#being pretty familiar with her aesthetic preferences my sense is she simply did not like the name Ernestyna lol

[chicago-geniza]

I know they're serious but sometimes the antisemitic press attacks on Stefania were very funny. One called her "Stefania" Zahorska. Like they put her first name in scare quotes, as though that were the one she changed. Stefania is literally her middle name Assigned At Birth, which she'd been going by from a very young age. Meanwhile the Kraków Zionist press is always calling her "Pani Zahorska--to jest, Leser," which is MORE antisemitic

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

[funkymbtifiction]

Hello Char

I finally went through the tags like you always tell us to do, and I wish I had done it sooner. There’s a lot of information in there that I wouldn’t have known have I simply sent an ask and got a reply to it. 

I’ve been reading the INFP x ENFP tag, because even though I’ve written a very long post about my journey from an ISTJ to an INFP and you posted it in this lovely blog, I started questioning my type again shortly after. It drives me crazy! I wish I could settle on something and close that door for good since it’s been years since I started.

A lot of things caught my attention in that tag’s posts that made me believe I’m an Ne dom. Like how ENFPs want to share their art and opinions and beliefs, while INFPs are completely content with keeping it to themselves. And I giggled when I read that you don’t keep a journal because you think there’s no point to it if no one is going to read it. Even though I journal and I feel naked without a notebook and a pen with me, I feel exactly the same way. A while ago, I called a friend of mine “my diary” because he received an email from me everyday where I wrote about my day and thoughts and feelings during it. And I noticed the difference that made me question my love for journaling. I go months and years without doing it when its just for me, and when I do it it’s short and to the point .. something to get over with. But when the same events were written about for someone else .. man, all the poetic-ness and humor in me came out and they sounded so much more interesting and were so long. I never missed a day and I never had to force myself. It was such a happy little project to write journals to my human diary. 

The same goes for writing stories. The only time I actually sat down and attempted to do it (I get many ideas for stories that I think could be special, but never so something about them) was when I wanted to gift to a friend as a Christmas present. The fact that it was going to be read gave me motivation and desire. I’d never write a story just for me, what would I do with it lol? I need that communication of giving and receiving. I don’t want to share it to get appreciation and acknowledgment, I’d love to get bad feedback actually (in a respectful way) .. the judgment of my work doesn’t matter, I just want a judgment, you know what I mean? 

I also read in the tags that another way to distinguish them is to look at our moral judgments and imagine someone challenging them. Not only was I confused to why I wouldn’t want someone challenging them (again, respectfully) because those kind of discussions are my guilty pleasure, but I struggled to find a moral judgment of mine that was “done”, so to say. Whatever I considered I felt wasn’t strong enough because I could be swayed to think otherwise. And that sounds like dominant Ne rather than Fi. 

I feel I have pretty good Si though. I’m complimented on my memory often. Though to be honest, no matter how much I read about Si, I’m still not sure what it is. General information seems just like that, general. When something is explained to me I need examples from real life, personal ones are preferred. It’s the only way I understand and have that aha moment. I mean, you say your Si sucks, but you remember all this mbti information you’ve read and studied and you’re able to recall it and implement it where it’s needed (asks). Doesn’t that mean your Si is actually awesome? I don’t know. I never learn from my mistakes though and I do them an impressive amount of time over and over again. They say that madness is doing the same things over and over again, so I must be the maddest mad hatter around because I never learn. I either forget that I swore never to try this or do that or go back to that person, or I find reasons to because I see a potential that it might turn out different, which is crazy because after 20 times one should quit. All day long I’ve happily chatting to this friend when only three nights ago I swear to god I never will again because she’s not a good friend to me. oh and it’s about my 14th swear to never go back to her. Even god stopped taking me seriously and I bet he’s laughing and having a bet with his angels “how long do you think she’ll last this time before she forgets or tried again?”

I think your real-life friends who are interested in learning about their type are very lucky to have you. Because they don’t have to do much work, you’ll figure out their type for them through interaction sooner or later. I wish someone would do that for me I’m TIRED OF DEBATING AND GOING BACK AND FORTH. 

Love this blog, it’s my bedtime story <3

Yup, you sound like a Ne-dom. I could have written most of this. (And you’re very kind and get a gold star for using the tags. ;)

In reference to inferior Si, you are correct in that I am hyperbolic in describing how bad my Si is. It’s not that bad. I am the queen of facts. People comment on it all the time. I am not that great with specifics in large doses, but I can retain semi-decent amounts of information with little effort. I don’t necessarily notice and remember certain things (like a person’s eye color or specific physical details about their appearance) but whatever I am interested in, I retain. And in a very Ne-dom way, I have a wide breadth of “interests” – that being, just about anything not-boring that catches my eye. I can tell you one minute how they dyed fabric in Ancient Rome, or that they used urine to make the color “yellow” for paint during the Renaissance, and then mention that Margaret Beaufort’s royal emblem was a portcullis, and then say that scientists are discovering just how intelligent octopuses are, far more so than they thought before, followed up by what an effing disgrace D&D made of Stannis Baratheon in GOT, coz I’ve read the books and their version of Stannis ain’t Stannis. Ya feel me? Basically, I will read almost anything – and often do. I have a book on my nightstand called “Quackery: A Brief History of the Worst Ways to Cure Everything.” The really hilarious part? I already know a lot of it. How? Um. Reading? Ravenclaw.

So yes, inferior Si is not as bad as retaining information as it may sound. It is worse at being able to focus on and handle details for long periods of time. I run the risk of becoming TOO micro-obsessed / picky and not being able to sort out the right ones, especially on a creative project. An example of this is the point I reach in editing a book where I wind up doing something lame, like finding a font irritating all of a sudden and resizing / sizing / resizing / sizing the document’s size on my screen in an attempt to make it aesthetically pleasing, so I can focus and keep going. That is when I am just a comma away from going crazy. :P

It is actually easier for me to type people upon casual acquaintance than having known them for a long time, because familiarity brings in a bias and stacks up opposing arguments – Occam’s Razor is the best approach to MBTI typing: the easiest explanation is often correct. More information means more reasons to consider multiple types and that sends my Ne off on less realistic possibilities. I was able to help my INFP co-mod realize herself as a Fi-dom, because though we work together on Funky, I had limited interactions with her enough to sense a lot of Fi undercurrents to her decisions. If I had been listening to her justifications for why she was such and such a type, and not HOW she was telling me things, the issue would have become clouded by her self-opinion, not my observations.

We can be our own biggest problem when self-typing, because often we say or argue what we believe is true, when it is not the truth. You can SAY you are good at something and in the process of saying it, prove you are not. You can tell me how good you are at rational thinking, but if how you are telling me is heavily colored through your emotions, and everything about your life decisions screams otherwise – I am not going to buy it. To find your type, you have to cut through you own lies and be honest about yourself. To find your Enneagram, the same method applies. It’s not what you say you do, but what you actually do, and why you do it.

What’s the easiest explanation for yourself? What conclusion requires the least amount of explanation? If I wanted to consider INFP for myself, I’d have to scrape the barrel hard to come up with any examples of me using Fi in a Fi-dom way, but I can relatively easily point to tert-Te examples on a daily basis.

Based on what you told me, I’d say you have more Ne than Fi or Si, in part because I see no evidence of Fi dom in how your express yourself in this post.

- ENFP Mod

PS: You will know your own erroneous perception when other people comment on it and point out how that isn’t true, as you did with me when you referenced me saying my Si sucks yet I can retain and apply all kinds of theoretical information and spit it out whenever anyone has a question. Pay attention when people point out that stuff, they are proving to you WHO YOU ARE, not who you THINK you are.

[theflenser]

Street Sects interview with Ad Libitum.

A interview with Street Sects, originally published in Polish in the Ad Libitum zine.

Interviewer: Lidia Kowalski

1) In one interview, you stated that Rat Jacket was kind of "transition point" for you. Was it only in musical kind of meaning or was it also concerning lyrical content? What kind of "topics" will be brought up on the newest album?

Leo Ashline - Mostly it was a musical transition point. I tend to approach lyric writing from a song to song basis, depending on how the music that Shaun sends me makes me feel at the time. Shaun was introducing a lot of melody on that EP, twitching guitars, slightly more patient structuring, and some really sad, melancholy synth work, so the words reflect those things. Lyrically, the thematic connective tissues of Rat Jacket are trust, betrayal, and regret. It differed from End Position in that it was less hateful and nihilistic, albeit only slightly.

On The Kicking Mule there are a lot of different themes at play. The record is more of a collection of vignettes than it is any kind of concept record. A lot of the songs are incredibly personal. “Birch Meadows, 1991” is about my parents divorce, and “Everyone’s at Home Eventually” deals in part with my love/hate relationship with alcohol, and how it has always been first and foremost a symptom of my fear and anxiety. Other songs, like “Chasing the Vig” and “The Drifter” are my feelings and experiences filtered through my love for crime noir writing, much like “Featherweight Hate” was on End Position.

2) Firstly, you have been working on making your project into a "total aesthetics" one. What exactly does it mean, what does it involve? And is it possible that one day it will go beyond simply music and visuals?

LA - An old friend of mine impressed this idea upon me about a decade or so ago. To me it means having all of the facets of your work (the music, the visuals, the words, the live performance, etc) coalesce into a unified or singular aesthetic. I think our work as a whole speaks pretty clearly to that intent. And yes, I do think it can and (hopefully) will seep into other mediums. Time will tell.

3) Concerning the visuals - on almost all of the covers of your releases, a silhouette of woman which (imo) symbolises death, can be seen. Does her presence mean simplz that death, or a thought of it, is present through full duration of your life, or does her symbolical role differ? What's your view on that?

LA – Death, or “Lizzy”, as we call her, represents different things in different images. In the original Gentrification seven inches, she represented the culture, the color that gets pushed out and washed over when a neighborhood is gentrified. People want to destroy what they are afraid of. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. Death, like diversity, scares certain people. Lizzy was beautiful, and look what you did to her. Now you can drink your fucking pour over coffees and your fifteen dollar craft cocktails in clean, vanilla scented, color-free comfort. Happy?

In other images, she is the voyeur. She is watching, waiting, refusing to participate or interfere because she knows better. She knows how it’s going to end, one way or another, so she may as well sit back and enjoy the show. In other images she is the chauffer, our guide from here to there. In those instances I’d like to think that she represents hope, optimism, and a chance at finding something more meaningful than what we have allotted ourselves this time around.

4) You have once told about that there were periods in your life, where your only motivation to get up was music you got to make. Has making music had a cathrarctic, self-therapic role for you? Or maybe it played a part and made you see anything else in life worth living for only a bit?

LA - I think maybe a bit of both. Focusing so intently upon negative energy can be therapeutic in that the negativity can, on a good day, become something purposeful. It can be a tool to be utilized rather than a weight or a burden. And yes, certainly touring, meeting people, being fortunate enough to see your work have an effect on others, all of that can be incredibly rewarding. It can sometimes help to restore that lack of faith in the whole thing. But most of the time, unfortunately, it isn’t enough. You reach down and try to dig for that feeling, and it just isn’t there. Shaun and I do what we can to keep pushing each other forward, and I think that we are fortunate to have that dynamic. I see a lot of people, artists, who struggle to make it on their own, and it’s such an uphill battle. Trying to dodge depression, rejection, self-doubt, and a constant lack of encouragement all while pushing yourself creatively can quickly become a bleak and impossibly lonely road. It’s hard to blame people for wanting to walk away from that.

5) Well, it is obvious becouse of your experiences and feelings, but in your music you often display the darkest, most ugly side of live. You had your fair share of really awful times, but here comes the question: what, do you think, has the most power to destroy a human: his surroundings or him alone?

LA - That’s a pretty big question, and honestly I don’t think I’m really qualified to answer that, at least not in any kind of broad sense. Speaking for myself, I blame the majority of my hardships, past and present, on my own poor decisions. I’ve had a lot of opportunity, and I have wasted almost all of it. Now I’m playing catch up, and I’m still paying for a lot of those mistakes. I used to move around a lot, different cities…different states. Wherever I went I kept fucking up. I don’t think my surroundings had much to do with it.

6) There are a lot of people in the world that live in their safe world, completely unaware of what can be happening three steps from their home, completely unaware of how depression feels. Do you see "consciousness" as a value? Would you rather be totally blind, but happy?

Shaun Ringsmuth:  Consciousness is something I've had to teach myself to value. Of course, the mind records what's happening whether you appreciate it or not, but it might be to one's advantage to find a place of calm before blowing one's brains out, or worse having one's brains blasted by another person. Violence like that, either way, always scares me, because of how little value is placed on the moments, whether it's sentiment between two people or the greatest speech ever being spoken--it all seemingly becomes a waste staring at the barrel of a gun. On this topic, I would recommend Viktor Frankle's book Man's Search for Meaning. It is with great luck that tragedy doesn't happen to a person, and of course that begs the questions of how to live, why, and what for. Arguably it is better to try to live with purpose, and if that purpose is found to then not diminish it with negative self-talk, or rot away on drugs and alcohol, and to not take out on other people one's personal sense of injustice. With the creation of art, a sense of purpose can be easily associated, because it is often self-created and comes from a place of inner truth. Even in collaboration, like with me and Leo in Street Sects, we share what we can, go our separate way for a while, and then come back with we've found. Sometimes this is a song, or a new image, or a lyric, but whatever it is the aim of these created things is to give time--time being the only thing we ever really own--a story, a way of relating the human experience, which with any luck gets passed on long after we're dead. However, to get back to your question, is it better to be totally blind but happy: that's not for anyone else to say but yourself. You have to step away from your everyday reality for a number of minutes and ask yourself, Is this who I am, is this what I want? And then change the "why" to the "how"--as in, not "why am I doing this," but "how am I going to do this."

LA - Do I see a consciousness as a value? I can’t imagine any artist or musician answering “no” to that question. If I was “totally blind, but happy” I don’t think I would have much use for art or music as a creative outlet, because I doubt that I would have anything interesting to say. Pain and despair, like death and diversity, are a part of life.

7) On "The Defence of Resentment", you start by listing some of the fears you have. However, is there any  particular fear that is close to you the most, that haunts you, if I can say it this way, "personally"?


LA - My biggest fear is the fear of being a failure, of having wasted my life. To reach the end and have to own up to the fact that I could have done so much more, that I could have tried harder, done better. The potentiality of that kind of regret is terrifying.

8) In one interview, you said that being sincere while writing lyrics isn't enough, it is also a matter of finding a unique perspective. In what way you see your perspective as unique?

LA: Everyone’s perspective is unique, not just mine. However, not everyone is able to communicate their perspectives in a way that does justice to their particular experience. Art takes form, and we look to preexisting forms as influences and guideposts for our own work. Even the most abstract artists are often hard-pressed to outrun the shadows of artists who came before them. With my writing I try to focus on expressions of sincerity and honesty, and try to couch those expressions in a form that appeals to my inner critic. I don’t want anything that I write to have the stink of familiarity or nostalgia. It has to be clear that there was an effort made to approach the work from a fresh perspective. Whether I’m successful in that or not is not really for me to say, but the effort is there.

9) Do you think that we, as a human kind, have a tendency to run away from thing we'd be better off not knowing? What we escape most frequently in modern world?


SR: Some of us, yes. I've known and admired people in my life who have preferred truth in every instance. I was not one of those people. I wanted escapism and fantasy, some of which was self-destructive. Not wanting reality exactly as it is can also lead to creativity: novels, movies, music, paintings, architecture. Attempting to see reality as it is, and attempting to see reality as better than it is--these are worthy pursuits. Lately, I'm finding what's most important from day to day is knowing exactly what one thinks and feels, followed by deliberate action. Like, really stopping all movement and asking what's going on. It's the only way to care for oneself and for others. It is worth taking the time to breathe deeply, look around, and be in that very moment of reality, because that's the best chance to really see and to create. This is easier said than done, of course, because one wakes up and all the shit from yesteryear is right there, and nothing seems good enough and nobody is kind. Everyday one has to make a choice of how to live.

10) On "Rat Jacket", I can feel a distinction, yet a weird relationship between abrasive mechanisation and a "human side" to this music (by which I mean post-industrial melodic hooks). Do you think that the same kind of connection between pure human soul and that what is cold and obcure can be found?

SR:  Yes! Though, I would add that every Street Sects recording has attempted this connection between warm human melody and cold machine sounds. Humans have the gift (and burden) of being self-aware, unlike other animals, and with that comes the urge to name, to conceptualize, to make meaning where there seemingly isn't one. It's how people come to such wildly different interpretations over pieces of abstract art. The less a piece is controlled by labels the more room a person's mind has to dream. Even if something begins with a narrative or directive, it can take a turn for the surreal and then allow more headroom for the spectator. We see this in Ingmar Bergman's films. We see this in John Barth's novels. We feel this in Harold Budd's music. Any abstraction of course does ask participation of the listener/viewer, and not everyone wants that experience. Sometimes all we want is escape. Creating these things can get complicated, but it doesn't have to be a single extreme choice, thus the use of melody or a relatable narrative coursing through abstract imagery.

On "In Prison, at Least I Had You" I wrote a fairly abstract intro. Originally it was supposed to go toward a split release with the Cincinnati band Curse. Some

of their songs have slow, doomish metal-inspired parts, so I wrote what I thought would complement that. When the song starts, it's all bits of sound, total collage work, which eventually flows into what I hoped would be doomish metal tempo, followed by the main portion of the song itself. The final version you hear on Rat Jacket didn't come out as I intended, at least the intro part before the wind-up sound that kicks off the song, but I spent a lot of time on that intro collage part, really feeling out those sounds, connecting them, making sure they had the right rhythm in the mix. The intention of that song in particular serves the human/machine dynamic, I think.

11) During the times of "Gentrification" you said that you don't exactly write lyrics, but rather do some kind of stream of consciousness resolved around central topic. Are you still working like that?

LA: No. With the Gentrifiction singles there were these pieces of micro-fiction that I had written to accompany the records, these sort of journals from characters who were caught in the crossfire of social displacement. Those pieces were the core of the writing, and the “lyrics” were more guttural abstractions of those pieces. Since End Position, my approach to lyric writing has been more traditional and meticulous.

12) Also, many times when you were asked about your process of creation, you mentioned talking with each other a lot about it. What were those conversations about? I don't mean to dwell to deep, just the general.

SR: Leo and I don't sit down and work out songs on instruments together. We tend to talk through the parts, and later I work them out in the instrumentation. This is why I sometimes only write a snippet of a song, maybe one minute or two. I'll send it over to him to think about, and he'll often listen to the pieces in his van. The conversations, on the whole, cover a long period of time in our friendship, to my mind, because he and I have been talking about music since we first met in 2002. Sometimes in talking about a current thing we're working on, we'll reference a ten-year-old conversion about a band or song. It breathes new life into old ideas.

13) This question can be a bit personal, and even if your music and lyrics are generally confessional, I'll understand if you don't answer. What's you experience with the spiral of self-hate? What makes it worse and harder to escape (if it is possible at all)? How do you experience it, can you desribe in your own, abstract way?

LA: I don’t mind answering. My relationship with self-hate probably began around the time my parents got divorced, in 1991. I put on a lot of weight and it made my life harder in terms of school, peers, and my interest in the opposite sex. I have struggled with having a negative body image my entire life, and it has greatly effected my self esteem, my confidence, and my overall mental health. These issues in turn led to eating disorders, isolating myself from other people, and self medicating with alcohol and drugs. The chemical dependencies then in turn created a maelstrom of other problems, culminating in extreme and obsessive self destructive thoughts and behavior. Fixation on suicide as a solution, which is still a huge part of my mental framework, unfortunately. I feel like I have been trying to work backwards through these problems for a long time now, but the root problems are still there. Getting off drugs and alcohol was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of the mountain of work I still have in front of me. What makes it worse is inertia. Sitting around. Not doing anything. I have to keep busy with the band. I don’t go to therapy, and I stopped attending (AA) meetings years ago. Street Sects is the only real cure I have found. I don’t know what I would do without it.

14) This will be less of a question and more of a confirmation (or denial) of my predictions. On your lyrics to "In Prison, At Least I Had You", there is a fragment that says "I'm holding the same position". Is it reffering to title of your debut LP, "End

Position"?

LA: Yep. Nice catch!

15) And finally. How are you feeling these days? Is life quite OK? I wish you the best, honestly.

SR: I am now almost two years sober, so my feeling about things in general is one of hope. Without sounding corny here, I really want to live with passion, put all the ideas into the music, and try to connect with people along the way. When I drank, i drank to black out and forget myself, and I lived that way from about 14 to 32 years of age. There was so much self-loathing, trepidation, anxiety in my life. I was afraid of everything. These days I try not to take anybody or anything for granted. I let people know that I love them and that they are loved, which is something I couldn't do pretty much my whole life. I'm grateful that I'm still making music with my best friend, Leo, and I truly believe our best work is still to come.

Thank you, Lidia, for listening and looking into our music, and for taking the time to interview us.

LA: I’d be lying if I said that I feel good more often than not. Staying positive is a constant struggle. But I have a lot to be grateful for, most of all this band and my friendship with Shaun. I’m also extremely grateful for my mother, who helped me get sober, for the small handful of friends I have, and for everyone who has ever supported Street Sects in any way. Thanks for the interview, Lidia. Sorry it took us so long to get these answers back to you.

[impivus]

very rushed very shit intro comin @ you all but here goes nothing ! i’m felix from the gmt tmz, i use he / him pronouns, and im gonna power nap any minute now because one thing you should know about me is that i’m eternally on the verge of passing out from minimum exertions during the day. this is my pain in the ass eunsu: not even going to sugar coat it - he’s the human personification of a headache dumpster fire all in one beefy package and i really don’t even blame your character if they just . ignore his presence because, me too !

under the cut there’s some information about him if you want to get to know more about him regardless. smash that mf heart if you want to plot.. and i will get to you ? sometime ? its an ambiguous promise but i keep them, discord is also an option so just ask if you’d prefer to plot on there. eun’s about is here but no plots as of yet because life is hard and We Cant all Have Everything 

aka im lazy 

* ☾ ✧ * º ━━ is that KIM JONGIN walking about ? nope ! that’s just EUN SU CHO. & i’ve been told that they work as a INFORMATION BROKER ! apparently, they are TWENTY FIVE ( 204 )  years old .  some people say they are a CISMALE, DEMON ! HE is very CULTIVATED & INTUATIVE but also DECIETFUL &  MENACING. i wonder if they are just as odd as the rest of us .  ⇢  SYNOPSIS. MBTI TYPE  /  entp, the debater ZODIAC SIGN  /  scorpio   ENNEAGRAM TYPE  /  7w8 KINSEY SCALE  /  3 MORAL ALIGNMENT /  chaotic evil / neutral HOGWARTS HOUSE / slytherin ⇢ AESTHETICS. 

goosebumps raised and feelings of growing dread, the dark corner of a room where light doesn’t reach, silver pocket - watches with dead batteries, the scratch of a record player needle, flares in the sky, bad ideas coming to life, half-assed clapping when it’s required, figures dancing within the shadows & a smile you shouldn’t trust . 

⇢ OVERVIEW

literally anybody: when are you free?  eun su: im forever imprisoned in my own personal hell so i am never truly "free" but i don't really have plans all next week except for monday

this is eun su, and will y’all believe me if i say he used to be a good egg before he turned into the rotten egg i’m presentin y’all with today ??  i kid u not.. bs free zone. he did once ..  have a hort  he was born to a cult of witches, his twin brother absorbing all the magic that was meant to be equally distributed between them in his mother’s womb, which pretty much left eunsu as the black sheep of the family. said cult had been living on a small, near enough desolated island for literal decades, entertaining themselves with magic, seeking out knowledge, observing the unassuming populace, and toying with other supernatural creatures who dared cross their paths. unfortunately for eunsu’s family, tragedy struck when one of his aunt’s tried to over throw the high priestess ( his mother ) in their coven. unyielding in her position and untouchable to the magic she was exposed to, her sister went about other ways to break the woman’s spirits, dabbling in black magic predominantly to achieve her goals. eunsu’s brother was, thus, cursed before he was even born with an incurable heart defect that would see him dead before he reached double figures. eunsu’s mother was broken not mourned over how much he missed out as on a child: but she mourned for the fact that he was the only child that harboured any magic in their veins, the only child that could’ve carried on their lineage.   queue entrance of eunsu and his Whats the Worst that Could Happen Attitude. being young and naive, thought he could’ve been able to solve it by himself, solve the issues and earn his mother’s lacking affections. eun had heard about dark vessels that could miraculously grant wishes through summonings. though he didn’t have magic in his veins he had a fire in his heart, and after all, demons cared not for who or what they fed from: so long as they appeased their hunger.  all it wanted in return was a good, pure soul, and that’s what the demon stole from him before it mended his twin brother’s heart, giving the boy a new lease of life that wasn’t intended for him from the start. pity that eunsu died before he got to the age of twenty, following a quick and hungry fever that overtook his frail body and too soon turned deadly. there was no surprise that, come judgement day, he was turned away at the gates of heaven, in exchange for becoming one of lucifer’s own.

as a result of being eternally cursed with immorality and a tainted soul, he's lived some hundred-odd years and is coping by making the current populace in jeonseoul suffer along with finding purpose in digging out the secrets of his past life, mayhaps trying to find the demon who cursed him.... which could definitely be a wc.. and strengthening his abilities as a demon.

his personality is a bit insufferable; eunsu keeps himself distant and cryptic, because he likes it that way. he's a real weirdo ( if u have ever watched hxh he’s hisoka.. THAT weird )  that's hard to forget: completely mischievous, dramatic, and malicious to boot. some days he's waxing poetic about the futility of having a sense of justice and the next he's using his demonic powers to make some innocent tourist think they're hallucinating as they attempt to walk into a steady flow of traffic. 

ultimately life's a game to him and bih.. he’s here to have fun ! he's outlived his actual family and friends ( well, aside from his brother who he barely remembers, prolly be a wc if anyone’s interested ) and he's not looking to get attached to anyone. it would be great to Die because it’s his forever Mood but he also gets furious if anyone tries to actually expel him for real - so he'll simply prod at the world and its people until he gets the reactions he wants.

fair warning: it is a pain to genuinely care about eunsu and not many people will wanna do it. he comes and goes into people's lives as he pleases, stops reaching out once he's bored and only ever grazes the surface of a relationship based on its worth or his curiosities, innocent ppl, cute ppl, etc are just gonna be eaten up by him then dropped. 

the people who will be closest to him are doubtlessly other demons ig ? but he also hates y’all too so.. don’t get too friendly like he’s not here to make friends he’s here to be Jeonseoul’s next top Demon. also since he died sumn like 200 years ago it’s possible some wizards / familiars knew of him and his coven, it’d be super interesting for someone to have known cute human eunsu in exchange for chaotic bastard demon eunsu 

⇢ MISCELLANEOUS

since he’s a young demon, his horns are small and his wings barely span about two inches above his shoulder bones, he got itty bitty bat wings lbr he’s kinda pissed abt it. there’s tattoos over his scars from clashing with other demons / hunters / angels, but his devil’s mark lining the back of his neck, performed by first demon who took his soul, has never faded away. 

he also works as an info broker, which ties in with the fact that he’s a contractual demon ! it's more of a hobby than a job, something he does for kicks and to restock his gambling money and alcohol money, but he offers a helping hand to solo clientele for private cases if need be, just remember to bring your negotiation skills because his manipulation skills are a1.

he's well-versed in witchcraft even if he can’t actually possess the abilities that actual witches can. while hardly the mentoring type, he could be convinced to equip people with his knowledge of latin, spells or dark magic they want if he's interested enough. then again he might decide to screw them over for kicks so ask him for favours with caution.

for someone who carries a ton of spite and secrets, he passes as an easygoing, casual literature major on the daily to disguise his true intentions. find him at the university pretending to be a student and failing miserably at it like edward’s thousand year old ass in twilight

he cheats at the casino with his demonic powers but does it infrequently enough to pass it as luck. play games with him at your own risk. casinos are one of his favourite places but he can really be found anywhere with ease but some other places he frequents are: beaches, libraries, museums, bars, etc !

he'll get on people's nerves, but getting him to care to the degree of hate is another story. living this long has numbed him; people don't surprise him anymore and he doesn't care to spend time thinking about others. the secret to getting him to turn deathly serious is as simple as telling him you can tell that he was once a good person - because the cheesy truth is he was. he just convinces himself that he's given up trying to remember his human life and finds it easier to live like he’s dead.. yknow which he is.

romance makes him queasy, he's a spiteful old bastard and the concept of sweet love rubs him 100% fictional. there's someone he fancied before he was cursed but i'll save you the story: that's a distant dream now.

he might quote romantic works or put some pretty words together but he's fake as Fuck. if he notices someone innocent and unsuspecting crushing on him they are in so much trouble. he'll kiss their hand then twirl them right off a cliff. corruption kink central right here laid ease

as of rn he’s trying to master how to teleport and shadow control but he really is like on level one and he’s got to get up to level 50 to achieve even a fifth of what these other demons can do 

edit: i totally forgot to include eunsu’s ‘demonic’ title after he was banished to the perils of hell. it’s ironically just saint, and he goes around using that bc it’s blasphemous and a big ole middle finger to god himself. nobody will know his real name, but if there’s an off chance that they do, that’s a massive threat to eunsu and he’ll get his Snipers on Scene

tl;dr: 

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (90/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[25 May 234 Before Age.  Interstellar Space.]

"Here's the short version," Pozet explained.   "King Rehval created me and sent me to kill Saiyans for him so he would have an excuse to ask your wife Luffa for help.   Then he had me kill the detective he hired to catch me, so that you would take over the investigation while he started putting the moves on Luffa.  You actually managed to track me all the way back to the Pflaume system, where I was created, and that was a bit of a problem, since that's where he planned to lure Luffa so he could spring his trap."

While Pozet was explaining this, Zatte was trying to grab hold of the intruder, but Pozet kept dodging and batting aside her hands just before Zatte could reach her.   The two of them leaped all around the bridge of Luffa's star-yacht, the Emerald Eye.  

"How could he possibly trap Luffa?" Zatte asked.  "She's the--"

"The Legendary Super Saiyan, I know," Pozet said.  "I was created using tissue samples from your body, babe.  I'm not really alive, and I don't know everything that you know, but I do share your attraction to her.   Master's told me all about her.  I must have seen that movie they made about her a dozen times, but the actress they cast to play her doesn't do her justice!"

"What did you think of her love interest, though?" Zatte asked.  

"Rax Cosmo?  I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers, but the on-screen chemistry was decent en--HEY!"

Behind Pozet, one of the control consoles exploded, showering her back with sparks and shards of hot polymer.  It wasn't enough to hurt her, but the distraction slowed her down just long enough for Zatte to throw a punch to her face--

Only for Pozet to dodge at the last possible moment.  

"You used your energy manipulation powers to blow that thing up," Pozet said.  "But how'd you do it so quickly?"

"I know the ship pretty well," Zatte said.   "Takes the guesswork out of how much energy it takes to destroy parts of it.   But it looks like I'll have to try harder to catch you off guard.   At least now I know you really don't have my memories, and you can't read my mind or anything like that.   Otherwise you would have seen that coming a mile away."

Pozet grinned.   "Oh, you're good," she said.  "I can see why Luffa married you.  Rax Cosmo couldn't hold a candle, even if he was real."

"I identify with him a lot, actually," Zatte said.  "He's an underrated character.  A lot of fans think Luffa should have ended up with the Fire Prince, but I don't buy it."

"You identify with him?" Pozet asked.  They continued circling each other around the confines of the bridge.   "He's a man!"

"Well, you have to use your imagination a little, all right?" Zatte said.  "Or do you not have one, because you're 'non-living?'"

"Don't underestimate me, honey," Pozet said.  "I'm everything you are, but better!  I'm as strong as you are, and I'm at least as good a fighter--"

"Computer!" Zatte called out.  "Run Program Zatte-630!"

Suddenly, the artificial gravity on the bridge switched off, then on again, and Pozet found herself stumbling backwards as a result.  As she regained her footing, she found Zatte leaping directly at her.   She tackled her into the navigator's chair and they began to struggle as they rolled to the floor.  

Pozet's sudden appearance had been unsettling for Zatte.  She had expected the killer to be a Dorlun, but not a strange duplicate of herself.  Pozet's face, body, and voice were all identical to her own, but her skin was red instead of Dorlun blue, and her hair was blue instead of Dorlun red.  Pozet wore an eyepatch like Zatte's, but on the left eye instead of the right.  This was presumably an aesthetic choice, since it hardly made sense to create an artificial assassin and purposely injure her.   She needed to understand her enemy, and Pozet seemed to defy comprehension.    

As she contemplated this problem, Pozet suddenly stopped resisting her.  "You know, I'm not very familiar with this ship at all," she said.   "But then, I don't really need to be."

Zatte realized what she was alluding to, but barely managed to escape it.  Zatte had shorted out a very specific power conduit earlier, based on a plan to corral the intruder towards in when it finally exploded.   Pozet now did the same thing, only she overloaded the plasma conduits in the lights and environmental controls mounted in the ceiling.   Being unacquainted with the ship's design, she simply overloaded them all at once.  The result was much more destructive than Zatte's diversion with the console.  Hot sparks fell all over the deck, and the ship's fire suppression systems activated, dousing the room with foam.   In the midst of all this chaos, Zatte lost sight of Pozet, and was unable to find any trace of energy coming from her body.  

"Having trouble?" Pozet teased.   "You've got the same energy manipulation powers I do.   We can both become invisible, and we can both detect ki energy and heat signatures, only my body doesn't put off any heat, and I've got no ki because I'm not alive."

That didn't make sense to Zatte.   Through training, living beings could increase their ki power to greatly increase their speed and strength.   Pozet seemed to have a power to rival Zatte's own, so if it wasn't ki-based, then what was it?

With the main lights destroyed, the only illumination on the bridge was the monitors and consoles of the bridge stations.   This wasn't a problem for Zatte, as her powers allowed her to see a wider range of colors in the electromagnetic spectrum.   But this meant it wasn't a problem for Pozet either, which left them in a standoff.  

"Computer," Zatte called out.   "Execute Program--"

"--619!"

The artificial gravity shut off again, then reactivated at half the strength normally used.  Zatte had intended something else, but since she knew this program, she was prepared to cope with it.  

"I didn't know what that one would do," Pozet called out.   "But I figured a random number would be better than whatever you had in mind.   Looks like the computer recognizes my voice as yours, too.   Makes things interesting, doesn't it?"

Zatte muttered a Dorlun profanity as she considered this development.  She had expected to fight a Dorlun, but never expected one who could so easily mimic her own voice.  Pozet didn't even have to try; she just naturally sounded the same, and not even the ship's computer could tell the difference.   It wouldn't be enough for Pozet to take complete control of the ship, but it would allow her to confuse the computer whenever Zatte tried to use it herself.  As she moved around the deck, hoping to find some sign of Pozet's presence against the fog of fire suppressant chemicals, she noticed that it wasn't just fog.   Some of it was smoke.

"Having trouble breathing?" Pozet called out as soon as Zatte began to cough.   "I heated up the fibers of the carpet.  Not enough to start a fire, but enough to get them smoldering.   Smells good, doesn't it?"

Zatte winced as the acrid smell grew stronger as she moved towards the charred carpet.  She covered her mouth and nose, but could still find no sign of Pozet.   And then she heard a chirp from one of the bridge stations, and she realized that Pozet must have been crouching on top of one and accidentally touched a button.  

"Oh, crap," Pozet said.   Before she could move away, Zatte raised her hands and fired a ki blast from the palms of her hands.   Luffa had taught her to do this, although Zatte preferred to rely on conventional weapons.    Her ki powers were relatively weak and imprecise for combat, but there wasn't time to find her pistol or anything else.   She simply targeted the entire bridge station and fired a blast large enough and powerful enough to destroy the whole thing before Pozet could get away.  

In doing this, Zatte paid a heavy price.   She inhaled more of the stale, smokey air, and went into a coughing fit.  She needed to get off the bridge, but she couldn't leave until she was certain Pozet was neutralized.  She tried to hold her breath and search around the deck, but after several minutes, she found nothing.   And then something kicked her from behind, and she fell to the floor.

"That was a lucky shot," Pozet said.   The smoke was thicker on the floor, but Zatte was still able to see Pozet, who apparently now felt confident to become visible.  The homunculus' left arm was badly burned, but she seemed unconcerned by this injury.   If the bad air was causing her any problems, she didn't show it.  Pozet only breathed when she needed to speak aloud.

"I'm not here to kill you, Zatte," she said.  "My master just wants me to keep you occupied for a while.  I had meant to just play with you until he contacted me with further instructions, but you're dangerous.  If I'm not careful, you might just find a way around me, and I can't let that happen.   Luckily, I took out the life support system, so there's nothing to stop the bridge from filling up with smoke and suffocating you.  So I figure I'll relax and wait for you to stop breathing.  How's that sound--?  Wait, what have you got there?"

Zatte had been carrying a portable air supply canister on her belt the entire time.  She had been keeping it invisible with her powers, and had refrained from using it in case she would need it later.   Now, with the smoke becoming unbearable, she had strapped the face-piece to her mouth and made it just visible enough for Pozet to notice, and she used this distraction to grab her by the ankles and fling her across the bridge.  

The situation was untenable.   Zatte had hoped to keep their battle confined to a small area of the ship, but between the smoke and damaged controls, the terrain was beginning to shift into Pozet's favor.   The air canister she was breathing from would only last for so long, and now that Pozet knew about it, she would focus her efforts on destroying it or taking it away.  

So Zatte headed for the lift, forced the doors, and leaped down the shaft to relative safety.   It worried her to leave Pozet unchecked on the bridge, but until she knew how to fight Pozet effectively, she had to keep moving through the relative safety of the rest of the ship.

As Zatte made her way to an access tunnel that intersected the lift shaft, she wondered just how long that relative safety would last.

*******

[25 May 234 Before Age.   Planet Pflaume.]

Moments ago, Luffa believed there were only two life forms on the ice giant world of Pflaume: herself, and Rehval III, the King of the Saiyans, whom she had followed here through a mystical portal.   Luffa was wrong.   A third Saiyan, her own son, now stood before her, though she could not understand how this was possible.

The only habitable settlement in the entire solar system was Pflaume City, an artificial biosphere which floated through Planet Pflaume's upper atmosphere like a great fortress adrift in a storm.  King Rehval had it evacuated prior to this encounter.  He had gone to great lengths to lure Luffa here, in order to propose an alliance that would betray everything Luffa held dear.  Rehval III was unlike any Saiyan Luffa had ever met.  He was a brilliant visionary and a powerful fighter, but he was utterly devoid of honor.   Rehval seemed willing to stoop to anything to achieve his goals, which all involved shaping the future of the Saiyan species for centuries to come.   Lies, treachery, sorcery-- Rehval was willing to use any trick and suffer any humiliation to get what he wanted.

And now, Luffa's son had come to King Rehval's rescue.

"Are you all right, Your Majesty?" the boy called to his sovereign.

"I am now," Rehval replied.  Luffa had been torturing Rehval with a compression lock on his leg.  He rose to his feet slowly, painfully, but he still managed to stand, which might have surprised Luffa if he hadn't been fixated on the boy.  

"My lord, your arm!" the boy cried.  

Rehval nodded and gripped the burned flesh of his left arm with his right hand.   "It'll be fine, Xibuyas," he said, though he couldn't completely hide the anguish in his voice."

"I know of your powers, Sire," Xibuyas said uneasily.  "That you can restore yourself from injuries far worse than these, but I still wish that you had summoned me sooner!"

"The enemy is swifter than I anticipated," Rehval admitted.  He looked at Luffa and smiled.   "And more clever."

"And more foolish!" Xibuyas shouted.  "When you told me of your plan to offer her an alliance, I expected to find her kneeling at your feet, not torturing you!  Move aside, King Rehval.  Let me teach her the price of her defiance!"

Rehval raised his good hand to signal the boy to stand by.  

"What have you done?" Luffa asked in a low voice.  She was addressing Rehval, though she never took her eyes off the boy.  

"Surely you can guess that for yourself, Luffa," Rehval said.   "I told you of my knowledge of alchemy.   You've seen the Pozet, the homunculus I created for you.  I've told you of how I increased my own power beyond what little nature saw fit to give me.  And you've seen my laboratory on Planet Saiya.  You've seen the gestation chambers, which nurture embryonic Saiyans so they can be born with their maximum potential."

She didn't want to believe it, but it made too much sense for her to deny it.  Years ago, the Tikosi captured her, and tormented her for months for the sake of their twisted "experiments".   Luffa's own father had arranged for this, betraying her so that he could benefit from the fruits of their research.  What no one had known was that Luffa had been pregnant at the time.  The father of her child, Luffa's husband, convinced the Tikosi to surgically remove the boy from Luffa's body.   They turned the remains over to him, and when Luffa finally escaped the Tikosi, she hunted him down across the galaxy, hoping to mete out justice for her son's death.

But she had only assumed the child was stillborn.  When she finally caught up with her husband, Kandai told her that he had been hired by King Rehval to secure the fetus.  Kandai himself didn't know what he intended to do with it.  Like Luffa, he had probably never imagined that the child could have survived.   But the Tikosi had keep Luffa alive throughout her captivity.  Their experiments had been designed to bring her to the brink of death and back, again and again and again.  Was it so impossible to imagine that they could have kept a prenatal Saiyan alive outside its mother's womb?  Such technology was commonplace in the wider galaxy.   Even the Saiyans used it, though Luffa found the practice revolting.  To Luffa, motherhood was a sacred rite among Saiyans, or at least it was supposed to be.  The idea of Saiyan mothers giving up their children to be midwifed by machines was so horrifying to her that she never considered that it could have happened to her own offspring.

Luffa wanted to believe that this was a trick, that the boy standing before her was another homunculus, or some other alchemical illusion cast by Rehval, but the boy's ki was unmistakable.   The only thing that didn't make sense was his age.   Her son should only be three years old by now.  This boy looked closer to fifteen.

"You probably have some way to age people," Luffa muttered.  "But that doesn't fit.   "He couldn't have gotten so strong in only three years."

"Very astute, Luffa," Rehval said.  His breathing was still labored from his injuries, but he seemed determined to remain calm and in control of the situation.   "Xibuyas was not aged through some artificial means.  He was trained in a special place, one revealed to me by the Guardian of Planet Saiya."

"Guardian?" Luffa repeated in surprise.   She had encountered such beings before in her travels.  They were supposed to be mortals who were granted the station of lesser gods.  Their duty was to watch over their assigned worlds, though their power paled in comparison to mortal warriors like the Saiyans.  It wasn't difficult to imagine Rehval's grandfather conquering an inhabited world, renaming it "Saiya", and destroying its indigenous population, all while their Guardian looked on helplessly.  

"She was magnificent," Rehval said wistfully.  "My grandfather had kept her alive, mostly to avoid any reprisal from on high, and because she was no threat to us.   But where he and my father saw a figurehead, I saw untapped potential.   When I was ready, I pitted my charms and talismans against her divine wisdom, and I bent her to my will.  That summer I spent on her lookout was one of the happiest of my life.   She showed everything to me, including a room where time passed more slowly on the inside.  It was designed to seal itself after only two days of use by a single occupant, but I managed to work around that rule, and had the entrance relocated to my home on Pflaume City.   In total, he has spent twelve days in that room, training with my servants.   But inside the room, a year passed for each of those days."

"Then they're the ones who raised him," Luffa said bitterly.  "Taught him how to be the obedient little bootlick to the Saiyan King, is that it?"

"I wanted you to rule by my side, Luffa," Rehval said.  "I lied to you, but my purpose was sincere.  I had hoped that even if you despised me, we could put aside our differences for the sake of our people.  Perhaps you think me foolish for hoping you might accept my proposal, but I was not so naive that I didn't prepare for your refusal."

He gestured to Xibuyas.  "If you insist on being my enemy, then Xibuyas will accomplish what you would not.   You call him a 'bootlick', but he's far more than that.  I've already arranged for him to be mated to one of my daughters."

"Like hell!" Luffa seethed.  

"Whatever power he possesses, whatever secrets lie in his bloodline, they will be passed onto my grandchildren, and on down to the rest of the Rehval Dynasty."

"You know it doesn't work that way, idiot!" Luffa shouted.  "If you could breed a stronger Saiyan, don't you think someone would have done it a long time ago?!   Every one of us is probably descended from Chanisp, but I'm the only one as strong as--!"

"That only proves that our ancestors lacked vision," Rehval insisted.  "They clung to outmoded beliefs, and useless sentiments, when they should have learned to understand the mysteries that rule our fate!  Think of it, Luffa!  A Saiyan nation ruled by its strongest family!   Where the greatest warriors are allowed to marry into that family.  Instead of waiting for gifted fighters to prove their worth, we can measure their potential before birth!  A woman like you would be elevated to her rightful place, instead of languishing in the care of mercenaries living hand-to-mouth!"

"And what about the ones that don't have any potential?" Luffa asked.  

Rehval shrugged his good arm.   "They have their uses, I'm sure," he said.  "The ones who can contribute to the gene pool will be allowed to do so.  The rest will have to earn their acceptance, one way or another."

"And that's the great future you want for the Saiyan race?" Luffa asked.   "That's the future you had in mind for my son?!"   She began to laugh.   "And they call me a monster."

"You are a monster, Luffa," Rehval replied calmly.   "Not because of your yellow hair or green eyes, but because you represent the chaos that has benighted our people throughout our entire history.  I wanted to make a place in my kingdom for you, but I see now that I was wrong.   All I can do for you now is order your execution."

"You and what army?" Luffa scoffed as she pointed to the boy.  "Bringing him out here might have saved you for a few more minutes, but he's not strong enough to save you--"

She approached Rehval and raised her left fist.  

"Get away from him!" Xibuyas shouted.  

"Stay out of this, Katem!" Luffa shouted back.   "I'll deal with you in a minute.  First, I'm going to make this slime pay for what he's done!"

Despite his injuries, King Rehval was still immensely powerful by the standards of normal Saiyans.   As Luffa attacked, he leaped backward to roll away from her punch.   Dodging would be impossible, but by moving away from her fist as she connected, he could at least reduce the impact of her blow.  

However, Luffa was the Legendary Super Saiyan, and from the perspective of her transformed state, Rehval might as well have been moving in slow motion.  Though using only a fraction of her full power, she had more than enough to leap forward after him, ensuring that her blow would still hit hard enough to crush his skull.  

Then Xibuyas moved.   Luffa spotted this out of the corner of her eye, but thought nothing of it.  As powerful as he was, he was still too slow and too far away to do anything to save King Rehval.  

Except, when her fist connected, it did not land on Rehval's forehead.   Instead, she was caught in Xibuyas's hand.   Somehow, he had managed a burst of speed that had allowed him to get between Luffa and Rehval.  

Luffa was too astonished to react.   Though she had the strength to pull free of the boy's grip, she stood transfixed and watched his eyes glaze over with rage.   He started to hyperventilate, and then he cried out in a voice that Luffa couldn't help but find familiar.

And then she saw what looked like steam rising from Xibuyas' body, and he was suddenly engulfed with a golden aura.  She noticed that his grip on her hand was getting stronger...

"What...?!  No way!" was all Luffa could manage to say.  

The part of the city they were standing in was some kind of promenade, with shops and restaurants lining the walls of the corridors.  These were abandoned, but their signs and lighting were still active.   As Xibuyas' power increased, the electronics closest to the Saiyans began to short circuit and explode.

"Twelve years, Luffa," Rehval said as he backed away from them.  "I did everything I could to make him strong enough to defeat even you.   I wasn't sure it would be enough, but now that I see Xibuyas in action, I have to say that I'm pleased with the results.   Destroy her, Xibuyas!  Now!"

*******

Xibuyas wasted no time, leaping after Luffa and striking her unguarded face.   She went flying back, and the boy chased after her.   With a burst of speed, he stopped directly ahead of her, and landed a powerful kick that send her flying off in another direction.  For a minute or so, he bounced her around the promenade like a rubber ball, until at last he allowed her to crash into the deckplate below.   Luffa's impact was so great that she gouged a trench into the thick metal.  

"You're nothing but a fraud!"  Xibuyas shouted.   "King Rehval was wise to prepare me for this battle, woman!   But you're no match for the power of a true Saiyan warrior!"

He wouldn't fail.  King Rehval had been preparing him for this battle for his entire life.   Failure was simply not an option.   Xibuyas would crush this impostor once and for all, and prove himself worthy.   The "Super Saiyan" had a fearsome reputation, and his power lacked experience, but he was sure that he could overwhelm her.   He just had to stay focused and stand firm.  

He readied an energy blast in his left hand, but before he could send it down at his target, he noticed she was getting up.   Too angry to analyze this development, he launched his attack, expecting it to have the same effect whether she was standing or lying down.  

The energy sphere was more of an amorphous glob.   It was mostly yellow, with swirls of red, like it wasn't entirely finished.   Seconds before it engulfed Luffa, Xibuyas saw her face.   He expected terror, or perhaps surprise.   Instead, her expression was one of... curiosity?   He wondered if she might dodge it, and then the attack made contact, and he couldn't see her at all.    

Only, instead of the usual explosion of red-and-yellow light that followed his technique, it all simply faded away.   He saw Luffa looking up at him, smiling.    In her clenched fists were what looked like pieces of his energy glob, as if she had somehow ripped it apart.    

"What have you--?!" he began to shout.    "How did you do that?!"

"It...it's really you," she said.   Her smile faltered as she spoke, and her eyes widened.    "I don't understand it, but it's really you.  Maybe... maybe I should check again."

"Fool!" Xibuyas screamed.   "If you want to spend your last moments of life babbling like an old woman, then so be it!"   He launched himself directly at her, leading with his fists.    "Now you will DIE!"

He crashed into her, his hands charged with ki energy which he fired into her abdomen at the moment he made contact.   The raw power of the blow tore the deck apart, and he fell through to the level below.  Xibuyas realized he was inside a large auditorium.   Wreckage from the ceiling was still spilling into the seats.  

"And that will be the end of that!" he declared.   "All that's left for me to do now is search for your miserable corpse!   Xibuyas is no fool, woman.    I know all about your tricks, and I won't allow you to slip away like a dog so you can plan your escape."

He floated above the rows of seats, then hovered over the stage, thinking it would afford him a better view.   "Of course," he said to himself with a laugh, "there is the possibility that my last attack shattered your puny body into a thousand pieces!   King Rehval should hire a cleaning crew to gather them all up.   Pity.   I would have enjoyed taking your head as a trophy, woman!  You were supposed to be my first great triumph, and you barely put up a struggle.    Eh--?"

At last, he noticed the hole in the stage, where he found Luffa kneeling.   Around her was a pile of theatrical supplies and sound equipment.   She had her back turned to Xibuyas, and she was no longer glowing yellow like before.    She appeared to be muttering to her hands.  

"Alive?!" Xibuyas howled.   "Impossible!    I don't know what you're playing at, woman, but I'll give you some free advice: Never turn your back on the great Xibuyas!"

He aimed his hand at her back and bombarded her with dozens of energy globules, each of them exploding all around her.    In seconds, the entire stage was engulfed in orange ki energy, and then he sensed her moving within it.  

She walked out of the firestorm, across the stage, and hopped down.    Xibuyas could almost see a slight refraction of light surrounding her body.   Had she shielded herself from his attack?   How could she maintain such a defense without showing the slightest sign of strain?   Then he realized that she was still mumbling to herself.    He watched her walk up to one of the seats in the front row, where she sat down and looked back up at him.  

"I see it now," Xibuyas said.   "It's a trick!  You're using some kind of magic spell, or maybe a technological gadget to protect yourself from my power!   Well be warned, female!    A Saiyan warrior won't be so easily deceived!   I-- are you even listening to me?!"

"It's really you," Luffa said.  "It's the same power.   Rehval couldn't fake that.    He wouldn't know how.   Right?   I-I don't think it's possible, but..."

"Enough!" Xibuyas screamed.   He dropped to the floor and rushed directly in front of Luffa.   "I don't know what that incantation of yours is supposed to do, but it won't save you from my wrath!    Now, die!"

He threw a right hand, aiming for the top of Luffa's skull.    She had lowered her head as he approached, as if she couldn't bear to look at him up close.   He could only assume that the witch was overcome with fear, which could only mean her defenses were at their limit.    A single blow, and it would all be over--

She caught his fist in her hand.    He didn't even see her move.   In one moment, she had been powered down, and despondent.   In the next, she had transformed, and his hand felt like it was caught in a vise.  

"L... Let go of me!" he cried.

Though he tried to deny it, he could feel the fear growing within him.   He had been as fierce and relentless as he had planned, and Luffa had shrugged off his attacks like they were nothing.  Worse, she didn't even seem to be paying close attention to their battle.  He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he managed to hurt her badly enough to get her undivided attention.  

She looked up at him, her face showing a mixture of emotions, but none of them particularly aggressive.   "It's really you, isn't it?   I never thought I'd sense this ki again.   It's really you, Katem."

"K-katem?" Xibuyas finally managed to pull free, and he took a step back to assess the situation.    It was as if she were defending herself by reflex, and she wasn't fighting back at all.   Was she truly so confident in her power that she refused to fight him seriously?   But if she had such an overwhelming advantage, why was she so troubled?

"Who in the hell is Katem?!" he asked as he shook his right hand to recover from her grip.    He didn't realize how tightly she had held him until he was free.  

"You are," she said ominously.   "That's what I named you.   Katem if you were a boy.   And if you had been a girl..."

Tears were streaming from her face, and she rose from her chair to slowly walk towards him.    More confused than afraid, Xibuyas took a step backward as she approached.   She started to chuckle, and soon this grew into a sort of halting, broken laughter.

"My name," he insisted, "is Xibuyas!    It was given to me by the King of the Saiyans himself!"

Luffa glared at him, then turned her head and spit on the floor.    "That's what I think of the king," she said.  

"You dare--!"

"He's a liar and a coward and a filthy kidnapper," Luffa said in a raw, ugly tone.   "I failed you, Katem.    I failed you so completely that I'll never be able to apologize to you properly.    But I refuse to dishonor my own son by calling you anything else."

"Then that's your game," Xibuyas scoffed.  "You actually think you can gain the upper hand by pretending to by my mother?"

"I'm not pretending anything," Luffa said.   "And I don't expect you to believe me.   I can hardly believe it myself.   I'm just... I'm trying to make sense of it all."

"Oh, by all means, 'mother', take your time!" Xibuyas said.    He raised his hands and fired a blast of energy from his palms, which engulfed her and every seat behind her all the way to the back of the theater.   "You can figure it out in hell!"

When the glow of his attack subsided, Luffa was still there.  Behind her was only a field of ash and molten scrap where the seats had been, but Luffa herself was completely unharmed.  

"Well, you seem healthy, at least," Luffa said.    "I guess I should be grateful for that."

"Wh- what are you?!" Xibuyas stammered.    "That attack should have...!  But you--!"

"Do you live in this place?" Luffa asked.   "I never sensed your presence on Planet Saiya.    Not that I would have thought to check for it, but...  Well, what do they feed you here?"

Xibuyas threw a left kick, but she blocked it with her forearm.   "Is that a stupid thing to ask?    I... I just never expected this.  I don't know what to say right now.   I think... I think I'm losing my mind."

Xibuyas tried a punch to her face.   Luffa didn't bother blocking.   His fist simply connected with her chin, and nothing happened.   She didn't even flinch.  

"I'm sorry," she finally said, as if rousing herself from a dream.    "You're trying to fight me, and I'm just sleepwalking through it.   I'm embarrassing you."

She stooped low and swung her left leg around to sweep his ankles.    Xibuyas thought he read the attack quickly enough to brace himself, but she knocked him off balance with seemingly no effort at all.   Before he could even finish falling, she was suddenly on top of him, grabbing him by his shirt and striking his cheek, shoulder, and chest with the edge of her free hand.   Then she tossed him to the ground.  

Her blows were so quick that he barely saw her move, but the pain exploded from every part of his body where she had touched him.   He clenched his teeth and tried not to cry out.  At last, he realized that this creature was even more fearsome than King Rehval had led him to believe.    She wasn't just strong.    She was... emotional.    Everything she said and did was disturbing to him.   It was one thing that she kept claiming to be his mother.   What made it worse was that she clearly had no need to play mindgames with him.   Was she just doing it to be sadistic, or...?

"Hey, that was good," Luffa said.    "I didn't think you'd be able to see me coming, but you did.    Rehval kept telling me he's the strongest Saiyan after me, but I guess he was lying about that too."

"You're... not a Saiyan!" Xibuyas growled as he rose to his feet.   He was clutching the spot on his chest where Luffa had hit him.    "And you're not my mother."

Luffa extended her arm and curled in her fingers to invite him to try again.    "Convince me," she said.

He saw the tears in her eyes, and the weary smile on her lips, and Xibuyas felt his mouth go dry from terror.

NEXT: Quality Time

[nevillelongsbottom]

@hptriadsnet: get to know the members event othar - charlie x neville x rolf x luna

Neville’s never seen a sight before like the Gulf: it’s huge, swallowing up the vast nothingness of the cracking desert that surrounds it, full of lush green cactuses with man-sized spikes and groaning beasts with scaled skin that he can barely see through the occasional wallowing cloud; and even though it’s nothing, really, just plain ground that goes on for miles and miles, he’s hypnotised by it – it’s beautiful in that foreign way, the way that it’s so incredibly new.

“First time seeing the Gulf, huh?” Charlie grins, resting his elbows on the side of the ship, his flyaway hairs wild in the wind that rushes by them. “I love it here. Rolf thinks it’s too barren to be much fun, but I grew up on dragons and wyverns, and one of these days, I wonder if I’ll see one out here. But mostly it’s just the old one-eyed fliers that come too close, so watch yourself.”

“I am trained,” Neville objects – though he doesn’t feel like it, not anymore; his Academy robes are too heavy for the warmth of this part of the world, and he’s been wearing a half-unbuttoned thin cotton shirt and shorts since he realised that, magic student or stowaway or captain or hearty chef, everybody’s equal on Charlie’s airship.

“And I could fend off pirates one-handed in my sleep, but those fliers are still buggers and they bite hard,” Charlie says, reaching over to ruffle Neville’s dark hair. “Just trying to look out for you. Give me a shout if one of the eagles tries to snatch you away.”

“Hey,” Neville says, a look of sheer terror flashing for a moment in his eyes; Charlie sighs softly, his hand falling from Neville’s hair to the back of his neck, reassuring. “They – they won’t, will they?”

“No,” he says, laughing. “They’re far too small for that. I’m just joking. Sorry.”

Neville’s been on the ship too long to feel offended by anybody trying to scare him – it’s their idea of fun, of bonding, of inducting him as a new member, and so he just resists the urge to roll his eyes, resting his head on Charlie’s shoulder; Charlie, despite the muscles and the beard and the rough laugh and the knuckledusters, is a man for tenderness, for hugs and knees bumping and people sleeping in his lap. “Is the rest of the world like this?” Neville asks, his eyes twinkling; he’s never left his hometown, never mind the country – never seen the beauty of the singing lights in the Ascorian skies, the majesty of the neverending cities in Chie-Skua, never had coffee in the depths of a forest in a town made of wooden platforms. “This beautiful. It... it just makes me want to not to finish learning. I want to... I want to see it all.”

“Othor’s pretty, too, you know,” Charlie shrugs, the pads of his fingers dusting the collar of Neville’s shirt. “I’ve been there plenty times, and I still haven’t seen a damn thing in that city. It’s practically the size of the countries over where you live.”

Neville is quiet, watching the sky, a curtain of blue.

“You can do what you want,” says Charlie, “but you’ve always got the time to see the world.”

-

The ship ports for a day at the aerodrome in Catoosa, and Rolf invites Neville and Luna to join him on one of his many wanderings: this time, to see a friend. On the ship he’s always dressed in a way that makes Neville’s throat catch, in a half-unbuttoned cotton shirt and trousers held up with suspenders, his messy brown hair mussed in the breeze – but when they’re in town, he wears huge overalls and heeled boots, his pockets tucked with various weapons, bells, and foodstuffs and his straps affixed with various badges proclaiming him to be members of countless organisations from across the world.

He catches Neville’s stare, and grins.

“Where are we going?” Luna asks – seemingly ignoring the blistering heat of the Western sun, she’s wearing her Academy robes, the last relics of their significantly colder home, and she sticks out like a sore thumb in the city: her hair is pulled up and pinned to her head in a variety of braids, whereas the local girls let their hair hang loose round their shoulders. Neville doesn’t know whether or not he really does aesthetically prefer Luna’s braids or just likes them from familiarity.

“Charlie is doing some business deals, so I thought I’d visit an old friend,” Rolf says, cheerily, the flare of his three-quarter trousers blowing in the breeze. “He used to be a mercenary – good, too good, retired early with enough money to keep himself afloat, and now he lives out here with one of his friends. He’s seen a lot of the world, too – Charlie said you were thinking about travelling, so I thought he might be able to help you. And he keeps Kneazles.”

“Does he live nearby? There are lots of Nargles here,” Luna remarks; she sounds like wind chimes to Neville, which confuses him a lot.

“Nargles, huh? Never heard of them. You’ll have to point them out to me sometime. This way.” He veers on a sharp left, pausing for a moment to reach out instinctively for Neville – his hand stops in the air before floating back down to his side. “You okay, Neville?”

Neville is not okay, actually. He thinks Rolf is attractive, and he likes the way Rolf smiles, and he would gladly give up his next two years at the Academy just to keep travelling with Rolf. The worst part is – he doesn’t even know why.

“Uh-huh,” he nods. Rolf looks at him through floppy hair, and a moment passes this way.

-

It’s not Viktor’s job to convince Neville to stay at the Academy; and thus, he fails.

-

Rolf does it better.

He’s waiting when Neville knocks on the door, one of the straps of his overalls undone from where he’d had it safety pinned shut for good measure, and his eyes twinkle a little. “What’s up?” he asks, stepping aside to let Neville in to his little menagerie before squeezing the door shut behind them.

“I feel homesick,” Neville says softly, and when he leans forward and rests his head on Rolf’s shoulder, Rolf’s arms reach up to catch him; they can feel each other’s breath warm on their skin, and it’s like nothing Neville has felt before: this closeness, tenderness, an intermingling of their senses and experiences. Nothing this far away ever feels like home, the frigid cold of Gidi, but Rolf is the closest thing he’s felt to it: Rolf feels the way that people from home do – caring, soft, the type of man to stop at a corner and look back to make sure Neville is still with him and not stuck a half-block back.  

But his accent is all Othor, and it makes Neville wonder–

For the briefest of moments before Rolf kisses him, of course, hands knotted tightly at the back of Neville’s head; Rolf kisses like someone who’s kissed before, all slow and then fast, but his hands fumble for purchase on Neville’s arms as he digs deeper, kissing like he’d die without it.

Breaking free with his breath coming out in desperate gasps, Rolf turns to his bed, pausing as he remembers it’s simply a comfortable hammock; he turns his gaze to the floor, squeezing Neville’s hand, but the floor is littered with cages and cats and rats and Kneazles, and a non-negotiable no-go zone.

“Your room?” he asks breathlessly, letting Neville shyly tuck some of his wild hair behind his ear.

“I share it with Luna,” Neville says softly; Rolf frowns.

“Lock her out?” he suggests, but Neville shakes his head emphatically.

“We can’t do that!”

“No, I’m sorry, of course we can’t,” Rolf says, appalled at himself for a moment; he frantically looks around until his eyes finally settle back on the hammock. He sighs, and slowly begins to undo the safety pins on his second strap, revelling in the slow widening of Neville’s eyes and the hitching of his breath.

He undoes the button and lets the overalls drop; hypnotised, Neville follows him wordlessly across the room, forgetting the entire rest of the world in the map of freckles on Rolf’s back.

-

“WE GOT PIRATES!”

Neville bursts out of his cabin and into sheer chaos: the deck is full of people, many wielding cutlasses sharper than the swords of Gidi’s home guard, and he careens towards Luna – Rolf and Charlie are unapproachable, Rolf surrounded by a swarm of sharp-talon eagles and Charlie smashing in the face of a bearded man built like a dragon with his bronze knuckledusters, grinning manically with the adrenaline that courses through his veins.

He starts as a hand grabs at Luna’s collar, and without a second thought, fire comes spiralling up through him and then out, spinning out and curling around Luna’s attacker, squeezing tight with third-degree burns. He’s never really used magic for anything but convenience before, but it comes so naturally to him now and when the fire regroups and spills on the pirate, a wave of heat, it takes his consciousness to pull it back, staring wide-eyed at the scorched burns he’s left behind.

The pirate stumbles back, and the ship’s second mate kicks him over the side. “Nice one, mate,” he grins at Neville.

Neville can’t unsee the fire, and goes still as he watches the fight.

-

The airship’s medical bay is surprisingly large, full of small beds and boxes full of this and that pilfered from various cities; Luna, white mage to the core, loves pottering around in it, even though she doesn’t really need any of the equipment: just her own magic, cool against the pain of the lacerations on Charlie’s arms. He doesn’t mind being patched up, regarding Neville with wary eyes.

“Are you okay, Nev?” he asks, trying to ignore the distraction of the white light in Luna’s hands.

“We just – I just – burned him!” Rolf reaches over to squeeze Neville’s arm; he’s patching up the wing of one of the many eagles he summoned, apparently with a small bell he keeps in his pocket (Neville’s almost hesitant to believe it, despite the fact that, of course, he just summoned fire from nowhere). “And then – Blaise threw him off...”

“They were here to kill us, Neville,” Charlie replies, voice steady and cool. “I wouldn’t have the reputation I did if I let my would-be assassins return to the skies, would I?” He sighs. “It’s hard at first, I get it, but it’s our lives or theirs. This is what it’s like out here.”

He lets Luna finish healing him before standing up and walking over to Neville, tangling his fingers in Neville’s dark hair; his hands are still warm, and Neville resists the urge to allow himself to buck his head into Charlie’s hand. “I think you ought to go to Othor. It’s harsh here in the skies. I’m sorry you had to see it in person.”

“I’ll go get you some soup,” Rolf says. “You want to go back to your room?”

“I prefer yours,” Neville says, flushing. “For the animals.”

Rolf raises an eyebrow, but can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Okay, sure, me too. Come on. Soup.” He reaches out his hand and Neville takes it gracefully, following him along the corridor; Charlie snorts, taking a seat where Neville had been, crossing one leg over the other.

“God, he’s cute,” he says, leaning his chin on his hand. Luna giggles.

“He is. So is Rolf.” She pauses for a moment, glancing over. “You too.”

-

They stop for fuel in Coracre, known to the ship’s crew as comfort food central, and so Charlie decides to take Rolf and his little Academy stowaways out for pie; Neville seems to be recovering with surprising certainty, and they’ve avoided further attack likely from the news of the first’s failure and the news that they have a black mage on board, so when they return to the ship, Charlie decides to make his proposal –

In Neville and Luna’s room, of course, because they have the biggest of their little quartet.

“So,” he says – they’re all seated in a little circle, and he loves it, because he can speak to everybody’s bright-eyed faces and can see the broiling excitement in Rolf’s eyes. “Rolf and I were talking, and I think we’ve had an idea.” Charlie traces a circle on his thigh, grinning. “We all like each other – so, instead of ignoring it, why don’t we all go out?”

Neville frowns. “What do you mean, all go out?”

“I think he means that, instead of a couple, we’re all a quad,” Luna says dreamily. “There’s four of us in this relationship, not two.”

“Will that work?” Neville asks, looking around – it’s true, he really does like them all and probably has a few too many feelings than he can really deal with sometimes for them all, but the idea of trying to wrangle spending enough time with all three of them makes his head hurt. He wants to be idealistic, but he’s just too much of a thinking mess.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Charlie replies. Neville looks at him, for a moment in slow-motion, and then lurches forward, hands clapping to Charlie’s cheeks, and kisses him.

-

“Is this your first time dating?” Charlie asks – the four of them are all sitting out on the deck and bathing in the Western sun; he’s lying sprawled on his back while Neville is sitting cross-legged, flicking through some of his new coursework now that they’re getting ever closer to Othor.

“It isn’t,” he says, flushing, “but it’s my first time – dating – a man. Two men.” He shifts, shutting the book and wiping a layer of dust from the hard cover. “Why – do you like me?”

“Too many reasons to count,” Charlie replies, shifting his arm from where it’s covering his eyes to sit up and drape an arm around Neville’s shoulders. “But really, the reason I noticed you in the first place is because it takes someone very ballsy to sneak onto my ship – and two of you? Academy students, no less. The kind of person who would put their education and lives in jeopardy just to cross the country and finish said education is the kind of person I’d like to know better.” He laughs, softly, earnestly. “And then I got to know you. And you’re not the kind of ballsy kid I was expecting – but you’re sweet, the pair of you.”

“It’s not that Luna is ballsy,” Neville admits, looking over to her – she’s talking to Rolf, the two of them admiring one of his intricately patterned summoning bells, “she just... doesn’t seem to understand that she’s being that way. Or maybe she just doesn’t care – we’ve been roommates since we started, but she’s still a mystery to me.” He leans in, resting his head against Charlie’s chest and feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat. “What about you and Rolf?”

“He’s just as much of a stowaway as you two,” Charlie muses. “When I first got this ship – stole it, actually, from a couple of sky pirates – he was waiting there, and asked me if he could come with. I’m pretty sure he’s from Othor, since he has the heaviest accent I’ve ever heard, but I don’t know much about him – just that he seems to have been anywhere and everywhere.” He reaches over a hand, and shouts. “Oi! Rolf! Luna! C’mover here. We’re going downstairs.”

Neville stills. “Downstairs?”

Charlie quirks his brows. “Downstairs – you don’t want to?”

Neville goes redder than the magma Charlie has seen flowing from volcanoes. “I’ve just... never... gone the whole way.”

“We can go slow.”

Rolf interjects. “We don’t have to do this at all.”

“No,” Neville says slowly. “I want to. Before we have to leave.” His voice drops. “I’m going to miss you. I want to spend time with you. Everything just feels so – surreal, and new, and a little bit scary.” He winds his fingers with Luna’s; hers are always cool with her magic, but his hand is clammy with sweat. “And then it’ll all be normal again, like none of this ever happened.”

“Except it won’t be,” says Rolf, “because nothing’s ever the same once you’ve flown over the world.”

It’s true, but not necessarily – because nothing is the same after they trail downstairs, all four of them, hand-in-hand, and Neville feels what it’s like to be a part of something – of someone; the feeling is more beautiful than the cracks in the Gulf, the spires of Giri, the festival streets of Catoosa, the sunset in the West where the yellow sun bleeds into the ground.

It’s more than home: it’s new.

-

Othor is never far away, and within a month, they’ve arrived: Neville and Luna hang over the deck, staring wide-eyed at the tall limestone buildings, culminating in the city’s tour de force – the Academy. It’s huge, so high in the sky at its pinnacle that it’s almost height with the airship, and Charlie is careful as he steers to avoid it, leaving just Rolf with their two stowaways.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he says with a grin; Neville can’t even respond, so awed by it all: it’s a beautiful day in Othor, with blazing sunshine and cobbled streets and a huge river running through the city, and he can see the Academy students in their lighter robes wandering around, and he can’t believe he ever thought of bailing on it. “I’ve been everywhere with Charlie, but I always miss it here.”

Luna buries her head in his chest for a moment. “It won’t be the same without you and Charlie.”

“We’ll miss you, too,” Rolf says earnestly, watching as the ship finally docks. “But, I suppose it’s time to part ways.”

Charlie is waiting for them outside, leaning against the hull of the ship; the rest of the crew have gathered too to say their farewells, from their matron Hannah to second mate Blaise, but Neville is desperate to get back to Charlie, who hugs both him and Luna so tightly he squeezes the breath out of them, smothering them with warm kisses.

“So, you’ll be studying for another two years, right?” he says, tucking some of Neville’s hair behind his ear; Luna nods. “Great. We’ll be back for you in two years – that is, of course, unless some business brings us back here first...” He has a twinkle in his eye that just suggests, and Rolf grins, too, pressing a kiss to the back of Luna’s neck.

“And we’ll travel?” Neville asks.

“Oh, yes,” Charlie says, rubbing his hands together. “Trust me, dear, you haven’t even seen the half of it yet.”

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Sierra you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Lily Evans!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Sierra -- your application for Lily was absolutely beautiful, just like her. I’ve always had such a difficulty in writing canon characters that have more weight in the books, and you expanded on her with such depth that this application was a beautiful read. The way you expanded on her traits and really dove into what make Lily tick might’ve been my favorite part of this entire application, it made it so clear that you thought through who she is carefully and wove a clear picture of her in your head -- and that only expanded upon your para sample and answers! We’re so excited to have her in our group and to see what you’ll do with our lovely Lily! *your faceclaim change to Mary Kate Wiles has been accepted!

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

My name is Sierra. I’m 26 years old and use the pronouns she/her. I reside in the middle of the US is the Central time zone (CST)

ACTIVITY

I am pretty consistant, I like to think, I can be on at least once a day every day to reply to things, barring something major happening in real life, which I would still be sure to pop in and mention. I would say over all a solid 8/10

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Scrolling through the RP tags.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I think I always identified the most with Harry himself. He always struck me as the reluctant hero, not one to go out of his way to jump into danger, but knowing that if he didn’t do it, the likelihood that anyone would was slim. He never asked for the title of ‘Chosen One’, he was saddled with it.

ANYTHING ELSE?

This group seems absolutely lovely. (This is not an attempt to butter you up or anything like that, it’s just genuinely lovely as far as the graphics and fonts and things. Very aesthetic.)

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Lily Evans. Lily is a flower most associated with purity and everlasting love. Lily Evans displays an extremely warm and open heart, the type of person who is willing to give anyone a chance to be in her heart, and only turning them away when they’ve wronged her.

Evans is derived from the Welsh or English surname 'Evan’. In Welsh, this name means 'young worrior’. While it is true that Lily is loving, she is also fierce, the type of woman who is going to not only be there for the ones she loves, but defend them to the death. She is strong in her opinions and morals, and not afraid to fight for the right and what she believes in.

FACE CLAIM

Mary Kate Wiles is my prefered face claim for Lily, as I feel that she embodies the character wholly. I am also a fan of Molly Quinn and Holand Roden for Lily, and in the masterlist she was listed as Sophie Turner, who would be my fourth choice.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

Lily is the Doe. There’s always something so extremely wonderful about a character who is strong and powerful not only in their actions, but in the way that they love the people in their lives. A woman who can hold her own against a world that chooses to look down on her for something as simple as who her parents were, to not only not let that effect her sense of self, but to let it strengthen her and move her forward in every action that she takes. She doesn’t conform, she doesn’t try to be the person that everyone likes, instead, she is a person that people like because she is true to herself and doesn’t shy away from who she is and who she wants to be.

I’ve always been drawn to Lily as a character because she is the kind of character that opens itself up to a world of fascination. She shows strength of character even in her brief appearances, and she isn’t afraid to be herself, but underneath the surface, there is the insecurity that she hides, the fear that she may not be able to protect her family and friends, and will ultimately fail them.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

While I do, of course, love the canon ship that is Jily, I have always also been fascinated by the way that Sevily might have gone, had the feelings been recprocated. However, I am extremely open to all kinds of things in the ship department, exploring dynamics between all characters in things like love, friendship, disdain. I love character development first and foremost and would be apt to try just about anything.

As far as Lily and her views on things, in the department of love and sex, Lily is very much the kind of girl who views romance as beautiful. She likes the idea of little gestures of affection, just sitting and holding hands and being with the person she loves. She isn’t the kind that is going to give herself away to anyone who shows the slightest interest, instead looking for someone who is interested in her whole self, who she is and who she could be and who she wants to be. She is extremely demisexual in my mind, not the kind interested in casual sex, rather, the kind who is only going to be physically and sexually attracted to someone she finds a true and lasting connection with.

She uses the pronouns she/her, and is cis, heteromantic, but demisexual.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER: I’ve created a mockblog here, where I’ve done a Moodboard and a post expanding on the character traits. I would be happy to add more, if you would like!

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: “I would love to invent a spell in which everyone it was cast on was forced to say exactly what was on their mind for a few hours. It would be refreshing to see people being honest and open with one another for a short while, even if things weren’t all sunshine and daisies. A simple little truth spell, much like Veritserum.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: “The obvious answer would be that I would have to take Marlene McKinnon with me. Brave and adventurous woman who could lead the way and help me fight off anything that stands in our path. As for an object, it would be nice to have a flashlight, wouldn’t it, so that we could see and still have our wands free for spells if necessary.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? “There’s a certian difficulty that comes with any decision you ever have to make, isn’t there? After all, one must weigh the pros and cons of everything, even for things as simple as what to eat, you have to consider how it’s going to sit on your stomach, how it will effect the rest of your day, things like that. I’m the kind of person who takes all decisions very seriously, but I suppose when thinking on it, any decision that involves another person can be rather difficult, considering it’s no longer just myself I’m having to worry about.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? “That I’m untrue to myself. I try to be an honest person, open and real about who and what I am. I would never want anyone to think I’m fake in any way.”

WRITING SAMPLE

Wake up, Lily. It’s just a bad dream, it’ll be over if you wake up, wake up.

With a jolt, Lily shot upright in the bed, hand pressing roughly against her chest to feel the way her heart pounded there, almost breaking through the skin and landing in her palm. What kind of nightmare was it supposed to be, she wondered. Some kind of warning, a cry out, simply something to shock her system and send her reeling. She wasn’t sure, but the scattered and flashing images of the dream were slowly fading away into nothing, leaving her in just the dark of her bedroom, surrounded by four familiar walls that weren’t closing in or dangerous in anyway. A sigh left her chest as she adjusted in her place, pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She would need a moment, she knew, to recover before going for a glass of water.

Try as she might, capturing little snippets of the dream in her mind, trying to recapture the moments that had startled her out of sleep in the first place, seemed difficult. There was a forest, one she thought could have been the Forbidden Forest, dark and winding and she followed the winding path deeper and deeper in, looking for something. She couldn’t say what she was searching for, really, besides just the intangible something.

Perhaps it was for the best, being unable to recall the dream. She assumed that it couldn’t mean anything too terrible, at any rate, and even if she were any good at dream interpretation, she had never exactly found it interesting or logical. Bare feet hit the cold wood of her bedroom floor as she crawled out of bed and headed into the bathroom, flipped on the light and squinted at her reflection in the mirror. She was not surprised to see matted and tangled hair, eyes bloodshot and with shadows of circles rimming them. She would have to get more sleep, and soon, but her mouth felt dry and she needed to let her heart slow down. A quick pour from the tap and she was sipping slowly on a glass of water, mind turning over and over. Things were going alright, weren’t they? Why the nightmare. Perhaps the overall atmosphere of the world was making her nervous, making her jittery. She had no idea, she would need to find a way to relax, destress.

Things were going to be okay. She simply had to remind herself of that.

[hetmusic]

Q&A with Jinka | HumanHuman

As soon as Transylvanian left-field pop artist Jinka reached that 100% promising status, we knew that we had to ask this fascinating newcomer a few questions about her unique sound and deep-thinking creativity.

Discovered by MusicalHeARTBeat five months ago, the West Berlin based musician, singer, songwriter and producer released her debut “Trash From The Past” earlier this year, presenting listeners with a new kind of punkesque songwriting for a digital age. That first listen was summarised best by user HighClouds as one of “distortion, techno-pop, carelessness, surrealism and vision in a world where pop music often tends to be too polished and conventional.” This unconventional attitude can be heard through Jinka’s ensuing releases, “Flesh To White To Black To Flesh” and “Shock Mounted”. Each time this independent talent has shared a track, it’s been with a new spin on her style that really does escape all concise categorisation. Her approach to music very much conveys up the zeitgeist of young artists who refuse to colour within the lines.

Read on to learn a little more about Jinka, a true one-to-watch for 2018.

You’ve just released the addictive listen “Shock Mounted” accompanied by a surrealist music video. Where did you get the idea for the visuals?

First of all, I’d like to emphasize that Ossian Melin should get all the credit. His visual aesthetic is pretty unique. In the end it was him who envisioned the video from the few snippets of ideas I suggested. When I spoke to him for the first time I instantly felt like there was some sort of mutual understanding between the two of us – that whatever would be proposed by one of us would be appreciated by the other. That made me feel like I could be myself and come up with ideas quite intuitively.

The repeated “na na na” throughout the song would suggest a “whatever” attitude, but is being shock mounted really so carefree?

I think it’s a matter of perspective. When I’m performing or listening to the track today: yes. Back when I was writing “Shock Mounted”: no.

But I guess that’s part of why people make music: the process of writing – which at the heart is sonifying emotions, identities and ideologies – has the power to transform your perception and evaluation of events. It’s almost like alchemy.

Of course, “Shock Mounted” is not the first time that watchers may have been thrown off guard by your visuals if we think back to the Mario Clement-directed video for “Trash From The Past”. Are the visual arts something essential to this project?

The visual dimension of artistic expression generally is an important part in popular music culture. It kind of goes without saying that every release needs to be accompanied by a video or any sort of exciting visual complement. On the one hand this is a blessing because it gives you the opportunity to convey a more accurate picture of your artistic vision and personality. On the other hand we might have to question why it is so hard for music alone to gain attention. Our expectations might in fact discriminate artists who don’t provide over the financial means to deliver the whole package or simply wish to focus on different aspects of their artistry. Sharing your music with the world shouldn’t turn into a desperate competition for attention.

Another video that came to mind when watching “Trash From The Past” was Sälen’s “Diseasy”. Would that happen to have been an influence in part here? What did inspire that unusual video?

To be honest, I don’t know that video yet. But I’ll definitely check it out!

I guess Mario tried to capture the vibe of the almost chaotic sonic movement and density of the track and translated the central theme of the lyrics – which is “experiencing and forgetting” – into various kinds of semi-permanent prints on different organic and non-organic surfaces.

The track itself is all about distortion - taking the familiar and repurposing it for your own take on extroverted pop. How did you go about developing this unique sound?

This is something I haven’t reflected upon in detail yet. I believe that everything you do, every bit of information and atmosphere you absorb in every single second of your life makes you develop your distinct artistic langue as well as the drive to use it.

Are you still working in your home studio-come-sonic laboratory in West Berlin?

Yes, I do! I might have written a couple of tracks elsewhere, but a main part of the production happens in my home studio. I prefer the neighborhoods in the western part of Berlin because what I call “pop-cultural tourism’’ hasn’t really arrived there yet. I don’t like what the Berlin people are looking for when they come here from other hip places.

What drew you to Berlin’s music scene?

I moved here from Brighton (UK) about five years ago. It made sense for me because I was touring a lot with a German artist back then and already knew a lot of musicians that were living in Berlin. I probably should add that as soon as I arrived I felt that I had found the location that should shape whatever I was about to create.

Am I right in thinking that you moved to Berlin from the Transylvanian region of Romania? Do you think your home had an influence on you as an artist?

I actually grew up in Germany, but I think that my Transylvanian origin nevertheless had an influence on me. At least because people always thought I was somewhat alien and hard to define or categorize. At some point I noticed that instead of trying to fit in it might be more healthy for me to accentuate the features of my personality and work that others regarded as being odd.

You recently played Berlin’s Auster club alongside fellow Promising Discoveries O-Shin and Melis. How was the show?

I had so much fun and got so delirious that I can’t remember a thing. This is why I probably wouldn’t be able to report objectively.

How is your live set different or the same from what we hear recorded?

It’s very similar actually. Of course, the emphasis is on different elements of the production because some of them develop different meanings in a live environment. And there’s three human beings interacting on stage which shouldn’t be neglected.

You described “Trash From The Past” as having a “punkesque stop-and-go structure.” Do you think your style is derived from a punk mentality, culture or approach to music?

Actually not really. I was hanging with punks in my teenage skateboarding days, but neither listened to Punk music nor was part of the corresponding underground culture. With “punkesque’’ I was probably referring to the anarchic power of the noisy parts of the track as well as to the abrupt and frequent shifts from highly energetic to more relaxed parts and vice versa.

You write, sing, record and produce all these tracks, so would you say that having creative control is important to you?

I guess it is to every artists. But I also believe that to be attentive to how other people perceive your music and to be able to incorporate their feedback into your work is even more important. Whenever I’m uncertain about something I turn to Tobias Kuhn. He has been my mentor for quite a while now and has contributed to some of my tracks.

You also allowed Hranrad to remix, or should I say totally reinvent, “Black To Flesh To White To Flesh”. How did you two connect?

He’s a friend of my bestie Julia Wolkenhauer. She’s a photographer and has taken most of my press pics (including my cover art work). I met Hranrad at one of her shoots. When I asked him if he would like to act in the “Flesh To White to Black To Flesh’’ video he mentioned he was also making music and would like to remix the track.

How did it feel to hear your creation through someone else’s sonic lense?

I get extremely excited and happy when I’m listening to a remix for the first time. It’s sort of like a rebirth of your music. Sometimes you’ve been working on a track for such a long time that you know, love and hate every single detail of it. Listening to a remix is like sleeping in fresh bedclothes if you know what I mean. Playing your tracks live has a similar effect by the way.

Can we expect to hear more of your hypnagogic sounds in the near future?

Almost definitely before spring kicks in. But it’s probably rather going to be something of the uplifting type.

What else do you have planned for the new year? Perhaps some more shows?

Yes! 2018 is all about more shows. And releasing more music of course.

https://humanhuman.com/articles/interview-with-jinka

[tilly-tali]

30 day #mearydercountdown

1 Day: Which song/songs would be “theme songs” for Ryder? Are there any symbols you associate with Ryder? If you’ve created a moodboard for them, share it here. If not, what sorts of things would be on their moodboard? Describe their aesthetic. What Hogwarts house would they be sorted into? If you’ve written fanfic involving Ryder already, share it here. [you don’t need to do all of these, they’re merely intended as creative exercises]

a song: follow me by muse.

his moodboard might contain a space image, alliance dogtags, a book/tech manual, space hamster, an omnitool, hockey gear, a flare of biotic energy, and a shotgun.

aesthetic: softened grey-scale minimalism with a few pops of color.

2 Days: Provide a “famous quote” from Ryder that sums them up as a character (like the ones for the squadmates in their official character profiles).

“I won’t sit idle while someone’s substandard plan gets us all killed, or worse: demoted.” - Scotty Ryder

3 Days: Do you plan on romancing anyone with Ryder? If so, who? Why? What qualities would Ryder find attractive in a partner (if applicable)?

this all depends on  the personality of the romance/flirt options are like and where they come along in the storyline. i have picked a romance on a first playthrough just for the sake of the experience/achievement but i am only going to do so if it feels right for Scotty this time around.

Scotty would be interested in someone who was a thinker, but also a listener. a good sense of humor and an easy going nature would be important, as well as some spontaneity. he is a sucker for pretty eyes and shy flirters and he likes holding hands. he’s kinda a soft romantic boy.

4 Days: Out of the squadmates, Tempest crewmembers and other characters shown so far, is there anyone you think Ryder won’t gel so greatly with, dislike or otherwise come into conflict with? Why?

5 Days: Out of the squadmates, Tempest crewmembers and other characters shown so far, who do you think Ryder will get along well with? Who do you think they will get along best with? Why?

i have tried my best not to be too spoiled so while i know of my squad and crew, i don’t have many details about their personalities or backgrounds. from the little i do know/have guessed or assumed, i want him to befriend liam because liam and i want drack to almost take him under his wing once scotty shows a slightly reckless reaction after getting caught up in the moment, possibly after riding in the nomad since Scotty drives like a maniac (you’d almost expect that Shep was his driving instructor). he would respect peebee’s ability to ignore the norms but not sure they are going to be best buds or lovers, but who knows, she might surprise us.

6 Days: Does your Ryder know your Shepard? What do they think of Shepard? Would they get along? What would Shepard think of Ryder?

no, they do not actually know each other, but Scotty would know of Shep, possibly have seen her in passing on the citadel or at alliance hq or some N7 function his father attended. i think they would get along, both being team players. i still have yet to decide which specific Shepard (as i have several, like everyone) is my canon Shepard for Scotty’s playthrough. I am leaning towards my very first Shep, Juliette, just for the sake of 1st with 1st. She would see the true potential Scotty has and that he will achieve it if he gets out of his own head in Andromeda and starts fresh, no chip on his shoulder. She would trust him to have her back in a fight (eventually, as hes still pretty fresh and shes a true veteran and a little crazy yet, not sure he could keep up) and would value his input and insight on situations and strategy (again, once he proved himself once or twice to be standup but she unlike most would give him the chance).

7 Days: Ryder’s father gave the twins informal N7 training in the past. How did Ryder feel about this (pressured, resentful, grateful, motivated, overworked, excited, etc)? What are their feelings on “N7” as a symbol? How do they relate to it, if at all?

scotty was excited to be trained by his father not only because he knew such training from a man with his father’s status and credentials was invaluable, but because it meant quality father/son time. the training was rigorious and scotty did feel his dad was pushing for him to meet impossible standards but he usually just commiserated with his sister over the physical aspects of the training. sara was always more about the practical/scientific/mental focus training lessons.

8 Days: How does Ryder feel about aliens? Are they uncomfortable, wary, intrigued, curious, intimidated, not bothered, etc? In the Milky Way, where did they stand on humanity’s place in galactic society - Earth first, Terra Firma, human superiority, peaceful cooperation, pro-galactic integration & unity, etc? How will they feel upon discovering that there are sentient alien races in Andromeda?

the twins are very much for peaceful cooperation, galactic integration, and unity among the milky way species. they are both curious about any new species they will encounter. sara would much rather be a sideline observer to study and research the new races while scotty would like to be more involved, get to know them, create alliances, work together to better all races in andromeda.

9 Days: Did Ryder have any notable friends or connections in the Milky Way? How about past relationships? Which friendship or relationship was the most significant to them?

he might miss a friend that has been with him since they met as alliance recruits and possibly a few of his crewmates from his last deployment, but since sara will be with him, that is all that really matters. she is his person. any past romantic intrests are no longer on his radar to begin with so they will not be missed. Mom Ryder would be missed if she elected to stay in the milky way.

10 Days: Will Ryder ever miss the Milky Way? What things and places will they miss most?

if mom is not involved on the initiative and stays in the milky way (or died at some point and is laid to rest there)  that is who he would miss, and the only reason he might ever want to return. if he does not find romance in andromeda, he might long for the comforts of his home galaxy and chance for finding a familiar partner with more variety than those who joined up with the AI.

11 Days: Once in Andromeda, what are Ryder’s goals? What drives them?

i think this depends more on exactly what is happening in the storyline. he is going to want to help fix any immediate problems that he feels need to be addressed and then will want to get back on task with the original mission plan and find/secure a new world. he just wants to do his job.

12 Days: How will Ryder feel upon waking up from cryo? Relieved, excited, scared, impatient to get going, lost, etc.

mostly excited. thankful that they survived such a process and long journey. i can picture him heading directly for the nearest window as soon as possible just to glimpse the new galaxy, staring in wonder for a minute or two, then quickly going to find (and hug) his sister, then father.

13 Days: Why did Ryder join the Alliance military? Later on, what were Ryder’s reasons for signing up to the Andromeda Initiative? Were they seeking adventure (or glory, or a challenge), wanting a new start, running from something, following their family, trying to secure a future for humanity, did they simply feel railroaded into it, etc. 

joining the alliance was expected of the twins. they had talent, skills, and great potential that needed to be put to service in the military, for humanity, the galaxy. attempts to make dad proud, fill his shoes. signing on with the initiative was scotty’s chance to finally stay with his father on one of his great adventures. he thought he might have a better opportunity to really prove himself out in andromeda. sara saw it more as a great challenge and wasn’t ready to let her sibling and father have all the fun.

14 Days: Describe some important or formative events in Ryder’s history. How did these impact and shape them?

Ryder was affected by his father’s long absences during his childhood years. he wanted to sit down and have family dinner more often, to come home from school and share about his day, participate in a take-your-child-to-work-day. all scotty wanted was his dad to be home, stay home, to not have to worry that he might never come home. he knew his dad and his work were important to not just the ryder family, but humanity and the galaxy as a whole and thus felt guilty for wanting him to stay.

15 Days: Delve into the Ryder family background - how is/was their relationship with their father, sibling and mother? Do they get along, hero worship, close twin connection, sibling rivalry, was it strained, was it distant, etc.

close with his twin. he is closer with dad than mom because dad tried to take him under his wing, but scotty feels distant from him, resenting that he will ever live up to dad’s greatness. this might have been reduced if Alec hadn’t been away for much of scotty’s childhood.

16 Days: How would Ryder define their sexuality?

when it comes to humans he is straight and bi with turians, but i think he would prefer an asari partner.

17 Days: List some of Ryder’s favorite things - colors, food, music, etc. Is there anything of this nature that they hate? Do they have any hobbies or skills outside of combat?

he likes the color green and is a burger and fries kind of guy. he turns his nose up at most seafood. has always wanted a dog or pet varren, but birds are scary. outside of combat he enjoys movies and tinkering with electronics (though he’s not all that good at it) and doesn’t mind working out or going for a run. likes rugby, hockey, and lacrosse, not a strong swimmer.

18 Days: What qualities does Ryder like and dislike in other people? Are there any things they particularly appreciate or can’t stand?

scotty is all for people who work hard and put forth their best effort. he dislikes those who create drama for the sake of drama. he greatly appreciates those with a good sense of humor, especially when they can lighten an intense moment.

19 Days: Where would Ryder fall in the classic Paragon/Renegade morality system? What would their D&D alignment be? If you know their personality type in any personality typing systems (such as MBTI and Enneagram - you can find various type descriptions and tests using Google), feel free to add and discuss them here.

mostly paragon, neutral good, istp (the craftsman)

20 Days: What first impressions does Ryder tend to give people? Do they have any ‘odd’ or specific mannerisms, habits or other quirks? How do they present and carry themselves?

scotty is a little on the quiet side, especially next to his sister. he is very contemplative and will occasionally ‘drift off’, lost in thought. has a habit of rocking up/down on his feet, heel to toes, when standing still for too long. he keeps a low profile, but will make his presence known when he has a point to make. is friendly when engaged in conversation, personable and very nearly charming.

21 Days: What are Ryder’s personality traits? Describe 5 strengths and 5 flaws.

scotty feels overshadowed by his father, that he can never live up to Alec’s example, nor everyone’s expectations.

he is slightly embarrassed by his biotics, as the only member of his family with the powers. he feels like its ‘cheating’ to use them and thus hasn’t fully realized his potential.

loyal and protective of his friends, squad, and family, especially twin, she is his ‘person’. also generous to others, helpful.

he is adventurous, which is both a strength and a flaw as he can get caught up and become slightly careless from time to time. perhaps a product of his youth, naivity, and inexperience.

22 Days: Will Ryder craft? What are you most excited about crafting? Do you have any names in mind already for weapons?

not obsessively, but enough to keep the crew equipped as best as necessary. as long as i can craft a shotgun ammo mod i am usually happy. i am generally lame in my naming unless inspired in the moment. maybe scotty will be more creative and/or attached to his weapons to name them.

23 Days: Which weapons or category of weapons will Ryder prefer? Describe their favorite loadout. 

shotgun and assault rifle make the most sense. though if ryder ends up attracting trouble the way shepard does, i could see him eventually becoming the type to always carry a pistol on his person at all times.

24 Days: Which squadmates do you think will best compliment Ryder’s combat style? Alternatively, who do you plan to take out most in the field?

the way i wanna play i think it would make sense that any mate would pair well with ryder as he would suit his style to compliment their strengths and pick up any slack off their weaknesses. a sniper or someone more tech heavy might be the best match for him though, so probably vetra! and/or jaal. liam and drack would maybe be a fun team for a big all out fight.

25 Days: Describe Ryder’s favorite combat style. Bioware call Peebee a “gunslinger” and describe Liam as a “close-range fighter” - how would you describe Ryder’s combat role/strengths? What are some of their favorite biotic/tech/other abilities?

a strategist. going to try to play it smart, study the field, make every shot and ability count, and try to set up some wicked combos. my actual play-style is screaming and panicked button mashing so i’m not confident this will work out well. i’d love to play around with biotic charge and throw though. beyond that, it all depends on how combat feels in game and exactly how powers work and evolve and interact and how bonuses play out.

26 Days: Do you have a specific class profile or mix of class profiles in mind for Ryder?

i loved playing vanguard in the past and will most likely go that route again, but it would be nice to take a few points in some tech skills to supplement the biotics and combat. i was always annoyed that not everyone had the fancy overload app on their omnitools, surely that would have been standard issue for every alliance solider.

27 Days: Are you going to use the default appearance for Ryder’s sibling or customize them? Describe your ideas for their sibling’s and father’s physical appearance.

i will probably check out the female hair options for sis because even though the ponytail makes logical sense and i like the face framing layers i am not totally feeling it on her. love her nose though so that stays.

28 Days: Are you going to use the default appearance or create a custom Ryder? If custom, describe your Ryder’s physical appearance (hair color, eye color, skin color, height, weight, facial features, any scars or tattoos, racial origin, etc). If you have art and/or a face-claim, feel free to add them here.

first round will be default i think, maybe a few minor tweaks just to make him mine.

if i get around to ever playing sis erin ryder i picture her as blonde but i like to see what the character creator has available first. i would rather design a character then name them.

29 Days: What is your Ryder’s name? Why did you pick this name - is there a meaning or origin story behind it? Do they go by any nicknames? What would you name their sibling, father and mother if you were able to choose?

i’ve come around to embrace him as ‘scotty’ (can’t handle ‘scott’ just yet though) so i am going to go with that most likely.

i did brainstorm some family names before anything was announced and came up with parents Jason and Triss and possible twin combos of Mason and Shelby or Ethan and Erin.

30 Days: Will you play SisRyder or BroRyder first? Why? How does your Ryder define their gender?

broRyder, default scotty probably. I just kinda felt more of a connection to him right off the bat (probably because his introduction was more substantial with a fuller trailer as compared to a mere glimpse of sara). i am also afraid that if i make my first ryder female as i did with shepard, i will again end up with more female characters and neglect to play a male. mostly though i was worried that bioware would horribly kill or maim your sibling and since losing my own brother, also named scott, i am not sure i am ready for that kind of parallel just yet.

1 Day too long: In Citadel space, AIs are illegal. How does Ryder feel about Artificial Intelligence? Are they wary or afraid, are they pro-AI, do they consider AIs to have personhood, etc? How does Ryder feel about SAM and their constant connection to it? Are they glad for the upgrade, do they find it invasive, have mixed feelings, etc?

He is pro AI, they are people too, but is wary of purposeful, intended AI creation/experimentation. if you accidentally create one, treat it well, but no need to immediately mass create any. He is of course fond of SAM but does wish for occasional separation, sometimes to the point of ignoring input from SAM until he can come to his own conclusions first.

2 Days too long: How does Ryder feel about being thrust into the role of humanity’s Pathfinder (burdened, honored, rewarded, excited, etc)? Are they confident or unsure about this? How will they cope?

Scotty is a little unsure, doubtful and hesitant at first, but will come to the conclusion that he really is fit to lead, that no one else would be able to do any better or any worse than he himself. He recognizes it as his chance to prove himself, to live up to his father, and he will not fail. he will seek reassurance from his sister and SAM immediately, followed by friends and other crew, and be bolstered by a few successful missions and any praise from other authorities and the other pathfinders. he is going to cope by either tinkering with something to relax and then going to for a swim (if there wasn’t some kind of pool on the nexus or something i would be pissed as a space citizen) to workout his frustrations (he is not a strong swimmer but for some reason doing so and working so hard makes him feel slightly better).