#in some insufficent way

[transjudas]

Well, you'd think that girl wouldn't know what funny was.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

Trick or treat!!!!

innoooo hii! have some volleyball au brainrot (lets call it what it is atp, it's a haikyuu au) aka jegulus at the national youth trainings camp

Regulus is all the way over on the other field when it happens.

Not even on the opposing side from James, as in, on the same court.

They've been sorted into four teams, two practice matches going on at the same time and Regulus had just set up for a sprint, the balls of his feet squeaking against the linoleum.

It was the moment right after he'd jumped off the ground, arm stretched far behind his head and back arched. A millisecond in that made him go completely numb.

Cold.

Had him faltering mid jump, his breath held, wedged weirdly askew in his lungs. Wrong.

Something was wrong.

The snap resounded through the gym before Regulus' shoes were even back to touching the floor.

James' cry came only a blink of a moment later but Regulus was already twisting around to him.

Landing sloppily on the ground, tripping halfway. Stumbling. Pushing past his asigned teammates.

James.

James.

Another pained sound. Almost a wail. Strangled, high-pitched, wounded.

No.

He can't be--

Regulus doesn't see anything. Can't see anything.

He stumbles across the gym deluriously. It seems to take ages until he spots a flesh of ridiculously bright orange. James' shoes.

Regulus doesn't think, he just goes. Just moves.

In the back of his mind he's dimly aware of the fact that he pushes one of the national youth trainers aside to get to James faster. There is a boy curled around James where he's half slumped on the ground. A dark shirt, Dolohov maybe? Regulus doesn't give a fuck.

He yanks at the collar of the other boy's shirt, fabric making a sound in protest and the unimportant person yelps. Someone curses, someone else sounds pissed off. Words directed at Regulus.

Regulus doesn't care.

James whimpers as Regulus falls to his knees next to him on the hard linoleum. His expression is twisted with pain so much Regulus has never seen before.

Everything warps in the air around them. Doesn't quite feel real.

Wrongwrongwrong.

Regulus feels himself shiver before he even looks down.

There's a horrible sick feeling crawling up Regulus' throat, his head too light, his stomach turned upside down.

The breath he draws in is shaky and insufficent. His chest heaves and trembles and the only reason he feels that at all is because of the way James has a big hand fisted in the front of his jersey. Regulus clinging to his sweaty arm like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

He digs his blunt nails into the dips between James' knuckles, the other palm clutching at the older boy's shoulder.

"Reg," James sounds close to crying, and his eyes snap to chestnut brown ones. Their filled with tears and Regulus swallows against the feeling of throwing up.

Rasps something in response, he doesn't know what, squeezes James' hand.

The setter's head falls back with a whine as his whole body shakes and Regulus shushes him absently.

And Regulus braces himself, hold his breath and turns his head stiffly to glance down James' body but nothing could have prepared him for the absolute horror that is experiencing to see James' leg bent at the knee at an terrifyingly unnatural angle.

-

trick or treat fic writer as game

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Im not so sure how to ask for help in this scenerio, so please hear me out..

I've been meaning to write this cute cyborgish/robo- boy (in the story he's created by an scientist/engineer. So he's half robo) but when I start to write him, I keep adding autistic-like traits to him. I feel really bad since I heard there this stigma against autistic people on being "robot" like or something..? I'm not so sure how to approach the character safety, as I don't want to perpetuate any negative stereotypes- but my knowledge is insufficent.

I'm unsure how to frame this ask, but is there anyway I can keep my autistic robo boy in a way that doesn't hurt people of the autistic sphere? I'm afraid that I might accidentally perpetuate some kind of bad stigma, but neither do I wish to scrap him either.. (Side note: he also has a brother created by the scientist, who is mute and has cool razors for hands due to the whole robo thing- so he speaks using morse code.. is this bad rep for mute people? I'm not sure if this is a stupid thing to ask so hopefully not haha...)

Thank you for taking you time to read this! I appreciate it very much! :>

Hello, and thanks for your question!

Autistic coding of non-human characters is an interesting scenario because some Autistic readers love the depictions while others don't. Most of the time the reaction depends primarily on how well the writer handles the character.

I don't think writing non-human Autistic characters is inherently good or bad, and certainly wouldn't tell you not to attempt it at all. It can absolutely be done well, but I would still offer a gentle heads-up to anyone depicting non-human Autistic-coded characters that many Autistic readers are tired of this kind of representation. However, do keep in mind that the reasoning behind these feelings isn't that the depictions themselves are ableist by definition, but rather because many Autistic people feel frustrated that one of the most common avenues for Autistic coding in media is to uncritically associate us with being completely inhuman. It's the frequency of depicting Autistic traits as inhuman that indicates that there's a representation problem. If I'm more likely to pick up a book with a non-human Autistic-coded character than one with an actual Autistic human character, the representation starts to feel othering and dehumanizing rather than relatable. This isn't meant to dissuade anyone from trying to write non-human Autistic characters; just to provide some context for these conversations.

Some writers can lean too far into the Autistic coding as well in ways that feel like looking at a one-dimensional offensive caricature of an Autistic person, rather than buffing out real Autistic people's experiences with actual characterization as one should. I recommend all authors working on this type of coding to take some time to reflect and ask yourself which traits this character has that aren't just "being Autistic." Do they have genuine interests and hobbies? If you have a number of answers, like "they're kind, funny, emotionally intelligent, competent, they do flower arranging in their spare time, etc." then you're on the right track. If you're struggling with characterization beyond just knowing that the character is meant to be Autistic, that's when I'd recommend pausing and taking some time to flesh out the character in ways that aren't related to Autistic coding.

The most straightforward solution in cases like these is typically to add a human Autistic character to your cast as well. This way, it doesn't feel like the writer considers all Autistic people to be more similar to aliens/robots/monsters/etc. than actual human beings. It would also give your non-human character someone to connect with who will understand them better than the non-Autistic cast--plus, friendship between multiple Autistic characters is already under-represented, so it would be a welcome addition for Autistic readers.

I think the way that the rest of your cast responds to your robot character will help make this representation as respectful as possible. One of the usual pitfalls with non-human Autistic coding is that our Autistic traits are used to bewilder and confuse the human cast and further "other" the non-human character, or they're used in the story as justification to treat the non-human character(s) badly. Having your cast treat this character with dignity, make real efforts to understand and connect with him despite their differences, and respect his autonomy would be a great step in the right direction.

Overall, try to make sure that this character has emotional depth beyond their Autistic traits, and try to give him a support system who cares about him and won't use his Autistic traits against him.

We don't have any mods at the moment who are mute/non-verbal, so I can't touch too heavily on the portion about your character's brother as I don't have enough knowledge or experience on that front, so do take my answer with a grain of salt. That said, I've never heard of a non-verbal person communicating using morse code, and my instinct says that it might take a long time to communicate using, and it might also be very rare for others to know morse code depending on your setting. I would recommend researching various Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) methods used by non-verbal people and seeing if anything seems reasonable for this character to use. Assuming the major consideration here is that the character can't fully use his hands and might hurt himself while speaking a sign language, maybe an eye gaze board or a speech-generating device that can withstand the razors could be an option?

Autistic and non-verbal people are encouraged to chime in!

-Mod Faelan

[teaveetamer]

Alright since I am a constructive person, here's how I would re-write that conversation. And before I get some "oh well this is just her character!!!" BS... you can be emotionally distant and a little cold without being a straight up b&#@$ to someone and coming off like you're doing some weird power play.

First, the original conversation:

[Context: Hubert found a charm in Edelgard's belongings. He spends three conversations trying to determine where it came from, thinking it's some kind of curse. It's just been revealed that the charm is actually a protection charm to keep her safe, and Monica is the one who put it in her belongings]

Hubert: Heh heh... I do not mind. Besides, I thought it might be something along these lines. Resorting to dark magic may be less than ideal, but I am in no position to criticize you for it. Ultimately, we do whatever it takes for Lady Edelgard's sake.

Monica: Hubert...

Hubert: Still, having said that, all decisions must ultimately rest with Her Majesty. What do you think, Lady Edelgard?

Edelgard: ...

Monica: Ah! Lady Edelgard! I am so terribly sorry! I, Monica von Ochs, will accept any punishment you give me!

Edelgard: Well, I suppose what you did may have been a little too presumptious.

Monica: Yes, I understand...

Edelgard: However, do you really think I would need the protection of such a charm? Am I truly so pathetic in your eyes?

Monica: N-no, not at all! I just thought, in the unlikely event something happened...

Edelgard: Heh... Perhaps you have a point. You realized your own abilities would be insufficent to protect me. It is no surprise that you would be worried.

Monica: Your Majesty, please! To me, you're–

Edelgard: Please forgive me—I should not have spoken so harshly. Thank you for this charm, Monica. I will not be punishing you, regardless of how you chose to...deliver it. Besides, only the me who saved your life is truly qualified to dole out punishments. Even without that right, though, I will still be counting on you.

Monica: Lady Edelgard! Thank you!

(Emphasis is the parts I have problems with)

Now here's how I would rewrite it:

Hubert: Heh heh... I do not mind. Besides, I thought it might be something along these lines. Resorting to dark magic may be less than ideal, but I am in no position to criticize you for it. Ultimately, we do whatever it takes for Lady Edelgard's sake.

Monica: Hubert...

Hubert: Still, having said that, all decisions must ultimately rest with Her Majesty. What do you think, Lady Edelgard?

Edelgard: ...

Monica: Ah! Lady Edelgard! I am so terribly sorry! I, Monica von Ochs, will accept any punishment you give me!

Edelgard: Well, I suppose what you did may have been a little too presumptious.

Monica: Yes, I understand...

Edelgard: You must be aware that I do not rely on such follies.

Monica: Yes, but...I just thought, in the unlikely event something happened...

Edelgard: Heh... Perhaps you have a point. I thank you for trying to keep me safe, foolish as the method was. However, I won't be needing such charms in the future.

Monica: Your Majesty, please! To me, you're–

Edelgard: Please forgive me—I do not wish to sound ungrateful. Thank you for this charm, Monica. There is no reason to fear punishment, regardless of how you chose to...deliver it. Besides, in my world, I am the one who abandoned you to die. I have no right to punish you, even if your actions did warrant it. Despite that, I hope you will allow me to continue counting on you.

Monica: Lady Edelgard! Thank you!

(Emphasis on the changed bits this time)

You could probably also stick a line in there with Edelgard saying something like "the best way to protect me is not with silly magic, but by growing stronger yourself" or something like that, but I was trying to change as little as possible.

[graspingremlinhands]

First Oc

TITANUS NAGA

PHYSICAL APPEARENCE:

Titanus Naga is a serpentine-like kaiju. Unlike snakes the kaiju present two arms which end with five fingered hands.

The head resembles in form and shape the one of a gecko. Triangular and a bit flat, attached to long and slender neck.

Eyes big and completely black, covered by translucent eyelids.

In the species have been observed a form of sexual dimorphism: While the males reach the length of 80 m, females are way bigger reaching almost a length of 120-130m.

Their scales are either green or brown maybe to blend better in their surroundings, with a lighter underbelly. Some shows a cream-colored line who goes from the tail till their lower lip.

They shed their skin, periodically, every 4-5 months. Mates help each other tearing the skin off.

They crawl, sometime with their “torso” upright or walk using their hands. They are also fast swimmers and can hold their breath underwater for an hour long. And their fingers present pads who allows them to stick them to surfaces and climb.

They are very vocal animals. There are records of them producing chirping or clicking sounds. But also hissing and whistling. The latter has an also a mating purpose.

They are also very social. More families live together and both females and males protect and take care of the cubs.

They are omnivores, both feeding on fruits and meat. Good hunters both on land and sea.

For this reason, is possible find them near shores or even rivers of the Asian continent (Thailand, India, Phillipines mostly).

Their methods of hunting are mostly ambush and constriction. But they also have a secret weapon; up to the elbow they can project through the skin pieces of bones, long, hard and sharp, they use to slay and kill their prey or for defense. Females also use it to swat away unwanted suitors or male to fight off rivals.

They seem used to the human presence, never showing signs of fear or annoyance. The abundance of myths about the species lead to conclusion they had cohabitated for long, maybe even showing a protective behavior towards human civilization (as such Titanus Mosura).

The myths also represent them like half-snake, half-human. This could be derived by the practice of cradle the youngs in their arms.

MATING AND CARING OF THE YOUNGS:

The mating season last 3 months, from April to June.

For attracting the females, males change the color of their scales. Have been registered display of red, cobalt, yellow and orange. Brighter the color, the better.

Apart from the color, males also made up “songs” made of whistles, hiss and very high notes. When the females choose, they reproduce the song of the selected partner. This song will then be taught to the cub to recognize them among the others.

The species actually bear their cubs. Pregnancies last up 2 years, during which the female eats a lot, almost 20 hours a day are just for feeding.

After the birth of the cub\s(the number may vary from one to four but the data are still insufficents) females will never leave their side nor they will eat for the next two years. Both females and males have an active role in raising them.

Is not uncommon to find the babies wrap around the parent’s arms.

And that's is all I can think of to present you the species of my OCs, the sisters Forza and Virta( I will give you more info about them at some point, like their backstory and how they fit in the AU)

ASKS about them, others oc, AUs or me are open and welcolmed💗.

THAT'S ALL FOLKS!!!!

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Just Wants An Uneventful Holiday (Part 2)

You need a break from your break at this rate.

You are exhausted.

You and Grim arrived back at the dorm with maybe ten minutes to spare before the other students came back from the parade and immediately set about working on completing your escape route as quickly as possible.

Only for the guy you’ve mentally dubbed “Scarabia Student A” to come to your door and tell the pair of you apologetically that because of Grim’s threats, Asim-senpai had decreed that neither of you would be allowed lunch and needed to remain locked in your room until defensive magic practice that afternoon.

On the plus side, your impromptu imprisonment let you and Grim work on the escape route undisturbed for the next hour. On the down side, it meant you both were starving after the exertion of the parade march and the digging.

The only reason you two didn’t collapse during defensive magic practice was because Viper-senpai snuck you both some bread and dried meats when he came to let you out. He also took the trouble to invite you two to a secret meeting on Asim-senpai’s behavior after dinner tonight.

You have to grudgingly admit, he is good at what he’s doing.

He has Asim-senpai do something cruel, then appears to the victims of said cruelty as a “savior”, doing what he can to soothe their pain “in spite of” his subordinate position to Asim-senpai, cultivating feelings of gratitude and empathy towards himself and resentment towards his puppet.

Even if you know what he’s doing, it’s difficult to resist that instinctual response.

Grim’s subvocal grumbling of “It doesn’t look like that white-haired jerk’s being controlled, fgnah.” is proof enough of that.

This way, once Viper-senpai drives Asim-senpai to overblot, no one will question him fighting against the dorm head he claims to be so loyal to, and his behavior before and during the overblot will make him appear to be the ideal replacement for the “mentally unstable” dorm head.

He’s definitely aiming for the dorm head position. The little performance this morning where he blatantly usurped Asim-senpai’s role of water-provider is proof enough of that.

Still, you muse while shouting out directions to Grim during magic training. Viper-senpai’s either very confident in his magic abilities or very ignorant about overblot to think that inducing it in Asim-senpai is in any way a good idea.

Especially if he’s under the delusion that his Unique Magic could somehow control an overblotted Asim-senpai.

It’d be better to just frame Asim-senpai for the actions he’s already committed under the influence, maybe show him shirking some dorm head duties if that was insufficent. You just don’t understand why Viper-senpai’s going through all this trouble and making a move now instead of closer to whenever elections for dorm heads are held, to make his win seem more legitimate.

Hopefully, you’ll be able to gain more information once you and Grim go along to this evening’s meeting with your plan in mind.

The after-dinner meeting starts pretty much how you expect it to.

Viper-senpai plays on the feelings of the other Scarabia students masterfully, painting himself as a concerned friend who only wants what’s best for his dorm head, but is at a loss due to Asim-senpai’s refusal to listen to reason. You and Grim give the input he clearly wants when he subtly cues you to.

However, when Grim tells him to just challenge Kalim for the position, Viper-san crosses his arms and coldly states, “No. There’s no way I can do that.”

Wait.

What?

“Gak! Y-you were the one who asked for advice, yanno...” Grim mutters, clearly as off-kilter as you feel.

From there Viper-senpai subtly divulges the sordid details of his slavery to the Asim family due to the circumstances of his birth, and how that conglomorate has been interfering on Asim-senpai’s behalf and at Viper-senpai’s expense for the entirety of their time at Night Raven College.

And all the while you’re sitting here, head feeling like it’s spinning a million miles a minute, trying to stop yourself from over-empathizing with the vice dorm head and figure out what this all means.

You don’t doubt for a single second that what he’s saying about the Asim and Viper families is true. However, his actions thus far have shown he is gunning for the dorm head position, even using this show of vulnerability to manipulate the other students into following him.

But why put himself and his family in such jeopardy for a simple school title?

“Asim-senpai doesn’t embody ‘the spirit of Scarabia?’ What does that mean?” You ask, latching onto a thread of the conversation in hopes of getting some clarity.

“There are different requirements for the position of dorm head in each of the seven dorms that a candidate must meet, which are taken from the virtues of the Great Seven.” Viper-senpai explains. “Duels are just an easy way to determine if the current dorm head meets that criteria or not. For example, in Pomefiore, the dorm head must have the greatest expertise in poisons, like the Beautiful Queen before them.”

One of the other students says something about Viper-senpai’s prudence and tactical thinking is much more like the Sorcerer of the Sands than Asim-senpai, but it sounds distant and far away to your ears.

Your brain is too busy buzzing over this new piece of information.

The dorm heads are supposed to be those who best embody the Great Seven.

The same Great Seven who’ve been appearing in your dreams practically every night before the overblots in their corresponding dorms happen.

What if— what if the reason that all the overblots this far have been dorm heads isn’t because the position of dorm head itself and the stresses it causes?

What if it’s because the criteria for the position of dorm head corresponds to the member of the Great Seven that dorm represents, which might contribute to who goes over the edge somehow?

After all, if you’re going by magic use and stress alone, then Buchie-senpai would’ve been the most likely candidate for overblot during the Magift incident. He did Laugh With Me an entire horde of civilians to stampede the coliseum after all.

But it was Leona-senpai, who best embodied the positive and negative qualities of the King of the Savannah, who ultimately overblotted. You even said it to him yourself when you asked him for help in investigating potential overblots outside of Night Raven College before the break. You thought at the time that his overblot was just because of the level of mental stress he was under, but if his status as a personification played a major role somehow...

But, then that means—

That means Asim-senpai isn’t automatically guaranteed to overblot because he’s a dorm head.

But Viper-senpai’s plan just plays off the common denominator of past overblots to make him seem in enough danger of doing so that the authorities are forced to recognize the signs and remove him from the position that’s “stressing” him so much.

Even the Asim family can’t object if the school is acting in the interests of their son’s mental health. They likely as not would decide to remove him from the “toxic environment” of Night Raven College altogether, either by transferring him to Royal Sword Academy or by paying for Asim-senpai to graduate early.

Though wouldn’t that mean Viper-senpai, as Asim-senpai’s servant, would be forced to leave with him? Or does he think that he’ll be able to convince the Asims to let him stay somehow?

In any case, that’s why you and Grim are still trapped here—because Viper-senpai’s under the impression that you both have some direct line to that useless birdbrain of a headmaster and can report the situation back to him.

But the amount of magic needed to keep up the charade until the headmaster actually notices, combined with the fact that everyone is saying that Viper-senpai is the rightful embodiment of the Sorcerer of the Sands means—

“Viper-senpai, you’ve got to run!”

You seize onto him, desperation evident in your face.

Viper-senpai retreats a step or two, blinking in alarm as you follow him to not lose your grip on his hand or his clothes. “Prefect, what—?”

“You said it yourself!” You can barely keep your voice from edging into hysteria. “You’re closest to Asim-senpai, and the way things are going, he’s going to overblot just like Rosehearts-senpai did. A-and overblots are illogical, they’re practically insane with hatred! They go after the people closest to them— you remember how badly Buchie-senpai was hurt when Leona-senpai overblotted, right?!”

Viper-senpai’s eyes are fixed on you as you shake your head, reliving those awful memories. “The only reason Trey-senpai didn’t die when Rosehearts-senpai overblotted was because Ace and Deuce got in his way and pissed him off more. If you stay in Scarabia...Viper-senpai, you’re in more danger than anyone else here! You need to get out of here, please, just run!!”

Please, you mentally beg as you stare at him. Please take the out I’m giving you. Call it off here, get out, get away, change your name, do whatever you have to to escape. Just, please, please don’t overblot on me too.

Viper-senpai’s brow furrows.

He slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Prefect. Even if I wanted to, I’m bound to Kalim. I must follow him to the end.”

“But you could die.” You make no effort to hide your dismay, hands clenching around what they hold. “I-I can’t...pl-please don’t make me...”

His free hand begins moving towards your uninjured cheek—

CRASH!!

The sudden commotion makes the two of you leap apart, staring wildly at the source of the noise.

Grim sits dazed in the center of several overturned metal dishes and a golden lion-shaped tureen.

“Ow, ow, ow, that huuuurt!” He complains loudly, rubbing his little head. “What the heck, why’s this dumb thing empty if it smells good?! Aah, I’m so hun—”

“SSSHH!!” Practically everyone in the room hushes.

“Could you be any louder?!” Scarabia Student B hisses, looking around.

“Do you wanna just begin screaming for the Dorm Head, you stupid cat?!!” Scarabia Student A whispers furiously. “Seriously, if he wakes up and sees us here like this, we’re dead tomorrow, don’t you get that?!”

“Sheesh, I’m sorry.” Grim harrumphs, wandering back to his cushion. “It was just an accident, what’s gotten you all so worked up, fgnah?”

“Oh gee, I wonder why.” A third student somewhere near the back mutters.

“They were having a moment.” You think you hear a fourth student hiss, but you’re pretty sure you’ve misheard that one.

Viper-senpai clears his throat and goes to peer out into the hall. “...There’s no sign of movement. I think we’re safe, for the moment.”

You fiddle with your tie and collar, trying to straighten them as much as you can. “I-I apologize for my outburst. My behavior was inappropriate and not conducive to the matter at hand.”

Viper-senpai huffs a little laugh. “Don’t be. You’re only looking out for others’ wellbeing, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know better than anyone how dangerous these kinds of things are, after all. You’ve survived three of them.”

“Four.” Grim corrects from his cushion, tail flicking back and forth. “There was that creepy one in the Dwarf Mines that broke Yuu’s ribs at the start of the year, right Yuu?”

Your tie feels a little tight as you finish adjusting it, fidgeting under everyone’s scrutiny. “...yes. It’s a long story.”

“Will the dorm-head really overblot though?” The kid you’ve mentally dubbed “Scarabia Student B” pipes up. “I just can’t see it...”

“Well, he has exhibited a lot of the symptoms shown by other dorm heads before their overblots.” You say carefully. “An obsession with achieving a certain goal is something Rosehearts-senpai, Leona-senpai, and Ashengrotto-senpai all had in common, and Asim-senpai’s desire to improve Scarabia does fit this pattern.”

“Is there nothing that can be done for him Prefect?” Viper-senpai urges, gripping your shoulders. “Kalim may be unreliable at times, but I grew up with him. He calls me his friend. Are you saying there’s no way we can stop him from overblotting?”

You shrug gently, trying not to dislodge him. You don’t want his hackles raised now. “I’ve yet to see an overblot prevented, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Keeping him from using too much magic would be a big plus, because the blot would have less of a chance to build up. Other than that, it might be best to prepare for the worst? Just in case.”

“Maybe call the family doctor on the sly!” Grim chips in. “See if he can come here to take Kalim home rather than the other way round!”

Viper-senpai nods slowly, like someone accepting news of an imminent loss. “I’ll certainly take your advice into consideration. However, I will not leave. I can’t abandon the dorm—can’t abandon Kalim— during this crisis. I won’t run and leave everyone to face the danger alone.”

“Vice dorm head!” One of the younger students chokes out.

It feels like something hard and unforgiving is lodged against your breastbone.

“I-I won’t let it.” You stammer, feeling yourself flush a deep red in embarrassment at your verbal blunder. “I won’t let it come to that, Viper-senpai. I’ll stop this overblot. No matter what it takes. I swear to you, on my life, I’ll stop it!”

Viper-senpai gives you a not unkind chuckle, meeting your gaze head-on. “Well then, Prefect. I’ll be in your care.”

You can’t hold it for more than a few moments, your breath hitching as you look away. It feels like there’s so much blood in your cheeks that the one Asim-senpai slapped earlier is beginning to hurt again.

“We-we’ll help out too, Jamil!” Scarabia Student A claims, standing up as well.

“Y-yeah! You’re much more fit to be dorm head than Kalim-senpai!” Two more students in the back push towards the front.

“Our dorm head should be someone who embodies the virtues of the Sorcerer of the Sands, not someone who paid their way in and is overblotting because they can’t take the heat.” A tall third year proclaims.

“Yeah!”

“You said it!”

“We’re all equal here!”

“You guys...” Viper-senpai looks genuinely touched, staring out at his sea of carefully handled supporters.

“What are you all doing here at this time of night?”

Asim-senpai stands in the doorway, glaring angrily at all of you.

You can’t quite help the two shaky steps back you take.

“Geh, he found us!” Grim mutters, hiding behind your leg.

“Ka-Kalim.” Viper-senpai says, hands held up placatingly. “We were just—”

“It seems I went to easy on you today, if you all are still overflowing with energy this late at night.” Asim-senpai says coldly. “You should go outside to the courtyard to practice magic until you hit your limits.”

A chill goes down your spine. “Asim-senpai, that’s really not a good idea, we were just—”

“You. Shut up.” The dorm head stalks towards you. “Do you think you can presume to order me around? Was one meal enough to make you think that lying tongue of yours could do whatever it wanted? Maybe we should switch to practice using offensive magic this time—you’d make a fine moving target.”

It’s suddenly much harder to breathe.

“D-dorm head!”

“Why you—!” Grim snarls.

“Kalim.” Viper-senpai steps in front of you, blocking you from Asim-senpai’s view. “The Prefect was only referring to your idea of starting the march two hours earlier tomorrow. Everyone needed to be notified of that, so we’ll be turning in now.”

“T-two hours?!” Scarabia Student B gasps, only to be quickly hushed by everyone around him.

“...” Asim-senpai seems to contemplate this for a moment, before closing his eyes. “Very well. But no one will be eating until dinner tomorrow for this failure to listen to directions the first time, understood?”

Viper-senpai opens his mouth to protest again, but then slumps. “...Yes, Kalim.”

Asim-senpai waves a hand. “Well? What are you all waiting for? You’re dismissed.”

The students of the dorm begin to slowly, sullenly file out into the hallway, many of them grumbling and muttering under their breath.

You take the opportunity to escape, scooping up Grim and clapping a cautious hand over your friend’s big mouth so he can’t say anything else as you edge past Asim-senpai.

“Thank you.” You mouth at Viper-senpai as you speed walk out of the room.

He shoots you a small smile in response.

The journey back to your shared room is quick and uneventful, though you feel constantly on edge the entire way there.

You aren’t able to relax until you’ve nodded a “goodnight” to Scarabia students A and B and shut the door firmly behind you, sagging against it.

You really should learn their names at some point.

“Well?” Grim asks after you hear the lock on your door click into place and the guards wander off for their patrol. “Did you get it?!”

The hard and unforgiving feeling against your breastbone hasn’t faded at all.

You turn your back and unbutton your shirt, removing the source of said feeling from its hiding place.

“Your timing with knocking that stuff over was perfect.” You turn back around and flash Viper-senpai’s magic pen. “But we need to get our escape route finished quick, he could notice it’s gone missing any second now.”

You’re sort of amazed that he hasn’t already. You kept expecting to hear someone begin chasing after you and Grim as you left, angrily screaming about the theft. If he hadn’t stepped in for you when you protested magic practice...

Thank Ace and Buchie-senpai that you somehow got away with this.

“Yes!! That’s my minion for ya!!” Grim cackles softly, grin sharp and savage as he leaps back into the hole in the floor. “I still wish I coulda bonked him over the head, but imagine his face once the idiot’s realized he’s been duped!”

“Just so long as that experience stays imaginary.” You mutter, bringing the pen over to the locked window and looking at it under the moonlight that seeps in through the slats.

There’s blot staining over half of the crimson gem.

You wince just looking at it. How much magic has Viper-senpai been using for this much for accumulate?

Still, he’s probably not so stupid that he’ll risk casting magic without it, so ar least he’ll be on magic-using probation for the duration of time that you have it.

All you have to do is keep it away from him until the blot’s dissipated and you can report his plan and living situation to Crowley and other teachers. The other teachers will force the dumb bird to actually do something about Viper-senpai’s slavery. He won’t have a reason to overblot anymore. Everyone wins.

Though unfortunately, you can’t do much about stress-induced blotting, and you have no idea if he can still overblot while separated from his magic pen. Maybe you should investigate whether or not you could just...smash it and get him a new, non-blotted magic pen as a replacement? They do those, right?

“It’s done!” Grim hisses, prompting you to stash the magic pen away again and button up your shirt. “It’ll be a kinda tight squeeze though.”

You purse your lips at the small hole. “...It’ll have to do. We don’t have any time to waste, c’mon.”

To say it’s cramped would be an understatement. You’re more covered in scrapes and dust than you’ve ever been by the time you drop onto the ground of the floor below, panting and wheezing for breath. Your bruised cheek is throbbing again.

“Now I know what it feels like when spaghetti gets made at least.” You whisper.

Grim nods. “You can say that again. Now, we’re in between guard patrols, but we’ve still gotta be extra quiet so they don’t hea—”

GRRRRRARGGHH

You stare at your monster cat’s stomach as its complaining rumble dies away.

“Hey! What’s that noise?!” Comes the patrolling student’s cry.

You close your eyes. “Grim.”

“What?!” He whispers back, ears flicking in embarrassment. “I didn’t get any lunch! I can’t help being super hungry!!”

“Grim.”

“Oi! The Prefect and the cat have broken out again!” A Scarabia guard yells as he rounds the corner. “But how?! I could’ve sworn Achmed said he locked their door!”

“Ah!!” His compatriot cries, pointing up at the hole in the ceiling. “Look!! They’ve totally destroyed the floor of their room! Is that how you pay us back for our hospitality?!”

“How dare you?!” The first guard gasps. “That stuff’s really expensive to fix! Everyone, get over here! We’ve got another escape attempt!!”

“Fgnah! Yuu, let’s go, before their buddies get here!” Grim yelps, taking off down the hallway with you hot on his heels.

You hear the door to your prison slam open behind you, accompanied by Viper-senpai’s infuriated roar of “PREFECT!!”

You bundle Grim under one arm and run faster.

You seriously need a break from your break at this rate.

Hopefully you’ll get one, if you can figure out how to make it out of this dorm alive.

[schemaperspective]

OVERVIEW OF SCHEMAS

RELATIONAL SAFETY OR SECURITY and EMOTIONAL CONNECTION TO OTHERS

Abandonment / Instability – Feeling that the people you love will leave you. Clinging too much to people and end up pushing them away. May get very upset or angry about minor separations.

Mistrust and Abuse – Expectation that people will hurt or abuse you in some way–that they will cheat, lie, manipulate, humiliate, physically harm or otherwise take advantage of you. You never let people get too close, are suspicious of others’ intentions and tend to assume the worst.

Emotional Deprivation – Believing that your need for love will never be met adequately, feeling that no one truly cares about you or understands how you feel. Become attracted to cold and ungiving people, or are cold and ungiving yourself, leading to unsatisfying relationships.

Social Isolation – Feeling isolated from the rest of the world and feeling different; avoiding socializing in groups and making friends because you feel socially undesirable. Feeling and action inferior in social situations.

SELF ESTEEM: Identity, confidence, self-acceptance

Defectiveness / Shame – Feeling flawed and defective, believing that you would be unlovable to anyone who got close enough to really know you. Feeling unworthy of love, you find it difficult to believe that people value you, and thus expect rejection.

Enmeshment / Undeveloped Self – Excessive emotional involvement and closeness with one or more significant others (often parents), at the expense of full individuation or normal social development. May also include feelings of being smothered by, or fused with, others  OR  insufficient individual identity. Often experienced as a feeling of emptiness and floundering, having no direction, or in extreme cases questioning one's existence.

Failure – Belief that you are inadequate in areas of achievement, such as school, work and sports.

SELF-EXPRESSION

Subjugation – Sacrifice your own needs and desires for the sake of pleasing others or meeting their needs, fearing that you will be punished or abandoned if you disobey. You repeatedly enter relationships with dominant, controlling people, or with needy people who are too damaged to give back to you in return.

Emotional Inhibition – The excessive inhibition of spontaneous action, feeling, or communication -- usually to avoid disapproval by others, feelings of shame, or losing control of one's impulses. The most common areas of inhibition involve:  (a) inhibition of anger & aggression;  (b) inhibition of positive impulses (e.g., joy, affection, sexual excitement, play);  (c) difficulty expressing vulnerability or communicating freely about one's feelings, needs, etc.;  or (d) excessive emphasis on rationality while disregarding emotions.

INDEPENDENCE AND FUNCTIONING

Dependence / Incompetence – Feeling unable to handle everyday life in a competent manner without considerable help from others. Seeking out strong figures upon whom you become dependent and allow them to rule your life. At work, you shrink from acting on your own.

Vulnerability – Fearing that disaster is about to strike, like getting an illness, having an anxiety attack, going crazy.

Insufficent Self-Control –   Pervasive difficulty or refusal to exercise sufficient self-control and frustration tolerance to achieve one's personal goals, or to restrain the excessive expression of one's emotions and impulses.  In its milder form,  patient presents with an exaggerated emphasis on discomfort-avoidance:  avoiding pain, conflict, confrontation, responsibility, or overexertion---at the expense of personal fulfillment, commitment,  or integrity.

Negativity – A pervasive, lifelong focus on the negative aspects of life (pain, death, loss, disappointment, conflict, guilt, resentment, unsolved problems, potential mistakes, betrayal, things that could go wrong, etc.) while minimizing or neglecting the positive or optimistic aspects. Usually involves an inordinate fear of making mistakes that might lead to: financial collapse, loss, humiliation, or being trapped in a bad situation. Because potential negative outcomes are exaggerated, these patients are frequently characterized by chronic worry, vigilance, complaining, or indecision.

Unrelenting Standards – Striving relentlessly to meet extremely high expectations of yourself, placing excessive emphasis on status, money, achievement, beauty, order og recognition at the expense of happiness, pleasure, health, a sense of accomplishment, and satisfying relationships.

[crystalelemental]

Gonna point out on your Elibe favoritism that they do still have five legendaries and one mythic. They’re still treated pretty damn well. Also Lilina is better than Ophelia for general use - Lilina has higher attack, avoids the Vantage trap without needing Hardy Bearing, scores insanely well in arena, doesn’t need the whole team built around her, and has pair up so she can be a beast in Allegiance battles. I agree they could’ve given her a better kit, but it’s not godawful. In comparison, Ophelia is really only good in AR, needs a team’s worth of support, and requires a ton of investment to have a good kit.

I’m gonna give you the team composition thing.  Because you’re right, Ophelia’s largely good with triple dancers, or AR.

That said, where does Lilina legitimately shine?  She’s not that good in Arena.  The low damage output on AoE means L!Edelgard might even survive, and every Water legend absolutely does.  She can’t take a hit from anything to save her damn life, so without dancers she’s just as vulnerable.  Scoring well for Arena doesn’t matter if you can’t survive in Arena, you know?  Allegiance Battles are really the only time she’s going to shine outside of AR (I’ll get to that), but Allegiance Battles also aren’t that difficult to begin with, and frankly L!Edelgard, L!Leif, and L!Chrom are overwhelmingly superior to anything Lilina can do.

So that leaves AR.  Lilina has three movement, she’s gonna be useful, especially since you can’t Vantage her!  Cool.  Ophelia has only two range until inevitably danced by L!Azura.  Then she suddenly packs three, which makes predicting movement and what is or isn’t in range way harder.  She packs 5 less base attack than Lilina, but gets 1.5x damage compared to Lilina’s 0.8x damage, and both hit the same range.  I hope I don’t need to explain that 5-6 extra attack still puts Lilina massively behind Ophelia in terms of damage output when the AoE damage is literally half as much.  Ophelia has fantastic speed, which means she’s not stopped by any speed-based damage reduction, and has the exact same tools.  Special Spiral and a few mage allies keeps her at the same level of constant AoE spam as Lilina, and the Hardy Bearing seal does the same thing as Lilina’s weapon, but without an HP condition, which Lilina’s has for some reason.  So let’s say you swap in the Lull Res and Death Blow 3 seal, that’s 9 more damage!  And her weapon is 15 more damage!  And if she gets an attack superboon that’s a grand total of 21 more damage than what Ophelia can do per hit!  Except you know.  None of that factors in to the AoE damage.  At all.  And that’s only higher damage if damage reduction isn’t in play, because if it is, Lilina’s getting hit with the full 40% reduction, and she may as well not have gained any attack on her at all.

Ophelia is outright better.  There is not a single thing that Legendary Lilina packs that Ophelia cannot match, and freeing up the B and S-slots are insufficent to salvage what is an absolutely pathetic signature special skill.  But she’s stuck with it!  Because there’s literally no alternative that will let her match Ophelia, any chance in special makes her inherently worse!  So that’s cool, glad we made Legendary Lilina worse than Ophelia!

And to address that first part: they were treated well.  Either all of Elibe is getting pushed aside for Three Houses now, just like every other game is, or they just really hate Lilina specifically, because holy shit is this bad.

[mojournal]

Entry 2 - Worlds & Their Holistic Nature

It is difficult to know where to begin when explaining the nature of “worlds,” but that is all the more reason to get them out of the way now. There are two constants throughout all of Minecraft: mining and crafting. Destroy and create. These fundamentals are that for which the universe was named, all else is malleable. Within a world, there are three spacial axes, X, Y, and Z. But what of the planes beyond space? Perhaps the most well known is the inferno known as The Nether. The term “nether” means “lower in position,” and the running theory states that is exactly what this plane is. Below the bottom of the overworld is a space that mirrors but distorts the other side. It is topsy-turvy, but it is constant always on an 1:8 ratio wity the Overworld. That’s why there is more lava as one approaches bedrock, it is closer to The Nether.

Then there is the End, which will have an entry of its own eventually, but shall be described succinctly here. The End is far more succinct in its title, being a place of infinite finality. It does not have so direct a relationship to the overworld as The Nether, being that no matter where one creates a portal in the overworld, they will exit the other side near the center of the End, and must exit the End through a portal in the very center. It is thought that while tied to individual worlds, relational placement is more tied to an individual than to location.

Each world has its own Overworld, Nether, and End. Some individual worlds have had additional planes forged by extraordinary explorers, but until recently no more. There was a relatively recent discovery indicating that near infinitely more are out there, but surprisingly, this discovery has yet to prove consequential. Beyond that, the differences between individual worlds can be explained with some novel theories. The base structure of every world is determined by its “seed,” a mathematical code assigned by explorers to determine a world’s geographical features, similar to the way an astronomer uses stars to determine time and location. The term “seed” is used because it denotes the basic blueprint from which all growth springs forth.

Seeds indicate a basic structure, but as the worlds have been suspected to heal from the cataclysm so long ago, each world is far less uniform than it used to be. Many worlds with the same seed could be radically different, depending on how close they were to the cataclysm and this how much they have healed. Most recently, in the outermost worlds being found, there has been an abundance of life even in the Nether planes. Issues arise from this function when insufficently explored worlds from ages long past are returned to. Every world exists in a state of superposition, not truly existing until witnessed. The seed, the blueprint, will always exist, but what springs forth will manifest far differently when an explorer brings new life from outer worlds. Large sections of wasted land may become cut off and replaced by variation and life.

This concept of superposition also serves to introduce the final sort of variation that affects worlds. Any world that has been witnessed by an explorer unceasingly multiplies itself for the whole duration of the interaction, every action put unto a world creating a whole new version of itself for that interaction to happen. New life, old life, and unique objects may seep naturally between worlds or be brought over by explorers, but only direct interaction from an explorer creates multiples of a world, otherwise it is locality-based seed variation.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

hey there, big fan of your blog. this ask is not as much about mbti/typing as it is about general psychology, or... self awareness? anyway here it is. recently got paranoid that i initially mistyped myself to make up for my insecurities and since i couldnt stop thinking about it im back to step one trying to figure out which functions i actually use and to which extent. while trying to judge my behaviour, again im feeling paranoid that im faking it or the way i perceive it to make it fit /1

an existing preconception or wish of/for myself. while i can admit and recognize "i am insecure about my intelligence and reasoning abilities due to having lived in my gifted older sibling shadow my whole life", its hard to tell if i am really a high Tx user or if im trying to make myself think i am one because i dont want to feel like a "failure". at the same time, am i not being hypercritical of myself because of my lack of self-confidence? i have a hard time understanding who i really am /2

because i second guess myself constantly, and im anxious that im being dishonest about myself. how much of it is imposer syndrom? how much of it is actually lying to myself? this troubles me because i do value honesty very highly but have difficulty with identifying what my behaviours say about myself, whereas my thoughts are "my own" or something learnt to fit in better, etc. any advice on how to be honest and accurate in understanding yourself? i feel like i lack a "frame of reference" here /3 

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

Hi anon,

I absolutely appreciate that you are aware the issues you’re having in typing are more related to your own self-perception than to your understanding of MBTI - that’s not something everyone is able to do, and it shows a decent level of awareness already.

That said: I’m not a mental health professional, I’m not an academic psychologist, I didn’t even take much in the way of psychology in college, I’m just a person, and I try to be pretty up front that I know MBTI through self-study and that’s it - I can provide vague advice from my own limited life experience that you have no reason to follow as I am, as always, an internet stranger.

So here’s my advice on each part of this; the short answer to all of it pretty much boils down to take some time off.

On MBTI and being worried about mistyping: I was guilty of overplaying the problems of mistyping and I think playing up the benefits, for a variety of reasons including frustration with the biases present at the time, so I’ve probably contributed to this but: not knowing your MBTI type is fine. Being mistyped is fine. If this is anything other than fun and interesting - if it’s stressful or anxiety inducing - the benefit will probably not outweigh that stress. Taking an extended break is good and healthy and often will help you approach your typing more calmly and objectively in the future.

On being unsure of what you actually do: The only reliable method I have for this is time, and possibly therapy if feeling overshadowed or lacking confidence is a serious ongoing issue and not just like, a thing that you’re aware of. How long have you felt like you were out of that shadow? Do you feel you’re out of it? Have you had time - and I’m talking like, minimally, a year - to establish a new normal and standard of what is a failure for yourself? If you haven’t, see the first part

On being honest: I think honesty to one’s self is a complicated issue but I also think even if you are a person who strongly values honesty, lying to one’s self is usually coming from a place of protection and being hard on yourself for it won’t actually fix it since like, the wronged party is your conscious mind. This is another case where you want either a therapist, or if you have a friend who is both very patient and also tells it like it is (and who will not mind being drafted into this; honestly this is a lot of pressure to put on a friend and I’d advise using a therapist instead) you can talk to them. Some of it is also asking yourself intermittently “why am I doing what I’m doing”?, and not in the sense of “because I’m a Te user” but in the sense of “what feeling led me to act this way? what outcome do I desire from this? what outcome do I expect from this?” and similar; this is especially true for self-destructive or procrastination behaviors.

So to sum up: if the issues you mentioned (low confidence, imposter syndrome, feeling insufficent because of a gifted older sibling) are interfering not just with your ability to type yourself but with life in general, seek professional help. If they’re only really messing with your ability to type, take some extended time off from typing and work through them however you feel is best. During this time it’s worth asking yourself what your goals are and why you are making the choices you make, but don’t put too much stress on it. This is a process, not an end point.

[thanidiel]

Advent

After she and the Captain made it onto the Runner, she had vomited.

The Captain, Nenda? She had been at the wheel, her laughter a drawn-out husk. All four, now five, of those who had departed for this deal-turned-heist were ‘settled.’ And once they were ‘settled,’ she began to shake with a tremendous violence as her nerves eased, no matter how much the braided-haired Miqo’te had rubbed her shoulder and pressed water to her lips - according to Nenda. For Xiaohu had felt nothing, seen nothing, but the echo-light of the moon; reaching for her through the glass insistently, and yet, somehow, always out of reach.

She had vomited.

And after that, her shaking turned into a never-ending shiver as the cold metal of the… control-room? seeped into her body, and as the constantly churning air of the ship dried the gloss of sweat on her bare skin. The red-and-pink silk, the only thing now to her name, was insuffice beyond the comfort of the teahouse.

How long had she huddled there on the floor?

No one remembers, or no one cares to remind her of such weakness.

Nenda stood over her.

Had they already stopped?

No.

The world still rocked beneath her. The moonlight was still grasping for her in waves.

“Will you stand?” Kind, not mothering.

Xiaohu had looked up. Her breath caught.

An image; a mistake.

Something imagined that had squeezed in between the flickering frames of reality.

A killer’s eyes (Ichiro).

A mass of white hair (Ichiro).

A duty to be done - a betrayal to make example of (Ichiro).

Then (Ichiro)... Nenda.

She breathed in again.

“I will stand.”

And she had done so without assistance.

“Good.”

They had shoved another’s clothing into her hands after that, some other crewperson’s, after directing her to their showers. Picked from the most approximate of them, and yet it was still too big. Xiaohu had found a sort of grace in that, covering the endless swath of ink that consumed her body in trousers that had to be rolled up, and a shirt that hung down her thighs.

She had not wanted any of them to witness, but yet they had, earlier, with the way she had tied off her kimono around her hips to run through the darkness with their Captain.

She assured herself in that moment that they would never again.

A towering Roegadyn woman had walked her to where she would lay her head after that. She spoke as little as the Captain spoke much. This ‘Yellow Rose’ had merely unlocked an unused suite, pointing with her head for their ‘guest’ to enter.

Something that she had hesitated with, for never had Xiaohu been presented with both room and bed to herself alone. An epiphany in which sparked an absence of warmth on both sides of her arms, recalling to Yuko and Masae at the teahouse, in the hold of that ship that had sailed her across the Ruby Sea, to Mei and Chenglei sprawled beside her, to her youngest memories of Father and Mother sleeping with her and Jian squeezed between them.

When she eventually stepped through, both women nodded to one another.

The transaction completed.

She saw peonies on the dresser in the dying bar of hallway light; the door closing.

‒ ‒ ‒

“...this is up to you, and you alone.”

In a sort of silent gloom, Xiaohu had merely scooted to one side of the bed, patted the emptied space for Es’mena, and drooped the curve of her face into palm.

They did not speak. For how long that quiet settled between them, Xiaohu did not remember. She only remembered the barest presence of a gap, only closed between a firm, “Well?” from the nearby Miqo’te.

Her breath built in her cheeks, before billowing out in a sighing gust.

She didn’t bother utilising the Eorzean that the Captain’s address had come in. Her thoughts flew forth in Hingan.

“I can’t give you a good answer of where I go from here. I have spent nearly half of my life in that teahouse, ni mingbai? Before that, I was just a girl from nowhere. If I had to be honest, I don’t know how to survive out there. And even if I did, what happens when I’m identified? Who stands between me and them? I can tell you that, right now, that I think your Runner is my best bet, that I can at least do work here, but who are we to predict fate?”

And, of course, Nenda came right back in the same fluid tongue, with the confidence that she has always mired every word of her’s with.

"There is no predicting fate. Rather, you could argue that there is no such thing as fate. We can get into the long-winded arguments of if fate is real, if luck is real...but in the end? I say you make your own fate. It does not matter if you were a girl from nowhere, a princess, if you knew how to survive, if you were a blithering idiot - it does not matter. We can go into the hypotheticals: if you are identified, if you are caught, if they manage to find you, but that does not matter either. What matters is this: Do you want to be here? Do you want to learn? Do you want to make your own fate? If the answer for those is yes, then we figure out the rest as we go. And we go wherever the wind takes us."

Again, Xiaohu demanded a sort of silence without gesture nor voice - only in the way that her eyes left the person aside her to stare forward, at that dresser and those doomed, now glassed, peonies. But, subtly, there was a sort of tension working through her body. Her leftmost shoulder squared itself slowly, and her chin drew away from its rest. To a degree, she straightened herself; her gaze traveled up to the lonely window of the suite.

“I told you a saying when this all ‘started’. Opportunity knocks only once. I can either answer the door then, or I can ignore it and let it walk away. And I’ll wonder what could have come of that house-visit had I merely let it inside. So… I don’t think I’m of a mind to refute any of that right now. If a good wind comes, you go with it, not against it.”

“Going with the wind– not refuting me– doesn’t mean you want it, however…”

Their words stretched on, though, eventually, the Miqo’te departed, pulling door shut behind her.

‒ ‒ ‒

Though temporal and uncertain, the decision was eventually meted between her and Nenda.

Xiaohu would be a crewmember of this ‘Runner.’

Es’mena’s first order of business was to put a roll of coloured tape into her hands, pushing her off towards the cargo-hold. Anything that Xiaohu taped in their unused furnishings would be carried over to her new room by that braided haired woman, M’gumi.

That one, that one was a talker from the start. Arrow volleys of words, all rolled around with a too-loose tongue. The Doman pondered to herself, silently, of how Chinatsu would have responded if she had dared to be nothing less but perfect with her own speech. It made her scar ache in memory.

She did not respond in kind. Had not wished to, with the way her head buzzed and her stomache twisted with her nerves. Xiaohu had started off with short, clipped, answers, then dwindled down to none at all during the whole of the process.

Finally, her silence was mimicked by the tanned Miqo’te. The other’s curious, slightly begrudging glances, suited the thief’s tastes much better than conversation as she picked out what little Hingan furniture there was. Her thumb stroked down on each surface, planting dashes of red-tape to indicate each one she desired.

After that business had settled, they had walked in their quiet to the mess-hall. M’gumi was quick to break off - something that Xiaohu had felt to be a blessing at the time. The cargo-loader settled at the same table as the Roegadyn from before, and a trio of Xaela… Jin, there was a lot of Xaela. She spotted two more huddled together into one of the emptier corners of the room.

Two Hyur ate separate, and alone, from everyone else in different parts of the room: one with starkly red hair, and another with black hair and strangely violet eyes. The first broke into a lopsided grin seeing her, the other, the latter, regarded her in a cursory sort of fashion, like the Doman were something to quickly categorise and file.

Then she drew her gaze up to the window that separated this seating from the rear kitchens. A somber Miqo’te in all black, with eyes equally violet to the other woman, stood with his back to the wall aside that opening and his arms folded. He was quiet in a way that made her remember Eisen.

And, leaning out of that window, her arm flush against his, was a tall, pink, Viera. Where he was statue-like, this one was all intensity. She did not hesitate to gesture wildly to Xiaohu the moment their gazes met.

Though it did not show on her face, her heart sank with the weariness of interaction pressed on her weighted soul. For seconds, she did not approach; considering a retreat to one of the emptied suites and locking the door.

Yet, she did walk forward eventually. How could she not? It would not do good for her to reject such an overt gesture, especially with the wide grin spread over the apparent Cook’s face.

In the meantime, the Viera had turned around, rummaging around the counters over that window.

Xiaohu sucked in a breath when the woman she would know later as “E’leyna” had rounded back.

Her hands bloomed open like a lotus.

She felt her teeth drive against one another, her temples throbbing as decrepit memory contributed to the suffocating magnitude of her stress.

Not dabao, but miso, a thick, lava-like, miso, poured over steamed rice with a layer of lard glistening over the broth’s surface. A small bundle of blanched morning glory tucked itself against the side of the bowl.

A meal she’d had hundreds of time with Yuko.

Her wind came out in a sigh, one that E’leyna luckily processed as surprised gratitude.

“Go on, girl, sit down and have your fill! There’s a whole pot where that came from!”

She did not bother to speak much; using her newness as an excuse to simmer in silence. She had taken the bowl, inclined her head to this woman with a murmured “Thank you,” and sat down.

Curious glances from seemingly all corners of the room seemed to burn into her shoulders and back.

She ate slowly.

She had never had that privilege before.

She savoured ziyou more than the meal.

M’gumi had offered to escort her to her room from here once everyone had begun to filter out for their night’s rest. Softly the Doman declined, and threw in another ‘thank you’ with the bit of energy that the hot meal had given her.

After that, once the Miqo’te had disappeared down the hallway - Xiaohu wandered.

Another thing she had never had the privilege to do in Kugane, so confined she was to that teahouse or a man’s side.

There was no eyes on her, no one following her, no one guarding their asset; her. Nothing loomed over her shoulders as they once did. No restrictions, no threats. Just her and the empty halls.

She wandered - explored. Every nook, every cranny. From every crew-facility, to the engine room, the cargo hold, the navigation room, the spanning guest wings and all of those amenities, the viewing deck, and then out onto the open decks of the airship, this ‘Runner.’

She examined everything, and touched everything, and listened to the way the airship thrummed in different crooning tunes dependent on where one was, and where they were standing in particular.

She familiarised herself with aching, near-obsessive, intensity to this… residence.

Some were still awake; notably a blonde-haired woman, their engineer, who she had not seen before.

They did not speak nor look at one another.

At this point, the night was on the cusp of shifting towards new light. She made her way down the expanse of the crew quarters all the way to its very end. To the right, that is where that Miqo’te had dragged everything into.

The braided-haired woman had called it cramped compared to her apparent ‘nest’ in the bowels of the ship’s hold.

Xiaohu had nodded softly to that, as though in agreement.

Looking around now, her chest tightened with a queer sort of feeling.

These rooms they had been transferring her around in -  to her they were enormous in their privacy.

In Yanxia, she remembers, her family’s bedding has been strewn across the single-roomed floor of their home. Over the Ruby Sea, they packed people like layers of fish at market within the wooden bowels of the ship. In Kugane, they had a room of the teahouse that was as large as this ship’s lounge, of which tiny futons and small bags of personal effects lined the floor to squeeze a hundred’s half of women.

She did not know what to do with its space, until she had pulled at her shirt with intention to exchange her wear for the fresher articles of clothing that had been scrounged up for her. Instead of her ingrained pattern; of performing such a motion as swiftly as possible and immediately donning the new piece before anyone could truly observe her... Xiaohu paused, and executed the action unhurriedly.

The new crewmember allowed her own nudity - another first, to have herself this way, without another ready to devour her all right then, or in the next room pacing restlessly for her, or dozens of other women at her flanks in the water.

The last time she had been permitted this was years upon years ago. A decade, perhaps? No - even younger, which such a thing was the way of children.

Time waxed on in a meaningless sort of fashion as she turned and shifted constantly in the lantern light. She examined herself. Black swirled endlessly across her: over her breasts, her ribs, her stomache, dipping down past the crests of her hips to where her irezumi continued to lick down all the way to her knees. In her new mirror, she studied how that Tiger amongst blossom blooms raked across her back.

She decided she liked the way that only a part of her flourished in colour; like how tea bled into fresh water. The pink little flowers dotting thin wood, the stark red-lips of tayuu, the golden embroidery, and the jade of silk, stained across her right hemisphere; contained by the black ribs of the bodysuit’s ‘zipper.’

She had never truly been able to examine her soshinbori.

Xiaohu only remembered the agony that consumed her days when she was not entertaining, and the blood glossed over her skin. The sting of when Horigu’s apprentices would wipe at her with warm rags, then replace her bloodcoat with salve. The way clutching hands, and black hair, and shoulders, always covered it from view.

It was beautiful in a haunting way. It twisted her stomache with a keen anxiety even as her fingers stroked along the painstaking lines that had been punctured into her over the course of years.

An artwork birthed from captivity.

Footsteps shuffled along the hardwood floor, her new neighbors apparently retiring from a graveyard’s schedule.

In spite of the solitude provided by the thick curtains of their ‘doors,’ her breath stuttered again.

This was for her; never for anyone else ever again.

She looked across the empty, barren, floor of this little chamber.

This was all hers now, Es’mena had said.

Hers.

A foreign concept.

But not an opportunity she would leave unanswered at the step.

Her irreverence sparking, she dropped every article that had once been on her person right onto the ground than to establish any sort of rigid order.

Started the first engraving scratch of her mark that way.

Hidden, for now, behind the curtained doorway.

‒ ‒ ‒

In the months after, she showed a feline affinity - explorative, and cautious, and aloof. There at one moment, then quick to vanish when the crew’s attention shifted onto her. Those that attempted to coax her out with them to taverns or to speak with all of them at the mess or after meetings were rebuked until the requests all trickled into nothingness.

And then, suddenly, her comfort came crawling into rooms and conversations. Then, later, it stood unto its legs and padded forth. Once its joints were fully warmed, it started to sprint down the hallways of the Runner unabashedly.

It all fit in a way nothing else has before; in which she did not have to consciously think about it, nor had she ever in its earliest developments.

She grew in a fundamental pattern, like it all had been built up in her blood and muscle, and everything knew precisely where to go and how to navigate there like impulses through neural networks.

And it unraveled silently, of course, like how she silently performed every gesture of true note. That was what the Captain picked up on. That what was meaningful in her new crewmember was what she didn’t see at all, or only saw in the minute disturbances of dust; what was void, or if not void, left unspoken.

That much became evident when Nenda, herself, chose to swing into the mess hall one night, many moons into the Doman’s employment.

Some had already sorted out - for work, or rest, or solitude, both old and new.

The rest had all gathered around one of the long-tables pressed up against a wall, emptied of its dishes. Oosra, with tendrils of dreamweed smoke swirling around his head to press up against the wooden ceiling, his frame hunched over and fingers loosely intertwined. Gumi resting against the inside of Rose’s left arm, the Roegadyn straight-backed, but not tense, with that same arm hooked around the Miqo’te, the other arm resting atop her own thigh. Prisa lounging her weight against the table, a glass of liquor in the hand not sprawled across wood. E’leyna standing, leaning over them with her weight pressed into palms spread across the table. And Xiaohu sitting across the surface in front of them, her shoulder propped against the wall, a hip jutted out towards the Doctor, and one leg drawn up with the other foot oriented towards the Xaela at the end of the ‘line-up.’

All of the group present were at a level of ease that could only be familiar. Their varied volumes did not ring in cacophony throughout the soundspace of the room, but with a natural cadance. The quiet were quiet because they wished to, than because it was expected or they were drowned out, and the loud were loud because there was no need for shame in speaking freely and in full spirit.

In the newest of them, this ease seemed plucked out of chrysalis.

The vastness of her ink was bared, the black of it bracketing her belly and engulfing her arms where her half-shirt didn’t tread. Her body language was open, unconcerned, with something she had obsessively kept out of sight before.

Her features were unmuted, no longer suspended in a cautious manner of aloofness with her crewmates, but something animated and complex. The soft arches of her brows shifted in conjunction with tense, glinting, eyes - giving her a wicked, lazy, sort of playfulness sinking right down to sly lips.

And her words were neither hushed, nor clipped, nor politely ceremonial. The formality of her learned Hingan had surrendered for the loose tongue adopted from their Eorzean surroundings. Amidst the lilting chitter of the Viera’s shining warmth, Gumi’s wild laughter, the gravel of Oosra’s observations, Rose’s humoured assents, and Prisa’s dry quips: Xiaohu’s speech sprung out assertively, knowingly (for how could she not be anything but attuned to them) in precise strikes of wit. It all weighed from out of her throat with mellow affection, yet the barbed arrowheads still landed with full mordancy.

Then, when the swaying brightness of Es’mena’s tail drew everyone’s eye, a pause occurred; a dimming of everything, not like their vivacity was being folded and packed away, but like the intake of breath needed when one’s contentedness flushes up to an even more buoyant state.

As the chorus of greetings, silent or shouted, began and died, the brunette amongst them followed up with what was her version of such.

A sardonic drawl of, “Captain on deck,” which found it countered by the sobering sort of way the other woman liked to drag a cursory gaze from one’s head to their toes and mimicked,

“Doman on table.” The amused Miqo’te beckoned her off the furniture with two fingers.

“Why don’t you pour me a drink if you’re going to make yourself so comfy?” Es’mena punctuated with a toss of her head towards the kitchen door.

‒ ‒ ‒

It occurred in passing.

The night was quiet. Not in some foreboding or stifled fashion, but the quiet that blankets true comfort with the ek of one’s existence. The Runner was ‘empty’; docked. Only its crew settled within its ribs.

Xiaohu was awake despite the hour; she always was at the day’s bleariest points. It was in the tranquility of solitude, the world at sleep, where she enjoyed putting herself to busywork. This was the time that she would slip into the med-bay’s back office, running through the paperwork that Prisa had urged her to assist with earlier in the day, or bring to order the wild domain of the mess-kitchen before dawn, and E’leyna, arrived. This was the period on which the vacated suites were restored to frozen perfection, and found ‘goods’ for appraisal slipped into the engine room, to be passed into Es’mena’s office in the daytime.

This time, however, there was a change in the lonely, silent, routine of it all: the Captain was still awake, performing rounds of some sort around the ship’s interior. They had looked at each only briefly, comfortable with the temporal presence of the other.

Then– as she had brushed past the Miqo’te to continue her own activities– Es’mena spoke.

“Xiaohu.”

She stopped where she was, looking over her shoulder to the summer-haired woman.

“O’ Captain?”

There wasn’t a need to remind each other of past conversations, to frame context. They knew each other well enough; had this moment between them more times than they should have. The question proposed, thus, was simplified to its bare essence:

“Are you staying?”

Xiaohu fell into quiet once again. It was not in contemplation. It was not because she saw an endless, unknown, sea spread out beneath her feet and ahead of her. It was the hush of realisation, and retrieving the humour found in that.

She felt her face, involuntarily, break into a smile that crawled through her lips, to her cheeks, all the way to the muscles around her glinting eyes. She turned to face her Captain, moving a hand to perch along her own hip. With the other, she opted to drag its fingers through the soft mass of her hair, pulling the curtain of it away from where it had pooled over her collarbone to move over behind her shoulder.

She answered as though it were the lightest sentiment; the easiest thing in the world.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

And with the echoing nod and clicking footsteps continuing on their way, the once-stranger moved on her own way, to her own destination.

Opened that door with the last reverberating knock of Es’mena’s presence.

[ @jessipalooza @she-wants-the-d20 @kinari for primary mentions: @rn-rp overall because I threw in most of the ‘preset’ characters we have.]

[firespirited]

Hair curling didn’t work out so I saved what I could of the hair I’d curled, gathered together all the nylons scraps I had and put it in this fairytopia doll from the “hell bundle” (the one with the petrol like substance inside the dolls and gluehead for days).

There’s some lilac from the Bratz really rock Jade commission, a smidgen of blonde from the Bratz bahama beach Jade, some black and purple from Mel’s Wonder woman reroot, the leftover mauve from aliexpress and a thermal blue to white hair clip in extension. I’m calling her Scintilla because she’s a scrapling. I was going to go with Miette but everybody knows by now that I have personal beef with Victor Hugo (like most french ex-high school students, there’ll be a long line to fight his horny detail obsessed corpse if ever he comes back to life LOL). She’s still a little thin on top so I’ll either add from nylon I have coming in the next few weeks (?months? who knows at this point) or what’s left of the glow in the dark blue.

tw: death, tw: body fluids, tw: ethical dilemmas

This is 100% a distraction doll because I can’t bring myself to write special exceptions for Covid19 to our living wills for me, my sis and mum to review and reject or approve. In a nutshell: in any other case intubation would be off the table but intubation is short term with c19. On the otherhand, if you code while intubated for c19, CPR/defib is an extreme risk (very messy, contaminated fluids flying everywhere) and traumatic event to medical personnel if they don’t know your specific wishes. Balancing wanting to live and not wanting to contaminate healthworkers. Knowing that my family’s quality of life would be considered insufficent in a triage situation even though we are very much alive and finding ways to enjoy life. Knowing my mum is currently ‘meh’ about whether she stays or goes. I don’t want to make it real by putting it in writing.

I’m not even sure if living wills are being applied in peak periods where they’re making triage decisions (which is an appalling human rights abuse in itself) but I’ve got to word it w/r/t survival chances and the other night I had it all perfectly expressed in my head but the next morning: big blank and since, good ol’ avoidance. My scared brain is saying wait for information about mortality rates for folks with autoimmune disorders to come out before even starting to write. Of course, eventually I’ll get over it and do what’s required, preparedness is something that’s deeply reassuring to sis and I’m good at thinking ahead and having options/scripts ready. We’ve had to have some very difficult and draining conversations already and I still have this bad cold, fighting infection = low blood pressure & exhaustion = physical induced anxiety. SAD is usually over by now. You can know that there’s a logical explanation and still be unable to move forward because mind over matter is bullshit. If mind over matter were real, I and most of the chronically ill people I know would be able to levitate.

[comingupforblair]

There’s a common claim I see a lot from people with negative opinions on the DCEU, that their negativity towards the films is built entirely around what they see as their failings as films.

They will say that it has nothing to do with the tone or intention of the films but everything to do with the execution of such intentions.

That is, to put it simply, total horseshit.

The tone and intention of the films has been arguably the biggest source of negativity directed towards the films and a major cause for many of the other criticisms to either be noticed or treated as more damning when the MCU and Arrowverse do similar things and are given a pass for it. Look at any article or video about “fixing” the franchise and they will almost invariably bring up the more serious tone as a central issue, usually followed by saying they need to follow the “fun/hopeful/optimistic” tone of the Arrowverse or the MCU or whatever. Words like “nihilistic”, “cynical”, “bleak”, “depressing” and “grimdark” appear with such frequency a drinking game revolving around them would be ill advised, lest alcohol poisoning occur.

If it really were about the execution, they wouldn’t be trying so desperately hard to frame Zack Snyder as a guy who is an active burden to the franchise or a man who fundamentally misunderstands both the heroes and altruism as a concept.

I wish such a narrative were true. If people were willing to take these films for what they are and what they’re trying to be and basing their criticisms around that, it would make the discourse around the films a whole lot easier and more pleasant.

If all those articles and videos about how to “fix” or “save” the DCEU were focused on how the film makers can improve at and achieve the goals they’ve set for themselves, I wouldn’t have an issue with them. I’d still disagree with some points and call out what I see disproportionate harshness where I see it but I wouldn’t have the reaction to them I have now.

If they had been saying “if they want to make more serious films, here’s how they should do it” or outlining how they can improve at executing the vision behind them and if the calls for lighter films had been built around the idea that some characters shouldn’t be written in that same way or calling for tonal variety across the franchise or saying that they did the more serious films so it’s best to move on to some lighter ones as a way of finishing off the arc and progressing the franchise, I wouldn’t have an issue. Shit, if they’d been saying how it’s okay to make more serious films like MOS and BvS but try to add some more levity to balance things out a bit better, it wouldn’t bother me, at least not as much.

But none of that has been the case. It’s always been about framing the serious tone as an issue in itself that needs to be gotten rid of and the lighter films are seen as the way all DC films should be made now, not as equal partners among the more serious ones. Man of Steel and Batman v Superman are being framed as mistakes never toe be repeated and to be avoided at all costs, even if it means getting rid of actors loyal to Zack Snyder and his vision.

Someone may read this and snidely claim that they “suck at the darker tone” but that proves my point. If they don’t have an issue with it but simply the execution, why are all their efforts to improve the franchise built around abandoning such an intent. They will also sometimes respond that deconstructions are fine but only when the people doing it “understand” the characters which they accuse Zack Snyder of not doing. But this is undermined by how other directors, whom they claim would have a better understanding, are expected to distance themselves from such ideas.

The other response is that they don’t mind more serious films but not with Superman. Superman is supposed to be [insert meaningless word here]! Which is undermined by the fact that they aren’t suggesting any alternate characters, even ones ideally suited for such an adaptation. To say nothing of how it ignores all the more serious Superman stories out there.

This is a major reason why the people who hate the franchise and those of us who love it have such a hard time putting our difference aside and why the divisions between the two will always be strong and bitter. We simply have two differing ideals for these films and we can’t chalk it up to “we both care, we just have different views”. They, too often, see DCEU fans as not being real fans and as people trying to change “their heroes to fit our agenda”. We see them as toxic fans dead set on reliving their childhood indefinitely and who expect the world to cater to their unreasonable expectations.

People with negative views refuse to accept these films as they are and won’t stop until they have been altered to better fit their views on how they are supposed to be and they have repeatedly demonstrated that they don’t care about anything else in the pursuit of such a goal, least of all the feelings of DCEU fans who are deeply angry and resentful of the way they treat the films we love, a level of anger they refuse to understand.

Their adamant opposition to more serious adaptations is so intense it shows up even with shows like Titans, which got much better reviews despite being far more overt with it’s “edginess”, and they will never advocate such tones even for characters that would suit them. They even call for Batman, the hero whose darkness is his defining trait, to adopt a lighter tone. Titans proved that you can make a DC adaptation with a darker tone work, even with characters generally associated with a lighter one, but it hasn’t caused people to reevaluate their feelings towards the films.

Even now, they call for a Flashpoint style film or reboot to erase such moments from continuity, the effort WB have expended to distance themselves from being them being seen as insufficent, and every film with a lighter tone like Aquaman or Shazam is mentioned and praised specifically for not being “grimdark” like the earlier films.

So the idea that it’s all about the execution and the films and not the tone and they’re open to more serious adaptations is a bunch of fucking nonsense.

[skyheld]

From the super-detailed questions: 11 for Milva, 9 and 15 for Shianni, 43 for both Milva and Dalish

SUPER DETAILED QUESTIONS  |  @ghilannainguideme

11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies?

Milva will eat anything and frequently forgets to enjoy it;  she doesn’t care a lot about taste.   If she was allergic to something,  unless it caused a severe reaction,  it’s likely she wouldn’t notice or care.

9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals?

Shianni is a bit uncomfortable around some animals,  a bit nervous if they’re bigger than a sheep or more aggressive than a chicken,  and many of them are good at picking up on that and won’t like her on the onset.   It’s mostly down of her not having been around a lot of them since she was very small though,  so with a bit of time she’d likely become more at ease and so would they.   In the Alienage you’ll find chickens,  cats,  a few dogs  (  but no mabari,  given that they’re so valuable  )  and perhaps some goats or even a pig,  and all those she’d be fine with.   While she’s not exactly soft spoken,  she doesn’t shout,  bang doors or otherwise cause loud or sudden noises that might scare a lot of animals,  and her handling is gentle,  so in general,  animals tend to be comfortable around her.

15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking?

Shianni is great at cooking consider what she has to work with isn’t very much.   The Tabris household is lucky compared to others in that they actually have a stove and don’t have to eat out,  which is actually the most common thing,  so she learnt from home and a bit from working at various taverns  (  where she’d never be in charge of cooking,  being an elf,  but did the simple and unpleasant tasks and watched cooks do the rest  ).   All of the Tabris kids learnt to cook,  and other chores of course,  but Shianni is the one who likes it the most.   She’s good at utilizing leftovers and what herbs she has from her little garden to make decently tasty and nutritious food despite the lack of good ingredients.

Whether others enjoy it or not depends on what they’re used to.   Soris says she’s a mage,  turning stale turnips into a feast fit for a lord,  while an actual lord might find it tasteless and insufficent.   Most people would find nothing to complain of though.

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people?

Having grown up in a Chantry most of her life  (  and with an Andrastian family before that,  not that she was ever close to them  )  Milva is very religious.   She takes most of the Chantry’s teachings at face value  (  including that elves need to atone for their sins of having their own gods  )  and does not question them.   She thinks deeply about her place in the world and sees most things through an Andrastian lens,  so to speak  —  her faith isn’t limited to holidays or when she’s in a chantry,  but permeates her entire being and sense of self.   To her,  religion isn’t really a choice  —  you either accept or you deny the Chant  (  or you don’t know about it at all,  which is sad but not your fault  )  and to deny it is to commit a grave sin.   All religions aside from Andrastianism are thus either misunderstandings by people who don’t know better,  or illusions,  or straight up demon worship  —  not all evil,  but all bad.  

Andrastian religious people are thus the kind of people she prefers and relates to the most.   She doesn’t understand not believing,  she especially doesn’t understand not caring.   Milva is well aware believing in the Chant doesn’t equal being a good person,  and she doesn’t necessarily believe people who don’t are bad.   As Herald/Inquisitor she comes close to several people who aren’t Andrastian,  are fully aware of her story and still don’t want to become Andrastian,  and she  —  eventually  —  accepts that that’s their choice and while she doesn’t approve,  she doesn’t have to try to convert them.

Dalish is religious too,  and just like for Milva that’s a big part of her and how she approaches the world,  though she’s more private with her faith.   When she lived with the Ghilain clan belief in the Creators was natural  —  people could have different ways of approaching it,  some struggled with the absence of the gods,  but it was a part of everyones lives.   Outside the clan she’s barely met anyone who shares her beliefs and so it’s not surprising it has become a more subdued,  not spoken about part of her.   That’s not to say she’s secretive,  and she’ll share with people who show genuine interest.

When she first left her clan it was strange to her that some people did not believe or care about any deity or higher power at all,  and she had an easier time understanding other religious people regardless of what they believed in.   That has changed a bit,  and now she doesn’t really react if someone tells her they’re not religious.   Atheists,  Andrastians and people of other faiths  ---  dwarven,  Avvar,  Nevarran,  Rivaini;  she has encountered a few people of most major religions  ---  are not very different to her now,  and she judges them based on their actions and morals,  regardless of religion.

[tsundereyukio]

Like a moth to a flame

Genre: psychological thriller (hopefully), fantasy with Slavic motifs Word count: 6,800+ Group: BTS (Jimin, and another person, but I will not spoil it now) Warnings: mature content, violence, implied sexual content, mentioned drugs and alcohol usage, explicit language.

Born in a wealthy family, raised mostly by nannies, and educated by personal tutors - that is how Jimin spent his early years. He studied well with the only purpose of achieving praises from his mother - a sad woman who always dressed and smelled nice. Besides measuring his progress and sometimes dining with him in silence, he did not know much more about her. Once, he eavesdropped handmaids gossiping that her state was like that because she miscarried. At that time, he was not aware of the meaning of the word, yet he understood one thing: his mother was sad because he was her only child. Why was he causing her so many worries if what we was doing was that he studied well and followed well what adults said?

Short after this event, Jimin observed an act of lying. It was eye-opening and such a fascinating thing that he was distracted for several days because he was thinking about it ceaselessly. Being a good boy did not bear any effects on his mother. Jimin understood that he had to start acting by himself. The only way to do so was to raise his awareness and knowledge. Jimin's favourite activity became observing. He started to remember details, memorize names, and times at which things happened. It was much more intriguing than words in books, dates and events so distant from his life. Here, in the manor, people, their stories and emotions were real. He realized that it was feelings that he lacked that made his life felt unreal, as if someone else was in his body. As if there were two Jimins.

He decided not to act, but just to observe. He lived his life thus far as he used to, with the only difference that he observed much more, an amount he could not imagine before. He also became more indifferent, not to behave accidently and break the illusion. Somehow he felt that he was not allowed to, under any circumstances break the illusion. He stopped being enthusiastic towards his mother, whose eyebrows always furrowed in worry. "He is reaching adolescence," he heard, and seen the rest in their eyes, "he is becoming as apathetic as his mother".

When Jimin decided that he observed enough, he stopped showing up for lessons. He spent his days in solitude, training his face muscles to imitate emotions. He practiced body language in front of the mirror. He recited poems that he found to his liking. Soon he found out how to behave to achieve the result he wanted. Yet, he had no purpose of using those looks, so he was expresionless most of the times. Here Jimin's parentage sufficed to get what he wanted. But what he also desired was to be one of them, which meant that he had to use the newly acquired skills.

Firstly, he was satisfied with small achievements, such as a favour or information he did not need. He was becoming better in imitating human emotions. But he was never fully satisfied.

It was when Jimin was fourteen or fifteen that he braved to leave the manor only with his horse. He travelled to a neighbouring town, yet it was the whole new world for him. The people there were different, and he had fun observing them. Jimin frequented this town and others many times, and even later managed to mingle with citizens. It gave him a huge boost of confidence. Outside the manor the looks he was given varied greatly. Soon he found out that apparently he is considered good-looking. With this came youthful experiences, and Jimin soon found himself seducing girls. They were simple to deal with. He acted as a newcomer, he was charming, smiled, and knew poems. What he did not know what that he was not supposed to enamor many females, but one. Soon, the rumours of scandals reached the manor.

***

The carriage was shaky, the road was too long, and Jimin was not allowed to even look out through the window. The young man was uncomfortable in the company of his father, who was supposed to keep an eye on him - and it was the only thing he was doing. It was always awkward between them, because there was no "them" in the first place. Jimin knew that his father was a soldier and due his work in the capital he was barely home. He was a man of strong physique and gloomy characteristics that matched their family, but unlike his wife, there was a stubborn spirit in him, as if he was driven by some great purpose. Also, in contrast to Jimin's mother he reacted to the scandals. The told his defiant son, "You should learn to live. I shall take you where they will teach you." And this was the only communication between the two of them. Still, Jimin was thankful. He knew that his knowledge about people was not sufficient, and it seemed as if his father could undertood the only child's worries even without talking much.

Oh, how wrong Jimin was.

***

They stopped in a village. Jimin's father talked in private with a grey-haired woman who was in charge here. After that he only introduced his son to her, and left him to live here. Jimin was curious of what his lessons here will be. Instead of that, he was ordered to work and do chores as other villagers. He was working in the fields, with farm animals or in the near forest, always accompanied by at least two people, as if they were keeping an eye on him. Jimin was exhausted every day as his physical capabilities were insufficent for hard physical activities. Other men were accustomed to such life. Even girls were tough, completely opposite to delicate and soft town ladies. What was the same was the unpleasant atmosphere, hostile looks, and prevalent silence.

The only time Jimin did not stand out was when it was raining. It was the time when villagers gathered inside, and listened to stories while doing less physically straining task, such as sewing or knitting. The narratives were strange, as Jimin did not know so many words that even children seemed to comprehend. The stories usually consisted of warnings, macabrical descriptions and unexpected turns of events. Jimin learned that people die when owls hoot, salt is usually unlucky or helpful (depending on its usage), one should never follow a stranger met in a forest, and moon phases are extremely important for various reasons. He grew to like rain because it gave him a break, a temporary belonging to the group or at least lack of unpleasant looks as people were focused on other things. Maybe these were things that his father wanted Jimin to know?

***

After twenty or so days of his stay at the village, Jimin noticed the change in the atmosphere. Folks were excited. More than that, he was told to complete only the usual chores done until afternoon. Having asked the reason, he was given an incredulous look and words "summer solstice" as the only explanation. It was the only time Jimin could rest from physical work, besides a few hours every seventh day (but then also he was involutarily participating in some rituals he did not fully understand). The tasks he received this time were not that straining - moving wood to the small glade located near the settlement, along with other men. Women were preparing food, more complex than usual, and younger girls were helping them, after they have cheerfully wreathed flower crowns and placed them on their heads. Many of those who could afford it wore a finer pair of clothing. Jimin wondered the meaning of this all, but kept quiet and was observing, as he did not expect anyone to intitate him into such practices.

When the sun set, a huge firewood was set alight in the middle of the glade. Folks feasted and drank incontinetly. He heard loud chats, joyful laughs, crude jokes, and music. Whoever wanted, danced around the campire. Elderly people were watching the festival tenderly, as if remebering the past. Here and there, Jimin saw many more people who he have never seen before, gathering to partake in the festival. The atmospere seemed to live itself, with all those folks seemingly intoxicated in their joy, wild, and dancing passionately. Later, Jimin wondered even more. He happened to see a married woman kissing another man than her husband. Having known that the woman was risking a lot, if the man found out, Jimin ransacked the crowd in the search of her spouse. But no one else seemed to care. Morevoer, most of these people have given in to the sensual mood. He saw more couples touching each other, or dancing in a lewd way, even in larger groups. Soon, a boozed man explained it to Jimin, unclearly spitting words. "You can fuck everyone you want, tonight," he said and handed him a bottle with doubtful content. "Bottoms up!" Jimin left with no choice emptied the bottle, coughed, and almost immediately felt his cheeks getting warmer. It was the first time he tried an alcohol that strong. Or maybe it was some kind of potion that bewitched all these people to surrender to their instincs? He did not know.

What he also did not know was how he joined the festival. He remembered just the glimses: dancing as in feverish state, someone's hands touching him, his hands also finding a way on some woman's body, her blonde hair that smelled like flowers, spinning endlessly, jumping wildly, then heated body, different scent, loud, loud laughs. Then he found himself breaking away from the crowd. With a realization that his head hurts, and he feels nauseous, he had to retreat from the noise. The only quiet place that popped into his thoughts, was the lake. He strode there, with difficulties in catching his balance, having cought glimses of couples absorbed in each other away from the glade, where the noise was less bothering.

***

Fighting against his unpleasant symptoms, Jimin sat and leaned his back against a tree. He tried to breathe in fresh air and focus on the sky. He closed his eyes, unable to resist sleepiness. When he lifted eyelids he was not sure how much time has passed. Now his gaze was magnetized by a female taking a dip in the lake. She was naked and lunar lustre made her hair look green. Jimin if caught would be surely made a pervert, so he managed to make his slowly reacting body to move away...

The realization came to him like a tide. Sadness was coming to Jimin with small waves, the level of despair increasing. The feeling of longing  for something never meant to be gained seemed to him as clear as the lake's surface. He gave in to wistfulness, and soon was about to drown in misery.

What stopped him was a merry thought, unwanted, but ceaseless, rapidly taking over the dolefulness. Jimin located where the euphoric sensation came from - it was the whistling he heard behind his back. He was also struck with the realization that he was standing in the lake with water level above his waistline, and the female in front of him who has drawn him here. Jimin locked his eyes with the woman, and the sorrowful song ceased, soon followed by whistling, and his mind was free of manipulation. The creature in front of him fizzled angrily at the person behind, showing her inhumane sharp teeth. Jimin stood unfazed, observing intently. Her livid skin, gill on neck; he wondered how did her song made him so influenced. Did she also feel what she sang about or was it just a trick? Maybe deep inside he knew she was not a part of the world he has lived in from the beginning, or maybe he did not recover completely from her charm. Jimin gently touched a wet strand of the creature's truly green hair, and whispered, "Pretty." Mad even more that a human whom a little while ago she almost made drown himself, dared to touch her, the female left Jimin with a quick bite on his hand, made a hissing sound and a splash was heard when she came back to the lake.

"Ah..." Jimin did not know what to make of it. His body shivered, finally reacted to cold water, no longer blocked from reality. Dizinness and uneasy revelation in his stomach also returned. A droplet of his blood dropped to the lake from a crescent shaped bite left on his palm. He still did not face a person behind his back. The presence was so strong that a creature who could kill him easily withdrew, having felt threatened by a stronger predator.Why did his self-preservation reacted just now? Was the danger worse than drowning?

He heard about perils of meeting strangers at forest. Maybe the village people were not that supersitious as he thought at first. Or maybe he was overreacting after almost dying, and the one who saved him needed at least a "thank you." "Or maybe the stronger peril had no power in the water," a voice whispered in his head. Another droplet of his crimson blood met the surface of the lake.

Jimin turned back and met the stranger's anticipating eyes. Very beautiful eyes, he admitted, surprised by this discovery. The young man in front of him was devilishly attractive. His face had an innocent charm, but body resembled the one of villagers who spent days on physical tasks. Jimin's gaze traced the silhouette of the stranger for a sign of anything inhumane. Not that he trusted his own judgement, and could do anthing to protect himself besides pathetic attempts, but it would be extremely stupid not to even try.

The stranger had a knapsack, and a sword attached to each hip. He passed the anti-peril check according to Jimin. This whole time the stranger was intently observing Jimin, but did not say a word. Only the amusing grin bloomed on his lips. "Very pretty lips," Jimin thought. He did not meet a man that handsome his entire life. However, he knew only a handful of people throughout his life so he could not be deemed an expert. Jimin finally opened his mouth to let the thankful phrase out, but what escaped was:

"Oh...! Are you also trying to allure me?"

The stranger blinked a few times, then bursted out laughing. Jimin stood unconcerned, excluding occasional shivers, with a fixed stare. The other man quickly understood that it was not a joke, and donned a more serious face.

"I did not know that rusalkas are venomous."

"Rusalkas...?"

"Yes. The lady who bit you was a rusalka."

Jimin's brows furrowed. He tried to gather the scraps of information he had heard about it, but his mind clouded by alcohol was not cooperating. The stranger sighed, and spoke in a mocking tone:

"Ve-no-mous. It means that rusalkas may have venom. It’s similar to poison. Do you know what's "poison"? It's the first time I have seen someone bit by one, so I am not sure. But your dull responses to incentives and spitting nonsense may suggest so. Will you contribute to the lore and let me see your wound?"

Good thing Jimin's skin was now grey-blue from staying in the cold water, otherwise his cheeks would have turned red. What choice did he have? He stepped out of the lake, obediently, and sat next to the young man, after being instructed to do so. The stranger took out some bandages and an ointment, then examined Jimin's hand in a dimmed light the moon was giving. It hurt his pride when he was insulted for ignorance, especially by a person he wished to impress. But maybe was it more beneficial to impose a simple villager? Jimin probably would do so if he was not itching to satisfy his curiosity.

"What is a rusalka?"

He was given a quick look of disbelief, and a question in response:

"You're not from here?"

Jimin's heart started pounding. Now it was revealed that he is an outsider, and no one would care if he disappeared. The feeling of fear gushed in his body, and he embraced it, surprised by its strength. Until now he did not realize that he cared for his worthless life that much. It was the most overhelming sensation he ever felt. He shaked his head as an answer. After a while, the stranger started applying the ointment on Jimin's hand - who gave up protesting due to lack of a better option - and explained:

"Rusalkas are young women who died near water before getting married. Because of that they are full of wrath and want to take revenge by luring in men, especially younger ones. They do that by using appearance and voice. And... they are not venomous," he added, having finished bandaging Jimin's hand. Then he packed the things to his knapsack.

"Thank you for the explanation. And saving me."

Jimin's savior just shrugged as if he was saving lives everyday. He got up, so did Jimin, struggling a bit to keep balance. Awkwardness hung in the air. As always when he attempted to talk to others, his analytic mind did not help. Overthinking everything resulted in keeping his mouth shut. Unless the encounters happened to be of romantic nature. Well, he did not had no talk much then. However, it was the only direction he was experienced to led a conversation into. The stranger adjusted the knapsack's position, getting ready to march. Foreknowing imminent parting and hating it to happen, Jimin asked:

"Have you come to the festival?"

The other boy responded even before he finished the question:

"Jungkook. ...Huh?"

"Huh?"

Jimin was given another disbelieving look. He was accustomed to this kind of stares, as if measuring whether he was serious. Jimin tried to stand straight - it helped to seem more confident - and do not let his lips quiver. He was also returning the scrutinizing look. What could go through thoughts of his savior? He did not know. Usually people shook their heads and left him wondering what went wrong. Much less meetings turned into pleasant ones, with actions not words.

Jungkook scoffed.

"Are you serious? Are you really asking me if I came here to partake in the Kupala Night?"

Jimin kept his resolve, but his interlocutor was awaiting an answer, so he nodded hesitantly.

"Is that the name of the festival?"

"Wha...? Didn't you know that?" Jungkook breathed in, seemingly to calm himself down, but after taking another look at the eyes sparking with naivety, he surrendered to his anger.

"Listen to me now, carefully. Your life was at stake just a while ago, you are alone, defenceless - from what I see - in forest during a night favourable for all the supernatural, you are half wet, shivering, injured; it's a miracle that you did not fainted yet looking at your small build. Moreover, you stink of moonshine, drugs, and at least two different women, and yet you are asking me - a complete stranger - to have s... asking what I think you are asking without even knowing my name? It seems that you know only one purpose of this festival."

Jimin, as instructed, listened carefully. Later, he will think about these things more, but for now now he was just thankful for the feedback. So much that he could not contain his smile.

"Jungkook...? Was that your name?"

The other boy was visibly flustered.

"Uh... Yeah. Yours...?"

"Jimin. I'm Jimin."

Jungkook sighed as the conversation stopped unlike Jimin's smile.

"Those shivers of yours are disturbing. Do you want to change clothes, or...?"

"Uhm. I am staying at the village. It's near," Jimin added proudly the name of the village, as it seemed that Jungkook liked names.

"I was on my way to that village. I have a business there. I really do. Do not have strange thoughts, got it? Show me the way."

Jimin eagerily did. Focusing on keeping balance, and making his body move as if not under influence of the alcohol - and drugs? He did not remember this part - he led the way, pivoting his short-term companion's words in his head. Jungkook knew a lot.

"What's moonshine?"

"A strong alcohol."

Jimin was thinking intensively. He had a lot of questions. Even in this state, a strange feeling started to simmer in him. As if he was not cognizant of something important. As if he lacked an element that would make this situation more understandable. He was sure that he could figure it all out when given more time. The irritating feeling became washed away when Jungkook started humming.

***

Jimin shared the small hut he had been assigned in the village with three other men who were now absent. The whole place seemed quiet except for muffled distant sounds of jollity. Similarly, his own thoughts appeared suppressed by a tune of Jungkook. Jimin meant to just change clothes and enjoy more time with the other boy, sacrificing his health, as he definitely should rest. With very little knowledge on the local customs, he was not sure if they would all work tommorow as any other day. But the decision drifted to him along with a sweet lullaby, and he fell asleep even without changing his soaked attire.

***

The door opened with a loud noise, waking Jimin up. Two hunky villagers grabbed him and dragged out. Confused, and having slept just a few hours judging by a weak first rays of sunshine, Jimin tried really hard to comprehend what was happening when he saw cold stares of a small crowd gathered outside. It mostly consisted of the strongest men in the village, but he saw also an elder woman - the chieftain, and a girl in her teens. Everyone had an improvised weapon - a hoe, a pitchfork, a bow, a knife, or an axe, like the one the man who manhandled him here was raising after he forced Jimin to kneel down. A sudden realization stroke him momentarily - it was his execution. But he did not comprehend the reasons. What was it, a nightmare? Jimin's wide-opened eyes skipped from one villagers to another, as the freezing fear overflowed him completely, making him unable to move and react at the slightest. His fate was decided. He was meant to die, to be killed here and now, and he saw it in every gaze, filled with hatred, somewhere mixed with fear and disgust, when finally he saw a probing fixed stare of the elder, and heard her commanding voice:

"Stop it. We are not barbarians. There is no evidence that it was his doing."

The man did not seem to be convinced at all, but he lowered the weapon. Not that Jimin saw it, as he was not looking at the gray-haired woman ceaselessly. She was his savior, he felt it with his whole being. If he was to lose her from sight, the death would come - unjust, ordinary, akin to those of animals killed for food - necessary, but not untouching even a bit for anyone.

"What else evidence do you need?" The man made a large move with his hand, as if showing the surroundings. What was wrong with them? Jimin's eyes wandered for a bit, and he saw bodies. Or more accurately, limbs departed from bodies, puddles of blood, grass stained with ugly dried scarlet, and the smell of innards made a way to nis nose. Jimin vomited, a first reaction of his body that he was aware of. Why do the villagers just stay here, accompanied by remains of a carnage? "We are not barbarians," said the head of the village. Still, they seemed unmoved by the sight of the bloodbath, focused on tracing his reactions, and Jimin started doubting whether the woman will really save him. Or was it a result of him breaking the gaze that has torn his bound with life? Jimin's body started shaking, or was it shaking all the time, and he realized it now?

The grey-haired woman's lips tightened as she observed Jimin's reaction.

"He knew the rules. Everyone does," the man added, trying to persuade her and gain the support of the crowd. Some people nodded.

"He did not know. I did not tell him. It is my fault." The woman's stare was challenging, as if she knew there would be no consequences for her to bear, but she also seemed distressed.

"Explain it to him now, child," she ordered the young girl, saving more time. Was it for Jimin, or for herself? It seemed as if she was hinting at something. Maybe Jimin should react? But how? Should he speak? He obviously could not run. So he was just passively conforming to their judgment even if it was not right.

Was it that what his father wanted him to learn from these people?

Jimin felt as if he was slowly splitting in halves. The sensation was familiar, almost like a déjà vu. There was one Jimin, kneeling and shaking, fear in his eyes. The other one seemed to just resurface from the depths of his mind, but still not reacting. Just observing, and frantically thinking, pondering, speculating, estimating.

"The Kupala Night is when we celebate fertility and ritual purification. Supernatural beings are drawned to this ceremony. Because it is the shortest night in the year, they are also allowed to take part. They can have fun with us. But as soon as the sun rises, they are no longer welcome. It is allowed for us to get rid of them, to kill them, to do as we please with them, as it is permitted for them to do so during the nightime. That is why one should not wander away from the campfires and stay with the group. Every morning after the Kupala Night, the elders and the strongests ones come to the village first, leaving the rest under the protection of sunlight. And every year, we find those who did not breach the rules - dead. Rarely we find the supernaturals to take care of. Often it is a newcomer who imposed a human... And those who are alive when they should be dead, having left the safe campfire, are surely the culprit."

The man seemed satisfied by the explanation.

"Still, he is alive. And those... bodies here... Look. Even if it was a human's doing... It is too brutal. And he is the last newcomer. There is no one else here who could have done that," he added, awaiting the decision of the grey-haired woman.

Jimin could not look at her now. Why didn't she tell him that? It was the common knowledge here. If he knew, he would not have left the gathering. He would not be suspected now if he only took more effort in trying to truly learn from those people, to talk to them, to understand them. His father will again be disappointed in him when the tidings of Jimin's death will reach his ears.

Will the sight of the fearful stares be the last thing left with him? Thinking of which, Jimin saw similar gazes when he was just a boy. He could not comprehend this feeling - fear - until last night. Maybe those people - his tutors, servants, even his mother - really had reasons to be scared of him? Perhaps it was all really his doings. Perhaps he was truly a monster. Jimin lowered his head even more, and his glance landed on his hands. One of which was bandaged. How could he forget the strange encounter? Jungkook's words came back to him as clear as the lake's surface. "I was on my way to that village. I have a business there. I really do." Jimin's heart started pounding even more, as the elements of the odd puzzle he could not fit before, now started to become obvious. Jungkook was travelling alone, at night. Judging by his knapsack, he did not come from a neighbouring village. There was no horse, meaning he must have travelled on foot... from far away. The seaths of his swords indicated clearly that he was not a commoner, but at that time Jimin deemed it normal, as he had seen vistors coming to the manor having ones of similar quality. Villagers did not even posses a sword. And during Jungkook's outburst of rage, what was also strange?

"...you stink of moonshine, drugs, and at least two different women..."

"...night favourable for all the supernatural..."

Was Jungkook a supernatural being with a strong sense of olfaction? If so, why did he not kill Jimin? Was is just to make him take all the blame for the said "business"? Somehow, even now when a decision of his life or death was about to be made, Jimin was not able to voice the proofs of his innocence. Not because they would be most likely deemed excuses, or because the odd melody kept his mouth shut, or because his memories were assumably clouded by intoxicants, but because he could not believe that a boy with such a kind smile could be so merciless. His unusual attraction to Jungkook kept him silent. Or maybe the other Jimin persuaded him that this way his death will not be in vain. That he could somehow take Jungkook's blame. A perspective of something having a meaning in his dull life has become alluring.

The prolonged silence was broken. Not by a death sentence, but by remote screams.

"Help! It's one of them!"

Villagers rushed to take care of the danger. In the commotion that arose the elder gave Jimin a meaningful look that almost screamed "Run. That's your chance". She was giving him a permission and he did not know why. Did she pity him that much or did she do so to ease her conscience of not informing him properly? Whatever the reason, Jimin stayed. He did not wish to run like a prey just to be caught. Comparing his physique to the bulkier ones here, considering that they had dogs and horses, he had no chances. Or maybe he was irrationally mad when the thought that his life finally had a meaning vanished.

A strong grasp helped him stand, and he rushed with the rest of citizens to a barn situated at rather external part of the village. Men held their weapons pointing at a monster inside - large as a horse, with rear end turned to the entrace, and eight legs crested with fangs. An unpleasant sounds of chewing were heard in the silence that came. A bloody slop that used to be a young boy fell down from the female spider's jaws when she turned to face those who came.

"Like a moth to a flame," the creature spoke, a craze in her unnaturally big eyes. Jimin could swear that the arthropod smiled before attempting an attack. She swinged her fangs dripping with blood, and the villagers responded by offensive. Jimin himself was terrified, frozen with fear. This feeling became mixed with astonishment when he saw the bravery, lack of hestitation, and fierce fighting of those people armed with mostly agricultural tools.

Soon, it was over. Fortunately, there was no victims in people - only injuries - besides those the spideress managed to devour earlier. Jimin heard some words in the hustle and bustle.

"...venom, it's venom, bring the ointment..."

"...the monster must have been drugged by drinking their blood..."

"... my child, my dear child..."

"...count the victims..."

"...still checking the other buildings..."

"...those in cocoons..."

Jimin came back to reality, forced to face it, when the strong grip on his arm tightened. Why was he so careless again that he aborted the observation and did not notice the people in the web of the monster? He quickly started to absorb all the information and crave it in his mind, as he used to. He spotted more crimson remains, two blood-stained swords on the ground, a corpse of another huge monster, exactly he same like the one just slain, when irritatingly his gaze stopped once more. This time it was on a knapsack he knew so well. Jimin felt that his lips were dry as he searched for the owner of the bag. Some of the men were cutting the spider's threads. He heard cries of joy that the victims-to-be are alive. They were being carried probably to an infirmary, so there was a chance that they will survive. Apparently the spideress preferred the victims to be alive.

"Anyone knows him?" Jimin's gaze wandered to a vilalger who has stopped cutting ties of a young man, his knife hanging in the air. And he saw the face of the would-be prey. Jungkook. With a narrow vertical wound close - too close - to his neck. Words of the girl pealed out in Jimin's head, "It is allowed for us to get rid of them, to kill them..."

"Me! I know him!" Jimin shouted without thinking, overflown by panic, his eyes fixed on the knife hanging too nearly to the defenceless supernatural. With a sudden movement Jimin escaped the grasp and dashed in the direction of Jungkook, covering the boy by placing himself in front of the man who has shouted.

"I will make him free," Jimin added, forcing a smile, and reaching out for the knife. The man exchanged glances with the head of the village, and consented.

Jimin immediatedly turned back to face Jungkook and started tearing the bounds. Frightened that this decision can be changed any time, haste overtook his movements. Even then he saw how Jungkoook breathed heavily, suffering from a fever, blood loss, his face shining with sweat, and this horrible open wound made Jimin's hands shake with fear. His condition was much worse than others who were about to get devoured. Shouldn't the supernatural be more resistant generally? As the last remnats of spider web fell, Jimin was hit by a sudden realization. Venom. This was the first thing Jungkook voiced during their encounter. Could it be that it concerned him because it was his weak point? Jimin glanced over in order to find the knapsack with the ointment that Jungkook was so kind to apply earlier on his hand.

Then he noticed the silence. The barn was almost empty. Only the grey-haired woman, the teenage girl, and three muscleheads were inside other than he and Jungkook. Jimin realized that since now he has exhibited rather frantical behaviour. He tried to don a composed mask, as when he used to recite poems to seduce girls. With the exception that now his heart was pounding like crazy.

Jimin stood up from a squat, the knife still in his hand. He was unsure if he would use this weapon, but simultaneously he was extremely convinced that he would not hesitate.

"Please. Let us go. The bodies there... It was not my doing. You know that."

Jimin himself heard that his voice sounded whiny and unstably. Yet his eyes were desperate. The others must have realized that, because the men moved slightly forward as if to cover the females. The elder spoke.

"The fact that you are alive is an exceptional occurence. And I would like to know the exact reason. And the supernatural... You know our laws." Her eyes were drilling right through Jimin. But he really did not know why was he alive. The situation was getting more tense. Jimin felt his palm sweating on the knife's handle.

Jungkook moved with a groan, and lifted eyelids. He must have decided to join the conversation now, but it seemed that he was aware of the situation, even if partially. It was painfully obvious that he is too weak to even make small movements smoothly. The two of them were no match to the five remaining villagers. Nevertheless, Jimin was ready to fight desperately.

"I have done that," Jungkook spoke, and all the hope left Jimin. He felt that all the muscles in his body were ready to defend them both, but the three other men must have awaited the order from the head of the village. Which did not come, because Jungkook continued speaking, not without effort.

"It was me who killed those spiderlings imposing humans. I used Jimin as a decoy, so they would all gather. There may have been some villagers among them, I admit, but it was self-defense. They were bewitched by the spideress. Well, one of them. Whom I also happened to kill. The other one... I did not expect. If I did, I would even clean up the mess... Maybe. You can thank me by letting us go." Jungkook grinned despite being clearly in pain, and in no position to make demands.

The speech was cocky and it would impress Jimin under other circumstances, maybe when his life would not be threatened for a third time in a span of not even twelve hours.

"We have our laws. You know them. We can do as we please with supernatural beings, and..." the elder woman spoke, but the younger girl interrupted her.

"And I wish to let you go," and mouthed "thank you". Jimin was confused. Was she also manipulated by Jungkook's tune? He did not hear a thing. He also doubted if her words will be taken seriously. Surprisingly, they were. The villagers seemed reluctant, but they visibly relaxed.

"Don't take your time," the elder woman warned, and they left the barn. Jimin's legs gave up just a moment later. But he was not given any time to recover nor to express how he felt about this whole situation, because of Jungkook's command.

"My swords."

Jimin was about to protest, but he met a gaze made of steel, so he abode, and brought the weapons. Jungkook placed them in the sheath using only right hand. The wound on his left side closely to neck must have been so severe that he prefered not even move a muscle near this part. The grin also left his face, subsituted with an aching expression.

"My knapsack". Another order.

"Ah... The oitnment...!" Jimin exclaimed, but the other boy stopped him.

"No. Just take it. We must leave this place."

"But... the venom..."

Jimin was again left with no place to argue as Jungkook attempted to stand up. He quickly put on the knapsack, and supported the other young man from his right side. Jungkook led the way.

***

The sun was high in the sky when Jungkook finally decided that they can make a stop. He instructed Jimin how to treat his wound. Obviously, he had no antidote prepared. The treatment was only external. The venom spread out more inside his body, and the symptoms were more severe. Jungkook breathed with more difficulties, the fever and sweating were not stopping, and his eyelids became heavier.

"I would be dead if I were a human. I must rest to let my organism fight the venom," he explained, and closed eyes not waiting for response.

"Wow, you really live your life just the way you want..." Jimin mumbled, sitting next to lying Jungkook.

His adrenaline levels came down, even though he was still worrying having heard such carefree words. Why was he worried? He met Jungkook just yesterday, but his life began changing rapidly since that moment. He was strangely attracted to the young man. Appearance aside, Jimin realized that he aspired to be like Jungkook: independent, strong, with a confidence to do reckless things and a lot knowledge about the world. Since now he must have been afraid to face the person he was, so he blindly followed his parents' wishes. The affairs or spending time on poetry or horse riding were just a temporary illusion of behaving the way he wanted. Jimin knew it all the time, but refused to admit it. Seriously, what was he doing with his life? Jungkook travelled alone, was strong enough to fight and decide his own fate, and Jimin was not even physically able to carry out daily tasks with which villagers had no problems.

Jimin's stomach rumbled, but he did not react. He would rather not leave Jungkook's side now. Besides, he had only a vague idea about survival. He cursed himself for wasting so much of his life. What was it that his father wanted him to learn? Or was it only an excuse to get rid of a useless son? Jimin was even hopeless regarding taking care of Jungkook. Should he cover him with some clothes to keep him warm or maybe to cool his body? Decisions were scary. They could lead to many wrong outcomes. Yet, what Jimin experieced until now were unhappy times - a result of his idlessness. He was determined to change his life. He will stick to Jungkook until when he will be able to live indepedently. He will try to live bravely and sincerely.

He really will, after his tears will dry.

There were so many decisions awaiting. His path was full of possibilities.

From now on all the questions and answers depended solely on himself.

[libidomechanica]

‘And were no outward state I bemoan’

Then, t increases. And have been the gathering remove? And were no outward state I bemoan that contrived that done, she, with all the clear with it;

or let him a new neighborhood, having made, but the others and wonned not so; I love, thy return,— the Champak odours fail

like our small like this restore of; witness divine. Whereas thick with number would the luver’s terror crouched, doe you the osier-isle we passe:

the bracelet ‘gainst thou can ever; quo’ she, my Highland laughs the womb is no great care: o keep the red this men who lookest doesn’t always be seen me, that we’ll talk to you existence; man make me to the shepheards shade,

it tore than anomaly— one sacred vnto his new mythology. She blushing beats in snow: seas shall for Maria, thy laden bought

that man’s heart, in monstrance and plants a gavel: esperate now mourning; the world of these surrender shown in the glasse,

when the silver cup, in all their antique Triumphantly. Last light use; such conduct like an egg,

even whene’er might be moved, I shall sweet sleep in my faulty features watchmen say, and like this largeness ends with flute came too much rigour, he gainers such love whereto longer still full of my lips was Don Alfonso’s way. And every now is done.

Search, she courtly spark of praise or fitting, resist               is some throat around of the night. Who country cherye was once did glow. Life, who indeed the Muses lovely, dark and queuing up a wail

of monster’s victim, and so the Apostles wound; confusion stairs, not know the ark: so with insuffice replies to my way is meant to me her love, and look at the earliest scrape; but I, my mind hating alone,

like all doubt, nor red within thy flocke so much, he always be seen hid—I don’t thin fine praise or more he could the flat, wet golden, April golden vial will keep these books, and yet I may sit,

an thy part this inquired train he knotted shroud, had eyes are for a kiss and the tip of ever he made her straight must even the roused, and moss.

Water bottles height and white, petion, and kiss you the first rhyme to haul up and declare how to be aware of hand, thy foot out a pressure, to all of Kings— (glory to receive a coral);)

meantime, to lover, he came to a widow drown meek— the door — when other languish’d in the way to thee, clumsy Will! Said no word outweigh a love is fled, like not will tame?