs weren’t. And he was half wolf. Wild, he’d have had dozens of square miles to roam over, and he’d been limited to a four-by-four yard room for fourteen years. Your goshiwon was a similar size, but it hadn’t been your whole world. All he’d had was one tiny window and what narrow view he’d managed to glimpse in the doorway when his meals were delivered. 

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’re cut off by a scream of delight and a snarl keying up in the hybrid next to you’s chest. Your jaw snaps shut with a click. 

A few yards ahead, there’s a group of kids wrestling in a massive pile. They’re all giggling and rolling over each other, tails wagging a mile a minute as they play bite and make grabs for the person at the center of their puppy pile. A head of black hair and a pair of cropped ears pop up and you see that it’s Hope, smiling bright as the sun as his students try to pin him. 

“You can’t leave!” One particularly determined kid yips, adamantly pushing his shoulder back to the sand. “Who’s gonna teach us?”

Hope just laughs.”Lisa is gonna teach you with the older kids-“

A chorus of disappointed barks and howls breaks out. “Ms. Lisa’s classes are too hard!” A little girl complains.

“Yeah!” Someone else chimes in. “And she’s strict!” 

The hybrid ruffles both kid’s hair affectionately, careful of their bandaged ears. “Just because she won’t let you get away with skipping night practice doesn’t mean she’s strict,” he laughs. He’s only met with more grumbles and complaints. 

It warms your heart to see. Even if these kids were at the mercy of their director -for now, at least- it was good that they had him to rely on. Your eyes meet and the sheer force of light in his face makes your own heat up. You look away, but he’s spotted you. He disentangles himself from the mess of kids and draws himself up to his full height. He’s in the same uniform he was in before, albeit with a black tactical bag now strapped to his back. He takes a step toward you and the wolfdog hybrid's ears go flat against his skull. He’s not deterred. “Joonie?”  It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to the hybrid next to you. “Kim Namjoon, is that you?” Hope takes one step forward and the hybrid - Namjoon - takes a step back to counter him. Hope looks like he’s going to advance again, but a small pair of hands wrapped around one of his own stops him. 

A little girl is holding on to him. She can’t be more than six years old. Her tail is still long and her ears are still floppy and she looks so small in her child-sized boots and cargo pants. “Mr. Hobi,” she whines, her head craned back to look up at him. “Please don’t go.”

He falters. His eyes flick from the pair of you back down to her, then he crouches, holds both of her hands in his. “I have to, Sowon-ah,” he says softly. 

She sniffles pitifully and juts out her lower lip.”But why?” 

It’s a fair question. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to come with you if he  doesn’t want to, but he beats you to the punch. “Because it’s my job, sweetheart,” he tells her, smiling softly.

“Y-your job is to teach us,” she hiccups back, face growing blotchy as tears well up in her eyes. Hope swipes one of them away with his thumbs. 

“I teach you so you can grow up well and protect your person, right?” She nods, little hands balling the fabric of her cargo pants up in her fists. “Right. Well this,” he continues, turning and looking at you with a soft smile. “Is my person. And I’ve gotta go make sure she stays safe.” 

You feel your heart jump into your throat. He’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky and you don’t deserve it. You’ve done nothing to warrant that much unearned loyalty. Sowon rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands and Hope pulls her into a tight hug. 

“Ah, don’t cry, Sowon! You’ve gotta make sure you get stronger so someone takes you home, okay? You don’t wanna get old and still be here like me, right?” He squeezes her and goes to stand, but gets mobbed by his students again, all wanting their own hugs and making him swear to write them letters. It takes another five minutes of tearful goodbyes and Director Lim approaching for them to turn him loose.

“Get back to your training, all of you!” He barks, stomping out of the office and slamming the door, Mr. Seo on his heels. The kids scatter to the four winds almost instantly, not wanting to be underfoot for whatever scolding the director was about to deal out. Hope’s face remains the same but you catch his ears droop just a little as his students leave him. The wolfdog hybrid- Namjoon, you remind yourself- on the other hand has his ears flat against his skull. A growl bubbles up in his chest and rips past his lips. It’s a dark, full bodied thing that has you taking a step back and Hope shrinking with a whine. 

“Joonie-” he pleads. 

“Don’t fucking call me that.” All the fur on Namjoon’s body is standing on end, from the points of his ears to the tip of his tail. Even his hair has fluffed out. His mismatched eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals his incisors and all that fury, all that rage, is leveled on Director Lim. 

To his credit, the grizzled man doesn’t shrink back an inch before the enraged hybrid. His lips twist and he yanks a little remote out of his pocket, mashing a red button in the center. Namjoon flinches, his hands fly to his neck- but nothing happens. The shock collar is gone and the director has no power over him anymore. 

The man in question’s eyes widen, flicking between the remote to the column of Namjoon’s throat, now devoid of his one element of control. “Where’s his collar?” He demands. “How the hell did you get your collar off?” He advances on the tall hybrid, his hand in the air and though he doesn’t stop snarling, Namjoon ducks his head, anticipating the blow. 

You don’t know what moves you. Maybe it’s Hope pleading for it all to ‘stop, just stop!’. Maybit’s how Namjoon knows exactly how to move when he’s about to get hit. Maybe it’s your own lack of self-preservation. Whatever it is, you blink and you’re in front of Namjoon, your hand up and clutching the director’s forearm, stopping him from striking the hybrid behind you. You’re not strong enough to stop him, not fully. Your elbow buckles in and you stumble back, your back pressing into the wolfdog hybrid’s chest.

The director yells something at you, red flooding his face. You can’t hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart. You force a dry swallow down your throat, put on your bravest face and glare up at him. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

He reaches out with his free hand to tug you out of the way, but before he can touch you, Hope is there. He presses close to your side and holds the director’s wrist firm, his eyes on the sand and his shoulders hunched up by his ears.

Director Lim looks angry enough to spit. “Hell of a time for you to grow a backbone,” he snarls at Hope, making the doberman hybrid flinch. “I want all four of you off my property now.” He snatched his arms free and you don’t miss the nasty glare he casts at Namjoon. “And if this mutt ever shows his face around here again, I’ll-”

“Director Lim,” Mr. Seo cuts in, his voice cool. “You’ve made yourself clear; we’ll leave. You needn’t make threats.” There’s an underlying warning in the attorney’s voice. The director locks his jaw.

“Get out.” He breathes. Hope ducks around him, his head low and his docked tail pressed close to his back. If he could tuck it, you think he would. You follow after him, eyes fixed straight ahead and your back ramrod straight. He might’ve scared the shit out of you, but you weren’t going to let him see that. Mr. Seo fixes you with a hard look and the second you’re within arms reach, he presses a hand to your back and ushers you toward the gate. The only one who remains is Namjoon.

He looks like his anger has rooted him to the spot. His ears are still flat against his head, his lip still curled. 

“Do it, boy,” the director taunts. “Give me a reason-”

“Namjoon.” At the sound of his name, his ears prick up and you turn around. It’d come not from Hope- which you’d expected, seeing as he seemed to be the only one who actually knew his fellow hybrid’s name- but from the open door of the office building where Eunjung stood. She looks at him, her expression unreadable and he stares back. All the tension in his body has shifted and for a moment, you think he’s going to spring toward her and fall into her arms- but she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and his face hardens. His arms tighten around his bonsai. You think you know, now, why it was the only plant in his room that had a pot. 

“Go,” she says and all the tension leaves him. His shoulders curve in and he drags himself past the director, out from the fence and toward Mr. Seo’s car. There’s something final about the way the gate rolls shut after him. If you hadn’t known better, you’d’ve sworn you heard him whine as it locked. 

The car ride down the mountain is...interesting to say the least. Hope insists that the seating arrangements inside the Buick be done to his specifications,( “You’ve gotta sit in the middle,” he tells you, pointing to the narrow center seat. “And Joonie and I will sit on either side of you to protect you in case we crash!” His tail is wagging a mile a minute behind him. You’re surprised it can move that much, given how short it is. Mr. Seo looks affronted at the unintentional jab at his driving and Namjoon just looks irritated. “I told you to stop calling me that.”) and he keeps throwing an arm across your middle everytime the car hits a bump. You’re going down the side of a mountain. There are a lot of bumps. He also keeps pressing his nose against the glass of his window, ears pricked up and trying to take in every tree that passes by. Namjoon, on the other hand, slouches back in his seat, his body curved around his plant and ever so slightly away from you. He still watches the world pass by, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of you or speak- which would be fine if anyone else would. Hope seems to be doing his best to appear stoic and alert every time you look at him and Mr. Seo seems comfortable with the quiet. So, you’re left to ride the two hours back to Seoul in silence. 

You almost cry with relief when your phone buzzes with an incoming text. You fish the device out of your pocket, thumb it to life and scan your notifications.

Unknown Sender [7:13 PM] where are you

You frown. Very few people had your number or any reason to text you. You’re about to chalk it up to a wrong number when the second text rolls in.

Unknown Sender [7:14 PM] it’s yoongi

Now that’s a surprise. When you’d hurriedly told the boys to text you, you’d been expecting Jimin to urge you to hurry or for Taehyung to ask for updates, not for their hyung to check your progress. A little smile pricks at your lips as you rush to reply

You [7:14 PM] We’re on the way back now!

Unknown Sender has been changed to Yoongi 

Yoongi [7:14 PM] can i call

You bite the inside of your lip, suddenly nervous. You know there’s no reason to be. After all, you tell yourself, what’s scary about a pair of roommates talking on the phone? You give him the go ahead and not three seconds after the delivered notification pops up, you get a call. You answer it on speaker.

“...Hello?”

“Did you just start driving?” Yoongi’s voice is thick with sleep, like he’s just woken up. It’s different than normal, his usual smooth drawl gone gravelly. 

“Y-yeah,” you reply, trying to ignore the way Hope is watching you out of the corner of his eyes and Namjoon’s ears have swiveled back toward you. “It’s gonna be awhile, still. Are Taehyung and Jimin-”

“They’re fine; They ate dinner earlier and they’ll be asleep til you get back.” He yawns and you picture him slouched on the couch, his hair mashed up on one side and his face puffy.  “Why do you sound nervous?”

“I’m not,” you counter. It’s a blatant lie and he knows it. He hums in doubt, but doesn’t press you.

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Do you want me to text you when we’re close?” It’s an innocuous question. There’s no reason you can see for him to pause as long as he does. For a second you think you’ve lost him- after all, mountains aren’t known for having great reception- but then you hear his breath fan over the receiver. 

“...Yeah.” 

You give a little nod you know he can’t see. “Okay.” He makes a little noise of assent and then his line clicks off. You hang up. Just as you do, another text comes through. 

Yoongi [7:16 PM] don’t let them scent you

“Who was that?” Hope asks in a small voice, pulling you away from your phone screen and Yoongi’s insistence that you remain scent-free. His tone is open, but you can tell by the way his knee is bouncing that he really, really wants to know. “Is that your husband?”

The bark of laughter that rips past your lips is out before you can think to stop it. Namjoon flinches and you wince at him in apology, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. Hope is frowning at you in confusion, his head cocked slightly to the side. You force yourself to calm and answer him. “No, Yoongi is not my husband.” You weren’t sure if you even really qualified as friends at this point. “He’s another hybrid that lives with me.”

Hope perks up in his seat. “You have another hybrid? Director Lim always told us that once we left the center, we’d be alone.” Your expression sours at the mention of the ill-tempered man and you shake your head. 

“No, there’s a lot of hybrids in Seoul,” you tell him, eager to dispel some of his misconceptions. “The three that live with me are named Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi’s around your age, I think. Jimin and Taehyung are younger.” The doberman hybrid sits at rapt attention, soaking up every bit of information you give him and waiting eagerly for more. What else could you tell him about them? You remember the boys’ reaction that morning when you told them you’d be bringing dog hybrids home. “...They’re all felines,” you say, slowly, trying to gauge their reactions. 

“So that’s why you smell like that.” It’s the first words Namjoon’s spoken since you all piled into the car. You turn to him, but he’s not looking at you.

“What do you-?”

“You smell like other hybrids,” Hope says, covering for him. “But I’ve never smelled any that weren’t other dogs before.” He leans closer, his seatbelt stretching. You tense and lean away from him, but he’s not deterred. The tip of his nose brushes your neck and you have to fight off a shiver as he breathes you in. “They smell the same…” he starts, his breath fanning over your throat. “...but different? And one of them isn’t as strong as the others-” He presses closer, trying to catch the scent that’s eluding him. You make a noise of mild distress and lean further back, pressing into the solid wall that is Namjoon. 

“Hoseok, let it go .” Hoseok. That was his real name then. To your surprise, the dog hybrid pulls back as instructed, settling back into his seat without so much as a whine.

“I’ve never met a cat before,” he muses, turning his attention back to the window. “I hope they’re nice.”

You think about the chorus of hisses you’d been met with when you told the boys they’d have to share their space. You hope so too.

It’s 9:30 by the time Mr. Seo drops you off back in front of your building. He wishes you a good night and promises to call later in the week to discuss Black Mountain Canines. You’re not sure if there’s anyone to report him to or anything you can do, but you want to try. What you’d seen at the compound was wrong any way you looked at it. It made you sick to leave anyone there knowing how the director treated Namjoon and Hoseok. No one was useless. No one deserved to be locked away for years at a time for the sheer crime of existing. You’d make them see that. 

The moment you step out of the car, Hoseok is all wide smiles and exclamations. “Woah, you live here?” he asks, tilting his head back to take in all fifty-one floors of Haneul Tower in their sparkling, glass-paned glory.

“Yeah,” you tell him, handing him his bag. In his excitement to get out of the car, he’d abandoned it and Mr. Seo had nearly driven away with it. “But I just moved in a couple days ago, so it’s still pretty empty.”

Hoseok nods, scanning the windows like he’ll be able to pick out which one’s your’s. Behind you, Namjoon is lingering on the sidewalk.

He’s still got his bonsai clutched close to his chest and he’s hunched down around it like he’s trying to stop unseen hands from picking at it. His shoulders are bunched up by his ears, and he flinches with every car horn, every siren that comes to you on the wind. He’d grown up in the mountains and spent the better part of his life indoors. It only made sense that he’d be sensitive to the sounds of the city. 

“Is there a security system?” Hoseok asks, still enamored with the building. “How many entrances does your apartment have?”

“Just one second,” you tell him, forehead wrinkling as you take in Namjoon. You slide slowly toward the wolfdog, not wanting to startle him. “Namjoon?” He flinches when you call his name, head whipping toward you. “Do you wanna go inside? I know it’s new, but it’ll be quieter, I think.”

His mismatched eyes flick from you, to Hoseok, to the building and back to you before settling firmly on the concrete at his feet. He seems different than he had in the mountains. He’s smaller, quieter, less sure of himself. Was it because this is all new territory for him? Or had the snarling hybrid in the mountains just been a roll he was forced to play, the mythic monster to the director’s tyrant king. 

“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” you tell him, in a voice you hope is reassuring. “We can wait, if you need to.”

“I’ll wait with you, Joonie,” Hope chimes in, giving the larger hybrid the same soft smile he’d given his students earlier. 

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It...it’s fine,” he mutters, “We can go in, I just…” He takes a few hesitant steps forward and huddles closer to you. There’s still an inch between you, but it’s closer than you’d thought he’d come. 

You peer up at him. “Okay?” You ask. He gives a single nod and your little group moves through the double doors and into the lobby. 

It’s quieter at this time of night. You don’t recognize the woman standing behind the reception desk. There’s no one really around except one man, pacing the width of the lobby looking thoroughly put out. You can’t really see his face, but there’s something familiar about the slant of his body. He whirls around as the glass doors click shut and you catch sight of a fringe of gray hair, pointed ears, narrowed yellow eyes and an all too familiar pout. 

Yoongi. 

“Fuck.” You’d completely forgotten to text him. Judging by the look on his face as he stalks toward you, he wasn’t happy about it. To his credit, Hoseok does his best to guard you, sliding in front of you and pushing you behind him. You can’t see Yoongi’s ears beneath the hat he’s wearing but if his curled lip and narrowed eyes are any indicator, they’re pinned straight back. 

“Move.” He snarls at the doberman hybrid. Hoseok is taller than he is, but the closer Yoongi gets to him, the smaller he seems to shrink. There’s fire in the bobcat hybrid’s eyes. Hope whimpers and slinks out of his way, ears low. 

You wince. “Heeeeey, Yoongi. I’m sorry I forg-“ before you can even finish the sentence, he tugs you toward him by the shoulders. His face roves your neck, sniffing in earnest as he tries to pick up the scent of the other hybrids on you. All is well until he reaches the right side of your throat and grazes over the exact spot Hoseok had nosed earlier. He pulls away slowly, his shoulders tight. His head turns slowly to the doberman hybrid, mechanical. 

“You.” He hisses at the other hybrid with so much virulence it makes your blood run cold. He takes one step toward him, teeth bared in a snarl, but Namjoon slides in front of him bumping him back. A growl bubbles in the bobcat hybrid’s chest and the wolfdog matches it, both their ears pinned flat against their skulls. 

“Hey-” If either of them hear you, they don’t react. They’re too focused on having a staring contest. “Hey!” You push between them, a hand on either of their chests. Namjoon snarls as you touch him and Yoongi looks ready to skin him alive for that alone. He pushes against your hand, trying to get closer to the taller hybrid. You ball your hand up in the fabric of his shirt. “Stop it!” The receptionist already has the lobby phone in her hand. She’s whispering earnestly into it and you’re sure security will be on the way any second. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut. “Everybody, elevator.” 

Yoongi hurls an accusatory finger in Hoseok’s direction. “These fucking-”

“Yoongi, please,” you plead. That gets him to stop. His arm falls to his side and he glowers down at you for a few seconds before stalking over to the elevators and slamming the up button. “I’m sorry,” you murmur to Hoseok and Namjoon. The smaller of the two hybrids is still hunched in on himself and the taller has Yoongi fixed in his mismatched gaze, his lips curled in anger. 

This was not the way you wanted this to go. You’d wanted them to have time to settle before you discussed next steps and gave them the same talk you’d given the felines, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. You don’t know what’s gotten into Yoongi. You’d thought the bobcat hybrid was calm, cool and collected, completely unflappable in the face of anything. Apparently not. He seemed upset that some of Hoseok’s scent had gotten on you, but there’d been no way to help that. You’d been packed in a car with him and Namjoon for two hours. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?

“It’s not okay,” you tell them, wanting them to know you didn’t condone the way Yoongi had acted. “I don’t...I don’t know why he’s acting like this; he doesn’t normally. Do you wanna go up separately?”

It’s Hoseok who answers. “No, we’ll go up together,” he assures you with a small nod. “If...maybe if we get used to each other, it’ll be okay?” 

You’re not optimistic, but you give him a pained smile you hope is reassuring. “Yeah, maybe?” You cast a look back over your shoulders. Yoongi is waiting by the elevators, his arms crossed over his chest and his tail flicking in irritation. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Well, there was no avoiding it. “Come on,” you tell them. “Just...keep to the other side, for now. I’ll stand between you and him.” 

The four of you pile into the elevator, all tucked into your own corners. It’s strange, you think. It’s never seemed small until now. Hoseok keeps casting worried looks over at you, Namjoon keeps subtly shifting closer and Yoongi is still glowering at the both of them, angry for a reason you can’t quantify. 

“If it helps,” Hoseok starts softly, his voice an intrusion in the awkward silence. “I really didn’t mean to, honestly-”

“Don’t apologize.” Namjoon counters. “If it bothers him that much, he can speak up” 

You don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s too late that you realize the canines aren’t addressing you. Suddenly, Yoongi’s fingers are hooked through one of your belt loops. He yanks you backwards and you stumble, falling against the length of his body. “My bad,” You shoot out, before the hybrid can hiss at you. “I just lost my bala-” The words die on your tongue as Yoongi fixes his mouth to the soft skin of your throat. The elevator goes quiet.

The canine hybrids avert their eyes almost instantaneously, instinct telling them they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be. Yoongi keeps them fixed firmly in his sights, a dark growl bubbling in his throat. 

Your fingers flex uselessly at your sides, hands clenching unclenching as the hybrid works over the sensitive skin of your neck with his teeth and tongue. ‘Don’t make a noise,’ you plead with yourself. ‘This isn’t what it feels like. Don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise-’ Yoongi’s incisors graze over a vein and a little whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. The grip he has on your hips becomes bruising. You feel your legs turning to jelly beneath you. Any more of what he was doing, and they’d have to mop you up off the elevator floor. You force your throat to swallow. “Y-Yoongi, I think that’s enough-” You don’t know if he hears you over the noise he’s making, so you lace your fingers through his and untangle them from your hips. He releases you with a wet pop and you slap a hand over the skin he’d marked. Heat floods your face and a smirk spreads across Yoongi’s, his teeth flashing at the canines. He leans in again to rub his nose against the mark he’d made- but a hand on his chest stops him. 

“Can you stop?” You ask in a small voice. Honestly, you’re embarrassed. Regardless of what the articles said about mark-making being platonic, it doesn’t feel friendly. It feels possessive and mean and you don’t like it. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you like you asked, but what is with you today?” Yoongi’s expression changes from smug satisfaction to confusion and then surprise, like he hadn’t expected you to protest. “I know what I said about you being ready but…” You rub a hand over the mark, wiping away saliva and your sweat. The bobcat hybrid visibly deflates. The elevator chimes for the fiftieth floor and the doors roll open slowly. You rush out before any of them can and start punching the code in your door with shaky fingers. You don’t know what to say. You’re tired and stressed and you don’t know what’s going on. Was this about the apartment? You knew the felines wouldn’t be happy about sharing their space, but why had Yoongi gone this far?

“Y/N…” He trails after you, his ears drooping. You shake your head, You can’t talk to him right now. 

“In the morning,” you tell him as the door swings open. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” You can’t deal with everything that’s happened today, and Yoongi flipping out and getting the canines settled. You weren’t that good at juggling. 

By the grace of all that’s merciful, Taehyung and Jimin are still asleep when you walk in. You’d need to have an extended meet and greet tomorrow, you decide. Maybe do some icebreakers or team building exercises. If they reacted anything like their hyung did, you were in for one hell of an adjustment period. 

Hoseok and Namjoon trail you into the penthouse warily, sniffing the air. You want to give them time to explore and get their bearings, they deserve that, but with the way Yoongi still seems agitated when they venture anywhere but exactly in your steps, that’ll need to be saved until tomorrow morning too. You give them the most spartan tour you can muster up and show them each to a guest room, promising to order them furniture and get them the things they need tomorrow. 

By the time you collapse into your own bed, it’s damn near 11. You groan and drag a pillow over your face as you ask the universe for the thousandth time why it had decided to continuously kick your ass. Having three hybrids had been hard enough. Having five of all different species was likely to prove impossible and having seven was going to be a sisyphean task you’d had no training for. You groan and kick your feet in the air, allowing yourself the brief respite of a temper tantrum before crawling under your covers and flicking the lamp off. Maybe in your dreams there’d be no stress and no snarling hybrids with behavior you couldn’t explain.

[apricotbuncakes]

🏳️‍⚧️ Luigi is Trans Masc 🏳️‍⚧️

Long Post!!!

Now that I have your attention, here are some reasons that I headcanon Luigi as trans, based off of my own experience as a trans masc person.

1) He ghosts hunts even when he has the option to say no.

Could this be a ‘I have to save my loved ones from danger’ or a ‘this is the right thing to do even though I’m scared’ situation? Yeah! But I’m trans and grasping for straws, so let me have this.

I put this as a reason for him being trans, because I believe he’s doing it because he’s a man and he’s ‘not supposed to be afraid’.

Luigi is assumed to be 24, and his character was first introduced in the 1980s, specifically 1983. Assuming he was 24 when the first game released, he would have been born in 1959 (feel free to check my math on that).

Although his character was introduced in the 80s where men tended to be more feminine and flamboyant, he was probably raised with the idea that men should be tough and strong, and should lead. Even if we throw release date and age aside, even if he was born in my generation, those stereotypes of men still exist and are taught within society. Even as those norms are being broken day after day, he would have still been exposed to the toxic masculinity.

Luigi, from what we’ve seen of his adventures, tends to be more scared and less ‘tough’ than what was expected of a man. From what we know of Luigi, we can safely assume that (if he was trans) he would be doing this not only for his family and friends, but to prove he was tough and strong, and that he was manly.

2) He dresses like his brother.

Yes, he is a plumber by trade, but he also ghosts hunts, and makes bank off of that. You think he would wear a different outfit when he ghost hunts simply because denim Isn’t meant for physical activity. Anyone who’s run in jeans knows that it isn’t exactly meant to be stretchy. It’s (supposed to be) designed to withstand the test of time. So why doesn’t Luigi change from plumbing cloths (specifically his denim overalls) to something more suited for the running he has to do in various places for ghost hunting? Because Mario wears overalls and a t-shirt.

From what I’ve seen on social media, other trans people follow the lead of those around them who match their gender identity/their presentation. I would do the same was well. I would look at what my dad wore, what my brother would wear, and what guys at school wore. I developed my style after what I had seen, so I could pass.

While you don’t have to pass to be trans (or even have the desire to), it’s a common theme amongst trans people to try and blend in with cis society. This can be for safety reasons, or just because they want to fit in with their peers.

Luigi clearly looks up to his brother, crying tears of joy whenever Mario is saved from King Boo. He congratulates him when he wins events. He supports him, because he looks up to him. They’re brothers after all!

It makes sense that Luigi would mirror Mario, since they are so close. Since Mario is most often seen wearing his overalls, Luigi follows suit, because it’s what he believes guys do. He’s following the example that Mario set for him.

3) Luigi’s view on gender expression.

Luigi has had a couple of instances where he is known to ignore typical gender stereotypes, specifically with dresses.

In the game super Mario Odyssey, Mario can be seen wear a wedding gown with a veil, and Luigi is only concerned that Mario didn’t tell him about the wedding. There was no wedding, and Luigi didn’t mock Mario when informed that his brother was wearing the gown for fun.

The second major instance is from the New Super Mario Bros. U Deluxe website. The website tells us that only Toadette can use the Super crown. The last part of the Super Crown’s description says “Sorry Luigi- Only Toadette can use this item!”

While this could point to Luigi being trans fem instead of trans masc, I would like to point out that recently, it has become more accepted that men can dress feminine. Since this game was released in 2019, it’s completely possible that Luigi has caught onto this, and is becoming more accepted and accepting of his femininity as a man. This would also be plenty of time to unlearn harmful stereotypes from when he was younger, about what men can and can’t do. Although he still sticks with old habits, he’s learning more about how the world around him works, and how it’s changing day by day.

I believe that Luigi has a better understanding of gender and gender expression because he is trans. He’s learning to accept that he doesn’t have to be hyper masculine to be a valid guy.

4) How he got his mustache and flat chest (and… other stuff).

This section will be discussing the effects of hormones, surgeries, and genitalia. Please keep this in mind as you read.

This is more of an explanation for how certain things happened.

How did he grow a mustache? Testosterone. It was likely after helping his brother with his career, and winning sporting events he had a good amount of income to start Testosterone. Another option? Minoxidil. Minoxidil was tested to see if it could cure ulcers in the 50s. Through testing, The Upjohn Company discovered it opened blood vessels and allowed for blood to flow more smoothly. In the late 70s, it was FDA approved for patients to use if they suffer from high blood pressure. Through this, they discovered that minoxidil also has the side effect of hair growth. The FDA approved the product to be sold, and it was called Rogaine. Meaning Luigi would have had access to something to grow facial hair, even if testosterone wasn’t an option.

What about his flat chest?

Binding or Top surgery. Both were an option by the time Luigi was old enough. Laurence Michael Dillon was a trans person who was born in 1915 and died in 1962. While I do recommend you look at more of his story, what I want to focus on is the fact he had top surgery. While the surgery was still fairly early in it’s development, it was possible. Luigi, who wasn’t born until 1959 (as previously discussed) would have the option to get top surgery when he became an adult.

Another option would be binding, though I think this is less likely because of how binding restricts physical activity. Binding in any way makes it difficult to run or exert yourself in general. We see Luigi run a LOT in various games, and for decent amounts of time too. It’s less likely that he’s binding.

The last thing is his penis.

There was a huge joke going around about the bulge we saw in a promotion for Mario Tennis Aces. People were discussing how large it was, and Even Mattpat on Game Theory discussed the measurements to determine how large it was.

Why was it so noticeable? Well bottom surgery was also an option for him pretty early on. Surgeons (from what I’ve been told be social media) will ask how you’d like to look like. Even if he decided to not get bottom surgery, he could be wearing a packer.

A packer is anything you use to give the feeling and or appearance of a penis, specifically used by trans masc people who were not born with a penis. There are many different types of packers (including clean rolled up socks) that people may use. What’s most important to note though, is they have a high chance of moving around.

Even with harnesses or underwear specifically designed to keep a packer in place, they can still shift around in your pants, especially when you’re doing a lot of moving. From my experience, my packers tent to move forward rather than back. Wearing athletic shorts will also make that area more pronounced as the fabric is looser, so if Luigi was wearing a packer, we’d know.

5) He’s trans cause I say so.

Like I said in the beginning, it’s a head canon. I say he’s trans because it’s a cool idea. A Nintendo character that is trans, and isn’t being hidden, explained away, or made fun of (like Vivian from Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door). I like the idea that Luigi is a proud trans guy, and we don’t know because it doesn’t matter. He’s a guy because he’s a guy. He doesn’t just ‘become’ a guy because he goes through surgeries or goes in hormones. He’s trans, and t doesn’t matter if we know or not, because his trans identity isn’t important to the story we’re playing, or our knowledge to know. We aren’t entitled to it.

He’s a guy who happens to be trans, and that’s that.

If there is any misinformation above, please let me know so I can correct it. This was meant to be a fun post about my head canon, but I did use real world examples t explain it, and if I got something wrong, I’d like to know. Thanks!

[justepilepsy]

I just got diagnosed with epilepsy and I’m 22! Do you have any advice on like, what to do now??? It feels like a bomb was totally dropped on me

Hi Anon, I'm not sure what is an appropriate way to start this off, but I suppose - welcome to the club (of people with epilepsy)? Jokes aside, being diagnosed with epilepsy later in life is not too uncommon! So let the first useful thing to tell you in this reply be: You are not alone! It is a lot to think about. You might be wondering - oh- was there any sign before it all? Should I- should someone have noticed something sooner? And this is hard to tell, sometimes impossible to answer. Since you just got your diagnosis, the next steps would most likely be seeing, if you can get on medication to regulate/reduce/minimise your seizures. This is very important, and it might take a good while to find the right medication that works for you. (reference, for me it took around 2-3 years of different meds, different amounts etc...) It's important you stick with regular consultations by your neurologist/GP, who supervise how your medications affect your seizures, blood levels and your general well-being. Your doctor probably already told you this. So let's move on to something you can do for yourself: a) create a routine for taking your medication make sure you set reminders/timers or any other ways to remind yourself of taking your medication at regular times.

b) identify your triggers This one can be a bit tricky. By trigger I mean factors/things that are likely to increase your risk of experiencing further seizures. These can be different from person to person. Sometimes it is hard to tell what your triggers may be. Common triggers may be: flashing lights, high fever, stress, shortness of breath (hyperventilation, gasping for air after working out) c) find trusted allies As difficult as things are, educate yourself and the people around you about seizure first aid (especially if you experience tonic clonic / grand mal seizures). These people may be people you are living with, a coworker you trust or friends you hang out with. Let them know what to do if something happens (if possible, it will make you feel more safe to do things and go out). d) no drinking avoid alcohol or drug usage. Especially when you're starting medication. e) driving clarify with your neurologist wether or not they deem you fit to drive. You may not be eligible to drive a vehicle for a certain amount of time, depending on legislation in your country. f) taking a bath / swimming it might be unsafe for you to take baths or to go swimming in pools, due to a risk of drowning. This one sucks big time. I highly recommend browsing the #actually epileptic tag on tumblr. There are many people using this tag specifically to share experiences and thoughts about living with epilepsy. the #epilepsy tag unfortunately is not safe for many of us to use, due to people tagging their flashing gifs incorrectly. Sometimes it also helps to read up on epilepsy and your seizure types. So i can also recommend the following websites: https://www.epilepsy.com and:

Another important thing: Don't blame yourself for having seizures. And don't let anyone tell you, that "you should know how to avoid them" etc. There is only so much control you can have over them. And I hope you will find the right meds and treatment to have as little seizures as possible. As always, if any other users want to join in and share some words of advice, encouragement or wisdom, feel free to add :)

[betweentheracks]

Hello and yay for this blog!!! I have a question :D. If a certain Chinese star were to wear jeans that say "my cock is gluten free" and "pull me down and fuck me," do you think his stylist would have chosen this knowingly, or do you think it's possible they just were like "hmm english words looks good" and didn't bother to look up the meaning? If they did know the meaning, would they have likely informed the star? Very desperate for the thought process behind this Choice hehehe. Thank you!

Ah, I was wondering hoping if I would get asked about those infamous jeans and here you are!

First and foremost; the following is all speculation from my experiences in the business and is wholly subjective. 

It isn’t impossible that they weren’t aware of what was written on the jeans, but it also isn’t all that likely either. When you pull up these jeans on the Dsquared2 site there’s a listing of what is doodled and written on the jeans and it’s not something that would be overlooked by neither stylist nor client. 

That said, Yibo does know some English and while he may not have known these words exactly, there’s more than enough ways of discerning their meaning. I would also bet half a year of my salary that his stylist would have known what was written here, or any number of personnel that works with them for that matter. I would also take into consideration that even if the jeans had slipped by all these people that may or may not have had the ability to see what was all over them, some of Yibo’s fellow idols should have (looking at you specifically, Seungyoun).

Setting this aside for a moment, I’ll go into who I think is responsible for the jeans being worn to begin with - Wang Yibo himself is the likely culprit. 

Why do I think this? There’s many reasons but most are inconsequential while two points frame the scene as I see it. 

This is markedly not a choice a stylist would make. Stylists, at the end of it all, are employees and therefore it shouldn’t be too surprising to know we have rules in place we must abide no matter if we are working outside the purview of the company we are housed under. Even when we work exclusively with a client, we are still taking the name of our company as well as our own with us and are operating as an extension of the brand the company promotes and promises. I don’t know of any company here (and I live in rather free faring place which welcomes eccentricities, mind) that would allow these jeans to be submitted as part of a pitch to either buy or borrow unless they were very specifically in line with a client’s public image and style. Technically these jeans would classify as offensive and profane which means they would invite trouble and cause a stir. While stylists are not associated much with the PR side of things we are still essentially a team playing for the same client - this selection, if gone badly, would be like asking for lightning to strike twice in one place at the same time. If a scandal amounted from them PR would have to handle it and that means the stylist would come under fire for making such a bold and risky choice, most especially with a younger client that thus far didn’t have the sort of image one would think to associate with jeans such as these. 

The second reason is that, from what I can tell, this is in line with Yibo’s personality. He’s very serious about style and engages with it as he does most things; by overtaking it completely and rebranding it to suit him to the point that it makes one wonder if the style wasn’t designed with him in mind. He makes full use of what fashion is all about at it’s core; expression. These jeans in particular would have suited the Yibo of the time he wore them (2018, if I remember right?) as he was trying to break away from the image he held as a pretty boy with demure and soft looks which held the shock value of being in such contrast with his dancing and rapping. He’s mentioned before that he doesn’t really like being “cute/sy” and having to do things in the way of that since it’s not true to who he feels he is. Which, honestly, a lot of idols and stars go through this experience where they no longer wish to be constrained by the persona they play for the public and one of the most impactful means of going about it is to address the styling since it is the focal point of public image. 

The Dsquared2 jeans don’t only say “my cock is gluten free,” there’s actually quite a lot to them and I think it would help if more were aware of it so here’s the description of them on the website: 

D Squared Limited Edition Jeans. Sexy Twist Printed Low Rise. Fun, Evil Boy, Love Sucks, Pull Me Down, Open Me, Unzip, Buttons, Wine Is My Water, Tic Tac Toe, Dean & Dan, Sex, Gluten Free Cock, Hot Patches

The jeans actually say “pull me down and fuck me” right there on the ass, but naturally they can’t list the expletives in the marketing. Not strictly important to this post, but still worth mentioning given the hushed treatment of what the placement of such words could easily imply and the effect that could have had. 

Anyway, the bit that is very telling in my opinion is that “evil boy” tag. I’m not terribly certain due to having never been fortunate enough to work with these jeans myself and the internet only has so many pictures from so many angles, but “evil boy” is either written somewhere (which I think is the case since there’s devil horns present as well) or they’re being promoted as such for aesthetic value. Regardless, I am fairly certain this would be the feature which caught Yibo’s eye. It’s on brand for someone seeking to shatter the conceptual ideal of being naive, innocent, youthful, or soft.

The jeans as a whole fit with Yibo’s sense of humor, as I’ve seen it at least. He lost his mind and fell into full laughter and hysterics over a dick joke, not even minding that he was being filmed or anything. He was still laughing about it even after the other hosts had moved beyond it, making them circle back around to it and in turn making it all the more hilarious for him to enjoy. You can see it clearly in the bts footage from the CQL set that he enjoys being mischievous and stirring things up and having a good time. 

This is who he is, I believe, and it makes a lot of sense for him to have made this stylistic choice and then either convince his stylist to let him run with it or change out at the last second. Both of these are possible, though one of them is less probable than the other given how tricky it actually would be to sneak a wardrobe alteration past the many people that make up the staffing roster for any events, and then to be able to change in the limited time frame available between exiting the dressing room to being in the public sphere would be one in a thousand. Much simpler to goad your stylist into being lenient enough to give you free reign over your own styling - we can only hold out and say no when the grounds for it are met, which this wouldn’t have done in all likelihood - and most of the time we build up a good enough relationship and rapport with clients that we end up doting on them a bit and heed their requests when we can.

That’s all from me on this token moment in Yibo’s very stacked fashion history. Thanks for asking!

Furthermore, there’s the third possibility that this wasn’t a styling choice whatsoever. Or at least not one that involved the stylist in any real regard. It is very plausible that this was just Yibo in his own clothes, having dressed down after the main events wound down. I’ve never actually watched to see what that night looked like overall, but from the videos I have seen it looked to me like the actual do had passed and they were all just goofing around and having their own dance competitions and such when he was wearing them. I can’t say for sure that he did or did not have them on for the whole thing or if they were his own self packed casual wear. In which case it would fall back to his studio to tend to since stylists generally don’t hold authority over personal clothing choices and only ever have a hand in it when it is expressly stated in contracts or temporary clauses, and it just isn’t too common anymore. 

Worth a quick mention for means of distinction, here in the US this choice wouldn't have raised many eyebrows no matter if it was chosen by an artist or a stylist. The only reason I feel it necessary to say this is simply because this is not so in China and that alone lends context to the controversy of these jeans. In the scope of conservatism these jeans are outrageous and I think that a stylist would steer clear of utilizing them at all if they value their job. This is why I don't consider it likely at all that Yibo and his stylist collaborated to make use of these jeans as a way to shake away the remnants of his pretty boy aesthetic.

[temporoom]

So, if you remember my previous post, you know I watched the first episode of VnC’s english dub. And as one of the honorary french persons on this website, I shall tell you what I thought of it, most specifically the french. 

First of all, the casting. In french, Noé and Vanitas suffered from “got a lower voice from the original”, in the english dub, they suffered the “got a higher voice than the original”. Choose your champion I don’t mind either as long as the performance is good. But if i’m going into specifics.

Vanitas: “My daughter loves him, I think he looks a little gay. whatever makes my princess happy <3 “ I’ll also add a common agreement with this post saying that it looks more like he is trying to be Vanitas rather than being Vanitas. It’ll come with getting used to the character. (Also given that Zeno Robinson seemed to have fought thooth and nails to get this role, it is to be expected to have a bit of overacting.)

Noé: I... I realized that Noé is a hard character to perform. I guess it didn’t feel that way for me because I have a similar personality to him, so his changes in attitude are easy to reproduce for me. But I can just feel the VA’s (in both french and english) struggling to find the right tone for him. in french it ends up kind of dry, in english it’s like a rollercoaster that sometimes goes off rails to fall back on it: you never know what to expect. Overall I would think Stephen Fu is doing good, and again just needs to adjust to his character.

Amelia: I was caught off guard because her voice is lower in english compared to both french and japanese. But I overall think it’s good.

Naenia: Japanese -> childish. French -> is it teacher owo. English -> is it Luna owo. In the end everyone turns towards MochiJun for answers, but she only smiles smugly... as she doesn’t know either.

Teacher: “My dearest kitten~!” I... I guess it sounds less pervy than my assumption about it being “My cute little kitten~!”

Now, onto the transcription.

It’s better than the french one at least for this episode, since it respects the original material more. Though it also made me realize how much “french” they added/kept in the english translations overall. I don’t notice it when reading because it’s just natural for me, but now that I hear it... I can’t help but giggle each time I hear Noé try his best to pronounce Paris or Vanitas talking about “maladies” and “chasseur”. 

I get now why you english people think french is sexy, you have such a hard time pronouncing it that each time you do, it sounds like a groan or a moan. Comme c’est mignon~! 

Jokes asides, I do think the pronunciation was right. If you have been put off by it, honestly then it would be because they sometime pronounces letters supposed to be silent, or try their best to stay as close as possible to the french pronunciation instead of just throwing frenglish. I personally appreciate the effort. None of the french I heard seemed out of place, and it goes smoothly with the dialogues. Though I have to say, I was surprised to hear Noé calling Amelia “Mademoiselle” here, because in french he simply calls her Amelia.

(I also discovered that some people were put off by the use of “Monsieur” or “Mademoiselle” regarding certain characters in the manga, so I’ll make a dedicated post to explain how that and overall familiar vs formal speech works)

To conclude: the english dub is doing great for now, and I’m looking forward to see how they integrate the french speech in other scenes (especially that “voui” on the roof... hehe). 

[gaythingliker69]

PLEASE READ

TW: transphobia, mentions of hate crime

Hi, so since my post the other night I feel a sort of responsibility to tell people the situation of trans people in the UK. The short answer is it’s really bleak. The first thing I’ll mention is that in 2017 a trans woman was given residency in New Zealand from the UK as she faced “persecution” for her gender identity. The NZ authorities ruled that to send her back here would be “unduly harsh”. This must be at the forefront of everyone’s mind when trans rights come up in the UK, though it’s been forgotten over the last few years.

At that point the Labour Party was sort of ok for trans rights, with then leader Jeremy Corbyn calling for self ID. He certainly wasn’t perfect but he was better than his replacement. Corbyn was replaced by Sir Keir Starmer last year, and in his campaign for the leadership he refused to sign a pledge for trans rights, which was signed by his competitors Rebecca Long-Bailey and Lisa Nandy. The fourth contender, Emily Thornberry, refused to sign the pledge but spoke of her support for trans rights after the fact. Gemma Stone, a trans woman who said she was considering joining Labour but decided against it, described Starmer’s silence on the issue as “deafening”.

These days, Parliamentary support for trans rights comes from the backbenches - Members of Parliament who don’t hold a position as a government minister or shadow government minister. These include Zarah Sultana (the responses on that tweet are awful, but gives you an idea of what we’re up against) and Nadia Whittome of the Labour left, and Layla Moran of the Liberal Democrats, the first MP to identify as openly pansexual. Nicola Sturgeon, leader of the Scottish National Party, has called transphobia “not acceptable” in her party. However, Moran lost the LD leadership contest to Sir Ed Davey in 2020, so no party in Parliament in England and Wales has a platform for trans rights. Starmer has appeared to embolden transphobia by not cracking down on MPs like Rosie Duffield. We are very much on our own. Even on the far left, often accused of supporting trans rights as a means to undermine Western civilisation or something (I joke but I think you get my point), has major issues with it. The Communist Party of Britain has rumours and allegations of transphobia in its ranks, and the Communist Party of Great Britain (Marxist-Leninist) infamously referred to LGBT+ politics as “anti-Marxist” and “anti working class”. Are there no working class LGBT+ people? Regardless, even the people who are labelled as liking us don’t appear to.

And Johnson’s Conservatives are a non starter. Just this year, they proposed making unenrolled deed polls (a method of quickly changing your name) invalid. This would mean there is a publicly available list of trans people and other vulnerable individuals, like those trying to escape or disassociate from abusive partners. The process would require consent from any spouse (the only other process of this nature that requires this is gender recognition for trans people) and the addresses of those who have changed their names would be public knowledge. I shouldn’t have to tell you how dangerous that is. It also appears there is little being done to stop the rise in hate crime, which were reported to have quadrupled last year. Politics is openly hostile from nearly every corner, it would seem.

In terms of healthcare there has been a similar decline. The BBC described waiting lists of over 3 years for gender clinics as “hell” (bear in mind this article was written before the pandemic hit the UK), though there were claims on Twitter that these times were up to 60 months in some places. These waiting times can lead to people taking the unfamiliar and often expensive private route. The High Court recently ruled that under 16s are unlikely to be able to give informed consent on puberty blockers, a troubling ruling that could have dangerous consequences depending on how the courts extend it in the future. The ruling that puberty blockers can only be used after you’ve gone through the bulk of puberty is a really curious one from a logical standpoint - they are not hormones, they are not irreversible. But I fear that’s what the courts or Parliament will come for next.

If you’re looking for an alternative source with different information from someone older, here’s a decent thread on how British transphobia partly emerged from the Skeptics in the Pub movement, making it unique to this hellish little rock.

This overview is really brief, and it would require me going a lot further in depth to go into how the media has fed into this, the controversies surrounding certain private doctors, or different groups and dog whistles they’ve adopted. But for now, I honestly feel quite helpless. There’s not much you can do to affect Parliament, especially not with the new laws coming in around protest in the Police, Crime, Sentencing, and Courts Bill. Petitions are useless unless they’re done through the Parliament website. If they gain 10,000 signatures they go to a petitions committee, then maybe the House of Commons itself. Only to be almost definitely voted down by Johnson’s Conservatives and their majority. Just please, spread this for all of us living here, and give any sort of suggestions for action. I fear this is going to get far worse before it gets better. We can but hope I’m wrong.

Update: 05/05/21

There have been some recent developments that I’m gonna note. I might use this as a sort of compilation document of documenting our position here.

Maya Forstater was a contracted consultant at the Centre for Global Development. Her contract wasn’t renewed in 2019 after a series of transphobic Twitter posts caused staff to complain about her. She received support from the Index for Censorship and was able to crowdfund her campaign. At the Central London Employment Tribunal, Judge James Tayler branded her views “not worthy of respect in a democratic society”. He said that her views weren’t protected under the Equality Act 2010 as they “violated the dignity” of trans people due to her insistence on misgendering. Judge Tayler did not say she couldn’t conduct so called ‘gender critical’ campaigns.

Part of Tayler’s judgement from the above linked article, the judgement itself can be read here. Various views on the case can be found in the ‘Reaction to the tribunal judgement’ of the Wikipedia article.

Forstater appealed, and there is yet to be a judgement. However, the Equality abs Human Rights Commission has intervened to say that Forstater’s beliefs are protected under the Equality Act as they are philosophical beliefs. The irony in this should be clear. The equality watchdog making an effort to protect bigotry over people’s right not to face abuse. I’ll update this when the decision is handed down, which will be later in the year.

[nyxelestia]

Vox article about the infamous wall of tags fic.

tl;dr at the end

What it’s about and why we care / article quotes:

All that, by itself, isn’t enough to make STWW remarkable — not on a website as wild and unpredictable as AO3. Yet the fic has become impossible for many AO3 users to ignore thanks to a unique quirk: Its author has linked it to more than 1,700 site tags (and counting).

Guides to how to block the fic have cropped up. For example, I use a Chrome extension that blocks fics with too many tags (you can specify how many tags is too many — I picked 50); there’s also simple site code that you can add to your custom site “skin” to block the fic completely from search results, as well as other workarounds.

But the usefulness of these options is limited. Site skins only work for logged-in users. Website extensions don’t work on mobile. Many other workarounds aren’t compatible with adaptive technology like screen readers used by disabled people and others — and if you think having to scroll past the tags on a phone is obnoxious, imagining getting stuck on it while a screen reader laboriously recites all 1,700 tags out loud.

(Emphases mine.)

My take on this specific fic:

I was sympathetic when I thought that maybe the author is just unaware of what they’re doing - but they have been made aware, they know exactly the effect they are having on other users and the community at large, and they’re still doing it.

[The author] acknowledged the controversy around their fic but emphasized that they were operating completely within AO3’s rules. “If AO3 has a category or a big red warning checkbox to say ‘click this to read crazy fics’ then I should put my fic in there,” they joked. “People are free to search (my) fic or exclude the fic using tags.”

Virtual1979 also remained steadfast when I pointed out that their fic was breaking the site for disabled users, stressing that the onus should be on AO3 — not them — to make enforceable site changes.

So now my sympathy’s all dried up. I do not remotely believe them when they say they aren’t a troll. Maybe they truly didn’t start out trolling, but they were repeatedly asked to stop, told about the impact they were having, and have themselves admitted on their Twitter account that they are laughing all the way to the bank.

A tweet they have since deleted - I did not think to grab a screenshot. So here is a screenshot of them saying they routinely delete their own Tweets, and their reaction to people who ask them to stop over-tagging their fic:

Maybe they started out as a well-intentioned new poster, unfamiliar with AO3 or how tagging works. And knowing fandom, I’m sure they faced some harassment for it. However, given they’ve been repeatedly asked to stop, and explicitly told how they are negatively affected so many other users’ ability to interact with the fandom and the website as a whole...and do not care, and continue to keep at it?

Freedom of speech gives them the right to be an asshole, but it also gives me the right to call them an asshole.

But, I do understand why AO3 isn’t banning them, and I agree with AO3′s current decision not to remove this fic. There needs to be some deeper changes, but banning this specific author or fic right now would likely cause more problems down the road than it solves right now.

What is the line for “Too Many Tags”? What would it mean for authors of non-anthology works? What impact would banning this over-tagged fics have on other over-tagged-but-not-as-badly fics? What will it mean for our culture of curating your content and experiences if blacklisting tags gets compromised due to such limits?

I’ve been frustrated by over-tagged fics before, and I certainly hope this will make other, well-meaning, good-faith authors reconsider decisions while compiling anthologies of their disconnected works going forward. Neither of these mean fans should expect AO3 to respond to mob rule and ban this fic.

My take on this article beyond this specific fic:

I disagree with the implication from the article that this is related to fandom’s longstanding issues concerning racism (and other -isms and -phobias) in fanfic. After all, the vast majority of fandom’s racism, sexism, misogyny, etc. isn’t tagged. At most, you can expect that certain ships or tags probably mean there will be certain racist tropes.

This does a disservice towards fans of a ship who don’t partake in or propagate those racist tropes - I myself included in that group. I routinely got comments on my fic from people who expected me to use racist tropes and fanons because of the ship tag on my fic, as these tropes were (and really, still are) so strongly associated with the ship. More importantly, there is no reliable way to tell from a fic’s meta-data whether there will be something in the fic the author doesn’t identify.

The fundamental problem with racism in fandom is not “people are making these racist things” but “people refuse to acknowledge these things they are making are racist” - and AO3′s meta-data is entirely self-identifying.

If an author does not think their work is racist, then they will not tag it as such, which means the rest of us will have no way of knowing until after we’ve already read the racism.

“Curate your own reading” is very applicable to things authors are willing to identify and tag in their own works - such as kinks, violence, etc. But if it is something the author did not intend, and does not agree with/identify, then readers who oppose it cannot curate against it.

Which is why I find this paragraph so misleading, specifically the part I bolded:

Throughout 2020, during sustained discussions across social media about structural racism and other toxic elements in fandom, AO3 users repeatedly requested that the site add basic features that could help users avoid involuntarily engaging with fics they found toxic or harmful. For example, currently there’s no real way to officially sanction a writer who includes racist elements in their fanfiction — the site’s abuse policy FAQ doesn’t mention race, and there’s currently no way to “warn” readers about racially charged elements in a fic. (You can warn readers about other controversial fic content, like character deaths, non-consensual scenarios, and underage characters.) And there are many readers who’d like to avoid engagement with fics and authors they deem to be racist.

These are tags an author can add onto their own work...but readers cannot warn other readers about an author’s work! And to be clear, I think that’s a good thing overall - readers being able to add their own tags to someone else’s work leaves way too much room for abuse, which would happen far more than readers warning other readers about things the author refuses to identify or tag. My point here is that apart from “how to deal with works and authors you already know are assholes”, there is no connection between this specific fic and its ensuing mess, and the broader problems of pervasive racism in fandom.

The only thing the wall of tags situation and the fandom racism situation have in common, at least in relation to AO3, is that fans want to block certain authors or works whom you already know are assholes. This, the Vox article got right.

However, there are many, many ways to be an asshole other than racism. There are many reasons to block specific works or authors besides racism. There are many types of abuse and harassment besides racism. Acting as if “blocking toxic works or people” is inherently and automatically about the on-going discussions about race in fandom reduces racism to individual acts and actors, and ignores its nature as a systemic problem.

tl;dr

While there are work-arounds to avoid that fic with 1700+ tags (and others), these workarounds are very limited in their helpfulness.

Author has the right to do this, but freedom of speech also gives the rest of us the right to call them out for their poor behavior. I 100% believe they are now an intentional bad-faith actor / troll, even if they did not necessarily start out as one.

Despite my disdain, I understand and agree with AO3′s decision to not remove the fic or ban the author, however much I hate them both. All of AO3′s decisions have ramifications and implications beyond the immediate situations they are made for. This one fic/author should not get to chip away at AO3′s mission against censorship.

Apart from the very broad nature of blocking toxic people or abusive works, I don’t think this situation has anything to do with racism. Implicating individual behavior and tagging as a related referendum is reductive to the systemic nature of fandom racism.

[thegurlwithsunglasses]

17 (extremely) chaotic tips to learn new languages

FALL IN LOVE WITH THE LANGUAGE, or with someone who speak the language, or something about the language, or just fall in love, or just fall, or "just" but this is extra to never lose the motivation !

Make a study plan but don't respect it, because if something doesn't work, change it right away, the plan was just to pretend you are a very organized person.

Speak as soon as you know few basic words, like the 100/1000 most common. Find a penpal, friend on whatever tool or if you are very introvert, unlucky or just cannot for WhAtevEr dark reasons. Talk to yourself, your wall, a imaginative friend, or the ground (how is going down there?)

Try tons of websites to see what suits you best. Busuu? Babbel? Duolingo? Warning: duolingo can threaten you at 1 am

Put everything in your target languages, okay fine your phone is in Spanish but what about your computer? Your informations/tutorial search on google?

Turn your brain in the language. This may sounds silly and completely crazy but don't you worry this doesn't only sound. This is silly and completely crazy but WORKS. I challenge you to name your inner target language voice (ex: ok my spanish inner self is *spanish name*) and then each time you think about something, immediately translate your thoughts. And if you don't have enough vocabulary, just repeat a phrase or few words (thank me later, this reduce overthinking :3)

NOTEBOOKSSSSS. Get yourself one right awai and if you're not the type to hand write create yourself and good luck with the Spanish accent *very evil laughter* and then get inspired by prompts or translate jokes but this is not going to work, so just die

Binge watch ur fav show, asap, when you get basic vocabulary. Cartoons are the greatest. Or Disney movie. Warning: watching "coco" more than 12 times can cause certain damages

MAKE A PLAYLIST. RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW. To study, songs to sing, or to never sing or songs to daydream of you speaking fluently the language and insulting your monolingual haters ;)

Type "the benefits of a bilingual brain" on YouTube each time you feel like giving up.

Pretend you know the language each time someone ask you if you do and then fake it till you make it! (Don't get me wrong tho, pretend and then do it, the pretending part is only to get ur expectations higher 😭)

Type "questions generator" and then translate the website on Google translation in your target language, wear sunglasses or whatever FAnCy thing and pretend you're being interviewed 😎

Read a text out loud different times with different intonations

Create fictional characters that come from a country who speak your target language so you have to create an entire backstory of them in that country and introduce them in that language:3

Film yourself speaking or record your voice. This is cringe but so are you. Wanna fight???

Search "how I learn a learn [your target language] because the infinity of tips and infinite on YouTube and in whatever place.

Have fun and be chaotic !!!!