#and now the old blue extension doesn't work

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part two

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

m.list

It only took minutes to get you into the operating room, Rafe had made sure of that – doctors on stand by as you were rolled quickly inside. He continued compressions as his colleagues worked around you, attaching a ventilator quickly to your lungs and cords and wires to your chest as your beautiful satin pale blue dress was cut away from your body and its arch nemesis cerulean blue surgical garb was draped over the different sections of your body that you were bleeding from. Rafe darted from the scene, rushing into the scrub room. He washed his hands quickly, but dutifully in his pursuit to get back to you. Jenni, his favorite nurse, helped him into his surgical clothes quickly, sliding his arms through the long blue sleeves and tying the back of it. It was funny, really, the way it resembled the structure of a hospital gown; one in the same with his patients in that way. As he made his way beside you, his gloved hand found its home against your hair and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“You hold on for me, sweetheart, okay? I’m going to make it all better. I just need you to fight a little bit.” 

He said softly as he stood back upright and watched Jenni work the portable x-ray machine across you in search of any cracks amidst the shell of your body. 

“What are we looking at Cameron?” 

Dr. Richardson, Rafe’s long time friend and colleague asked as he looked over Jenni’s shoulders at the x-rays on the computer. 

“Extensive bone damage to the left side, specifically the femur, pelvis, and kneecap. She’ll need more than one surgery. I need to stabilize her leg for now. There’s possible soft tissue damage, she’ll need an MRI later to be sure.” 

He replied and Richardson nodded in his direction, understanding that Rafe meant you’d need more treatment if and when they could get you safely out of the woods. 

—

Some time later, Rafe stood over your body – cold, sterile, medical instruments in his hands as he dutifully worked to put your broken bones back together. He had watched on for hours as his colleagues repaired the internal bleeding in your abdomen and your brain. His body still remained canopied in seafoam colored scrubs underneath the blue surgical garb that he was required to wear in the operating room and his feet adorned in the best tennis shoes money could buy. He had a routine for surgery and over the last two years it had become a sort of safe haven for him – it was the only place that he didn’t think about her. The routine – simple in principle – his feet viciously traveling the white floors speckled with dots of gray as he rushed patient after patient in, the dressings, the blood, the practice of the procedures he performed – it all grounded him, down to the very essence of washing the remnants from his body when the performance was over. Wash, rinse, repeat, wash, rinse, repeat – he melodically spoke over himself after every discontinuation of the processes, whether the outcome was good or bad. He whispered reassurances to every person – the same ones he had whispered to you – though he never knew which way it would go. They went into the operating room, never knowing if they’d come out. The routine of it all had saved him, but all of that was washed away, like water under the bridge, as your blood trickled off of his hands. He closed his eyes for a moment and wondered if the outcome would be the same, if after all his efforts, would you end up just like she did. Would he be unable to save you, just like he couldn’t save her? 

“Paddles now! She’s crashing!” 

Dr. Richardson yelled, as he stood across from Rafe who was tending to the fractures you had sustained from the accident. 

“Charge to 350. Clear!” 

The shock sent electricity through your body, making your back arch off of the table, but still you continued to flatline. He did it again, your body responding in the same way – jerking off the table – yet, still, you flatlined and for Rafe it was visceral. The sound of the machine echoing that horrible constant beep, signaling that there was no life connected to it – it gutted him. 

“It may be time to call it, guys.” 

Dr. Richardson muttered in defeat to which Rafe found repulsive. 

“Absolutely not!” 

Rafe’s voice boomed across your body, as he took over. No one seemed to notice the crack in it as he did his best to keep his tears at bay. Dr. Richardson simply stepped aside, he knew your injuries were too bad, there was no way you were going to survive. But, he also knew that Rafe had to feel like he did everything he possibly could. He had to know that history didn’t repeat itself because of him this time. 

“Charge to 400! Clear!” 

Rafe was the one to send the electricity through your body this time and as he waited for your heart to start, the way that he knew it would, the seconds felt like hours and just when he was about to give up — the miniscule beat sent a series of beeps across the screen. 

“There you go, pretty girl. I knew you could do it.” 

He whispered above you, before getting back to his position and continuing his work on your bones, giving Dr. Richardson room to patch up the bleeding of your internal organs. 

-

Rafe stood outside of your hospital room, looking in on you every so often, he was pretending to do his nightly charting at the nurses station and every time he put his pen to the paper something stopped him. You were all he could think about, the way your eyes pleaded for his help in the emergency department, the way you said his name when you asked him if you were going to die, and where in the hell your family must be – didn’t they care? He finished off the chart he was doing and when he opened up the next file folder, your name appeared. Y/N Y/L/N. ‘Pretty name for a pretty girl,’ he thought. He wasn’t distracted as he listed your injuries, described the incident, and signed off on the surgery he had completed. He wasn’t distracted because this was about you. 

“How’s she doing?” 

Rafe looked up from your chart to the voice of his scrub nurse, Jennifer, who had helped operate on you. Everyone in the operating room knew that Rafe had grown attached to you, though, unsure why, he had never met you before, when he looked into your eyes, something was just different. Jenni knew if he didn’t save you he wouldn’t live with himself, he couldn’t live himself. So, she was really asking more for his sake than her own. 

“She’s doing okay, right now. Not out of the woods yet. We’ll know more when she wakes up. Did you find any family?” 

He questioned, never removing his eyes from the document held within the folder that he was writing on. 

“Mother in Georgia, but can’t come up because of ‘business obligations’. Real mom of the year type.”

Jenni said, rolling her eyes. 

“Her daughter could die and she’s worried about business obligations?” 

He asked incredulously. 

“You know the type well, Rafe.” 

He scoffed at the thought of his father doing the exact same thing if it were him who was in this situation. 

“I don’t know, Rafe. Nothing surprises me anymore. So, give me a run down.”

She replied. 

“Broken ribs, torn acl, whiplash, shattered kneecap, broken pelvis, concussion, broken femur, internal bleeding, brain bleed – you name it, she’s got it. We’ve got her in a medically induced coma to give her body some time to repair itself and if she wakes up, we’ll go back in and do more surgery. Truth be told – she’s a fighter, I don't know how she’s survived this long.” 

He said with an exasperated sigh, knowing the inevitable was coming, simply preparing himself for it. Your injuries – they were a lot to heal from and he knew that firsthand.  

“I believe she has Dr. Rafe Cameron to thank for that.” 

She gave him a soft smile and he returned it. 

“You’re a good friend, Jenni and you’re way too kind.” 

He reached out, placing his palm on her shoulder and gave her a pat on her back.

“I mean it, Rafe. They would’ve called time of death if you hadn’t spoken up. You should go in there and sit with her, it won’t hurt anything.” 

She nodded her head toward the door of your room and he shrugged. 

“It’s not really my place.” 

He spoke, but it came out barely audible, almost a whisper. She heard him and she knew what he meant. 

“Maybe not, but she has nobody coming for her and I know you feel connected to her. Don’t try to fight it to protect yourself. If she dies, it’ll hurt and it’ll be sad. But, if she doesn't, do you really want to live with the fact that you could’ve been holding her hand when she woke up? Do you really want her to wake up to no one being there? She’s not Molly, Rafe and I know you better than that.” 

Jenni left Rafe to think about what she had said while she tended to another patient. She came out of the room to find Rafe, evidently making a decision and she watched him from afar as he gingerly entered the threshold of your room, sitting down in the plastic chair next to you. She smiled to herself, knowing that he was in deep, deeper than even he was aware of. 

—

masterlist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7 @wtfdudesblog

[coffeebooksrain18]

Why can’t team black stans accept strong boys are bastards after more than three years?

I am a bastard myself and its really weird how TB push it under the carpet: just now I came across a tb stan STILL whinging that in the books it was more ambiguous they were bastards versus in the show its obvious. But that’s not true, it was obvious in the books too. Their features were described in detail for that reason. IDK I get very xenophobic vibes from black stans. Most of them are blood purists who dunk on the greens for being half targaryen but they cannot do to the strong boys at risk of being called hypocrites hence they blur the truth of them being illegitimate strongs by spreading false information from the books. But it’s SO obvious they overhype the strong boys yet hate they’re bastards and not true’ targaryens. TB fans unironically are more anti bastard than alicent hightower and catelyn stark combined :p

They truly are hypocrites when it comes to the Strong boys and the fact they are in fact bastards in both canons. Also I don't understand it either, I've been accused as being Bastardphobic to which I told the person I have two siblings born/conceived out of wedlock and I don't care. I find it more odd how they want to use the word Bastard in its traditional sense for modern times when bow its just an insult like Bitch.

And yes the Strong boys were bastards in book. We have an interview of GrrM where he says if he could in the future he would build more on Rhaenyra's relationship with HARWIN STRONG, and how it effected her relationship with Laenor and by extension the Velaryons. But the fact that they still cling to this is baffling when the author himself pretty clearly stated they are bastards.

I've seen many pull out that Baratheon black hair mixed with Targaryen white could make brown. Or that they got their hair color from Aemma since she didn't have a clear description in book. Which all these are fine, if they are legitimate I would lean with the Aemma one sine the Baratheon theory doesn't even work with the world. Like GrrM has drilled his genetics for this world into us and yet they pull stuff like that out of their asses and act like it's Canon.

Also that theory dies quickly when you point out neither, House Targaryen, House Velaryon, House Barathon, or House Arryn are described as having brown eyes or pug noses. House Targaryen and House Velaryon have purple eyes. House Baratheon has blue. And House Arryn is aid to have blue to grey eyes (though the do lean grey I believe). House Baratheon is said to have strong features and wide frames. House Arryn are aid to have softer features and pale skin. None of this correlates to the Strong Boys brown hair, brown eyes, or pug noses.

Another argument they use is the fact GrrM didn't really describe House Strong besides one person who was blood and blue eyed. But that is one person, they very well could've gotten those looks from their Mother or Harwin could've gotten his looks from his Mother.

Also this whole thing peeves me since TGs get so much htw for theorizing Alicent had blonde hair since King Jaehaerys thought she was his daughter Saera. Though I don't believe this one myself I think it is more reasonable and set in the Canon than th idea the Strong Boys are bastards.

They forget many things GrrM has made clear, Rhaenyra is inspired and a parallel to Cersei, three illegitimate children, demanding they sit the throne, are only two that are clear to see. And yet MANY TBs hate Cersei. If you look at old posts about Rhaenyra before the show came out many of them are stating this fact and how obvious it is.

And yes many are Blood Purists. I cannot tell you how many posts I've seen talking about how the greens and Strong boys have the same amount of Targaryen blood but the Strong Boys is better since they have the blood of th First Men. Also almost every Daemyra I come across (and I bet these are some of the worsts) make posts on how it was Rhaeyra that gave Daemon "Pure Valyrain Sons". They forget Laena is Valyrian. Her Mother is a Targaryen and her Father is from House Velaryon, a VALYRIAN HOUSE. which only makes one wonder why they are so obsessed with the Valyrian Targaryen blood, like yeah Dragons cool but we know fem Nettles you don't have to be a Targaryen or Dragonseed to claim a Dragon. Though it probably makes it a lot easier. It makes me icky since so may act like they love the Velaryons and yt they diminish their part/stories in the Dance and all around really. It's extremely racist and needs called out more.

And finally let me say this, since we're talking about Blood Purity I figured I would point this out since I'm tired of seeing people say the Targtowers and the Strong Boys have the same amount of Targaryen blood as a way to belittle the greens.

Aemma Arryn was half Targaryen, half Arryn. And that means if we say Viserys was a pure Targaryen (he wasn't but let's just say he was) Rhaenyra 25% Arryn and 75% Targaryen.

The Strong Boys would have 50% Strong, 12.5% Arryn, and 37.5% Targaryen blood.

And then th Targtowers. Half Targaryen so 50%, and Half Hightower yet again 50%.

So actually for the TBs who act like the Strong Boys are "better" for having "more Targaryen blood". The don't in fact Rhaena and Baela have more Targaryen blood than them. But they only ever call them the Velaryon twins. Yet another show of Hypocrisy from TB.

Sorry for going on a rant as you can see I'm very passionate about this subject Anon.

Much Love!

[insomniaflarrow]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @elodiah! :D

I've done some extensive plotting and realised that I have to cut a massive chunk out of my chapter to make everything work, so instead of letting it go to waste I'm dropping some of it below the cut!

Loki nods curtly, miffed expression dissolving back into careful neutrality, rehearsed. "I don’t want to fight. I’m just trying to put this in a way that makes my stance clear, but I'm afraid it will likely go against your own."

"I'm guessing from what we've talked about that your stance is I should give up on you," Mobius mumbles.

The stream is the only answer he receives, and it's enough. When he takes in the sight of him, here and not here, he drinks it in as if it might be the final time. The downtilt of his chin as he angles his eyes away. The fold of the cloak over his shoulders, falling down and away into nothingness near his knees, the end of the timelines just about visible, fraying into the edges of his clothing. The way he's placed his hands in his pockets, elbows tucked close as if it would be a sin to take up more space, to overflow in any manner beyond the small illusion he contains his entire being in.

"Are you going to let me stop you?" Mobius asks. He doesn't fight his case on the leaving, not on the technical side of things. He lost that argument long ago, and has been holding the front of an onslaught solo.

Loki presses his lips together. "I don't know." His voice is a small thing, bravado laid to waste.

"You said that the only thing that might've stopped you first time was me asking you not to go." Had Loki been here, Mobius might have made a grab for him, held his shoulders so he couldn't vanish, so he couldn't slip through his fingers again. But he isn't. So he doesn't. "Now I’m asking you not to go."

If anything, Loki seems physically torn by indecision. Mobius can't help but feel like he's the one taking him apart, desperately wrenching him in the hopes he'll step over the chasm and join him on the same side.

"I wouldn't actually be going anywhere. I'd still be in the Tree. It's not... it's not death."

"Isn't it? You're resigning yourself to existing alone, forever. Sounds like dying to me."

"I exist as much in the form of the universe as here. I'd still be with you."

"But not this you."

"Not this me."

The sun has sunk less than an inch across the sky, but the world seems less bright, a deep blue taking the place of pink. Above the canopy, the clouds Mobius saw earlier have finally crept their way overhead, casting their grove in darkness.

"I'd remove myself into another pocket dimension, to throw He-Who-Remains off, and converse with your TVA department within that time. When we are satisfied that we have rid ourselves of that threat, at least for the time being, I will remain as custodian of the Tree for the foreseeable future. Forever," he reiterates, shutting down all Mobius' old arguments about long-distant solutions that could crop up.

"I still don't understand why, Loki. I don't... I don't get it." He pinches the bridge of his nose, battling the tension headache threatening to override any inhibitions he's managed to retain.

Loki's expression has softened. "I'm worried about you."

And, oh, Mobius did not expect that. He shakes his head. "What –"

"We've both been existing like this for so long, I think you've forgotten that it doesn't have to be like this. This... perpetual cycle of goodbyes. Or pretending it's not a goodbye. You will save me from the Tree, and something will draw me back." His smile is distinctly marked with woe. "I don't want to keep pretending not to say farewell forever."

"And I don't want to say it in the first place. Loki, I don't know what I'd do without you. I've never –" he chokes back something that definitely isn't his voice threatening to give out on him, a decade's worth of grief finally finding its home, "– I've never had to do this without you. I don't know how."

The corners of Loki's eyes crinkle, ever so soft. "That's the problem. You’ve got to try. I owe you that chance.”

It slams into him, all at once, a comprehension of where this is going to end, and elicits an intolerable kind of fear. The kind that drives to deliration. “No,” he says, as though wounded. He repeats himself, this time incensed, his rage building and suspending somewhere between ribcage and his tongue, because Loki is still blinking at him sadly, entire face cast in fondness. “You’re not leaving.”

Loki’s expression doesn’t falter, anchored in endearment. Mobius can’t tear his eyes away, even as he continues, so it feels maddeningly like he’s tearing into someone who would let him do so forever. His voice levels off, dangerously calm. “I’m not letting you go. I’m not.”

No pressure tagging @blackbirdofasgard @kcscribbler @lokimobius @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @megglesthegeek @mobiusismycomfortcharacter @thosegayoldmen plus open tag for anyone who'd like to share :D

[ofsunnydays-and-moonlitnights]

Of Playful Days and Silent Nights

Chapter 1: A Robot Teacher?

You look up from your HoloScreen and the work your grading as a knock sounds through your room.

“Come in?” It must be one of your fellow teachers here to bug you, you assume.

You stand immediately as the Headmaster clears his throat. He's always demands respect he doesn't deserve.

“How can I help you sir?”

“Would you mind working a little late tonight?”

“I could make that work sir, what extra work do you have in mind?”

“Something quite special. I have a solution for the nursery class.”

“Oh? A new teacher is joining us?” What does that have to do with you?

“Something like that. Just follow and you'll see.”

He leads you into the nursery class. Sat there half out of its box is a robot? A dark yellow robot that resembles the sun if it was personified and dressed as a court jester of long ago.

“Oh is this a new model? I've never seen one like this.” you ask but as you inspect it closer you notice the layer of dust covering it… now you feel silly.

“On the contrary, This is a vintage animatronic, A fazbear original.”

“Oh wow.” Fazbear rings a bell in your head but you’ve never really been big into the whole robot industry all you know are from the adverts on the Holovision if you’re being honest you weren’t all that keen on them. You know Mr. Moosifer is very into his vintage robots though so it must be a big deal.

“Someone bought a warehouse and found it full of these old animatronics. Would have bought them all if I had the budget, they were all far too expensive. I charged this one on the school account, He was a daycare attendant, apparently has a security mode as well, perfect since I almost had to hire a security guard since the graffiti incident last week, who even sells spray paint these days. Anyway, Two birds one stone, and it’ll be cheaper in the long run.” he looks so smug and full of himself. “At least I can say I technically own a vintage robot,” he laughs. “Wait till the others at the digital Golfing Alley hear about this.”

Oh finally he stopped talking...

“And what do you want my help with?”

“Clean it and reboot it would you. It might need a debrief or something. I don’t care how long it takes but I dismissed the substitute so have it ready for the morning class.” He hands you a very thicc manual book.

“Sure thing.” you smile, the most fake smile you could muster.

He leaves. You hate being such a suck up to that old man. The new powerplant isn’t the only reason Patrick left in a hurry.

It’s just you and the currently lifeless robot. You hope it’s lifeless, robots are lifeless right? It looks like it's looking at you... If its vintage could it be haunted?

You’ve heard of some people thinking robots have life, some going as far to advocate for robot equality and rights, others even pushing for robot marriage, that's just how far advanced AI is you suppose, either that or the worlds just that delusional, you can’t imagine an antique like this being so advanced, you doubt it can even keep up with the children nevermind teach them. Bur your experience with robots isn't extensive at all since the cheaper models you've met in the lower city aren't even advanced like at all, most are just glorified auto machinery.

You sigh, enough stalling...

"Better check this manual for how to clean this thing." You grumble.

You need this job, you remind yourself.

You pick up the book, it’s heavy. Under the title that reads ‘The Daycare Attendant’ sits a picture of two similar robots, one blue and starry the other a match to the one in front of you, it must be part of a series or something?

You flick through looking for cleaning instructions. Finally you find them.

‘Instructions on cleaning the Sun daycare attendant.’

That's got to be this one right? He’s definitely sun themed.

‘Use Fazbear SunShine gentle multi surface cleaner, or SunShine soap for tough dirt and grime. If these are not available please order them at Fazbear.org/shop/cleaning/dca using your staff assigned code. In the meantime these suitable substitutes should be used (in order of most suitable to least): SunShine bubble bath, SunShine hand soap, SunShine shampoo, SunShine laundry soap, SunShine dish soap, SunShine wood polish, any SleepyTime products suitable for the moon DCA, regular dish soap, or any Gentle multi surface cleaner. Caution avoid harsh chemicals to avoid damaging the paint or irritating the skin of any children coming into contact with the daycare attendant. None of the SunShine kitchen or toilet and bathroom lines of cleaning products are suitable for cleaning the DCA, Never use bleach. Always use warm water and a gentle cloth or sponge. Never use a scourer or brush to clean the DCA. Elbow grease is all you need.’

You're curious about this Fazbear sunshine cleaner so you Holo it on your Holowatch. The website doesn’t exist but you can find old posts about the nostalgia and recipes that give a similar smell. Oh the channel NostalgicScents has a few bottles of the laundry soap on sale. Oh ouch a million credits for a small bottle of 10 units is ridiculous. It is a vintage product so maybe you shouldn't be surprised.

What were the alternatives? Dish soap or multi surface cleaner…?

You’re pretty sure there's some dish soap in the cafeteria so you head in search of some. You find said soap and a washing up bowl, filling it with warm water and bringing it all the way back to the nursery classroom.

Re-thinking your plan, it might not be best to wash him on the colourful dinosaur carpet so you instead decide to drag it into the little kids bathrooms.

It's heavy and lanky, it bends in way too many places making it difficult to keep a grip. But you manage and lean it against the bath tub....

You face palm at the realisation that there's a bath in here to clean up any bad messes the kids get into, odd for a school you know but this was pre-K nursery. Toddlers had a way of making the worst messes.

You place your bowl in the bath and using the dish cloth start wiping the dust and grime off the robot. You wonder if it’ll even work, you hope it’s waterproof, the Manual told you to use soapy water so it can’t be wrong could it, did soap and water mean something different back then? You shake away your worries, It’s too late now, the worst that could happen is you get fired, that doesn't sound too bad about now. You would have left this town a long time ago if you had the savings, then again... you’d rather not be homeless.

You wipe away the grime on its face revealing a bright yellow. It looks friendly if not ever so slightly creepy. You move onto its arms, underneath the dust on its right arm is a series of numbers carved into the metal, it looks like your birthday? The month and day that is. What a weird coincidence it must be a serial number of some kind. You finish cleaning it up and turn back to the manual to know how to turn it on. You follow the instructions, taking a small piece of metal from the shoulder and using it to press the button through a hole in the back of its head just as the book had told you to.

Start up commencing. . .

Connecting to Faz network….

No Faz network detected…

Connecting to the local network…

Connected…

Estimated storage time 50 years…

Please wait as calibrations commence.

“Wow…” 50 years you think to yourself. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was vintage. It should teach history class, not the nursery. Maybe he’d know what fish were like, were there fish in the wild back then. You shrug, who knows.

Calibrations complete…

Rebooting…

Rebooting…

“S-starshine?” it stammered.

“Huh?” you wonder… Is that it’s Catchphrase?

Its voice was masculine but very chipper with the metallic robotic tone earlier robots were known for. It seems confused.

“Oh… oh um... Hello new friend!” its voice had a surprising amount of expression.

“Hi…” you hesitantly reply.

“You look familiar…” It taps its chin as it thinks? “Have you ever visited the daycare before?” it adjusts its position crossing its legs.

“Nope, not me.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry, new friend. Let me introduce myself, My name is Sun, you can call me Sunny if you like but never Sundrop.” It points its finger up. “That’s the line of sweets named after me, not the other way.” it smiles at you, it seems too warm for any robot you’ve ever met. “Would you like one?” it reaches into its pocket. “Oh I’m out, sorry I’ll have to go restock.” It stands about to walk around before pausing. It’s ever so tall, it must be at least 6ft tall.

“Yeah about that.”

“Where… Where am I?” Its tone was darker, almost worried. It steps out of the bathroom into the class.

“Welcome to Angel Valley Primary school?” you shrug.

“Where’s the daycare?” It clutches its hands in front of itself… anxiously? “Where’s the pizza plex?”

“Closed? I assume? You’ve been in storage for like 50 years.”

“50 years!?” It rubs its right arm. “That’s so long…” It drums its fingers on its teeth. “Do you work for fazbear entertainment? Are you opening up a new daycare? It's a little small, where are the play structures? I'm not ready for a new handler, when are the kids coming? Where will they have naptime? There's not even a stage…”

You watch as it paces and rambles, it almost looks like a panic attack or something. Surely a robot can’t have one of those right.

“Hey!” you call out. “Stop that.”

It stops and looks at you, practically shaking as it tries to stay still.

“There’s no daycare, or fazbear whatever. You have a new prerogative as a teacher at this school.”

It sits, closing its eyes and takes a breath? Maybe it's cooling its system or something. Does overheating make a robot jittery?

It starts counting.

“It has anxiety? of course it does.” That’s just your luck…. Wait... Unless it's a count down???

It puts it’s hands down. “Excuse me, that was very rude.” it's tone miffed but still polite, the kind of voice you’d give a parent if you were allowed to correct them.

Wait… you said that out loud….

“I’d rather not be called IT. Although as an animatronic we have no gender.” he says with air quotes. “We prefer the pronouns he/them. Thank you.”

Great, the robot has pronouns. How much more human can they get?

“Surely if you're from the future you should have more respect for robots by now, I’d expect robots would have become much more sophisticated in the last 50 years.” They turned away crossing their arms almost as if he was in a strop.

“Not the ones you see on the streets of the lower city. Most sophisticated robot I’ve seen is a store stacker.”

“What's one of those?” he tilts his head curiously.

“Exactly what it sounds like. It stocks shelves, if you're lucky you might meet one sophisticated enough that it can direct you to the soup aisle in the soup store.”

“Oh…”

“The rich in the upper city have shiny new robot assistants that are almost human-like. But your average Joe like me probably won’t ever get to see one.”

“I see…”

“But you should still be more polite.”

“You're right, I'm Sorry.”

“Thank you.” he sighs.

“Soooo uh… Are you calmer now?”

“I guess.” he sighs.

“Good because I need to show you around and let you know how to do your job before I can go home tonight.”

He stands up. His expression is now blank. “Alright.”

“So this is your class, you’ll be teaching the nursery or Pre-school class, most of your students are two to four years old, they do half days, so you’ll have group one come in during the morning and group two in the afternoon. We do learn by play here, It can’t be that different from daycare work. Basically entertain the kids. Make sure they don’t unalive themselves.”

He nods. “Where are the arts and craft supplies? Do we have paper and Oh, tell me we have glitter glue.” he looks over the colourful room, looking at the bookshelves and the toy boxes.

“No... Art supplies like that are pretty scarce, we keep them only for the fourth grade. We let the little kids play art games on they’re SlimNote jr though” you take an electronic notebook and show him.

He looks disappointed, dejected even.

“Plus it’s less to clean up.”

That doesn't seem to cheer him up.

“So no finger painting?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh my stars… you don’t know?” he drags his hands down his face.

“You’ll have to tell me another time we should move on.”

“Right.”

“So the room we were in earlier was the littles bathroom, it includes three big kid toilets and a handful of potties, there is a bath for emergencies but you have to have parents and kids consent for bathtime, most say sure others would rather let their kid sit in his own poop for the rest of the day, but anyway, moving on, your desk is there, the toys there, you can see it all.”

You gesture for him to follow as you lead him out of the room. You turn left to your class.

“This is my class.”

He looks around your space themed classroom and his eyes sparkle.

“Here I teach the first and second grade English, Maths and Space science.”

“Are these actually from space?” he asks as he looks over your wall of space trinkets, three shelves and a table are all adorned with rocks, crystals and other trinkets.

“Eeeek.” he jumps, “it moved.” He points to a tank.

“That’s our little alien specimen, We call him Greg, he’s a space slug.”

The slug-like creature covered in fluorescent colours munches on a piece of metal that you fed him earlier.

“And yes most of these came from space explorations, though some are only replicas, every school has a collection ours is pretty small if i’m being honest.”

“Wow.”

You can’t help but yawn, normally you’d be home by now having eaten your rations and gone to bed. “Can we finish here? You probably don’t need to know any more than this but you can wander around tonight unless you need to recharge or something. Just don’t touch anything. Oh and the headmaster said something about night guard or security or something. Can you do that or whatever.”

“Sure thing…” he rubs the back of his neck.

“Cool the kids will be in at 9 AM. I’ll see you at about half seven though.”

“Okie dokie.”

With that you collected your things and headed home.

This part of the city was almost quiet, the usual hustle and bustle reduced to about a dozen vehicles including your single drive, at least there wasn’t much traffic. Your little two door, one seater car was great, it was sort of old but reliable. You finally arrive at your building, it was one of many in your sector. In sector 10 they build as tall as they can and then crammed as many tiny apartments as possible in there. Your building was nice enough to spare a little room for an elevator you know of many who couldn't be bothered. Your apartment if you could call it that was on the 9th floor you couldn’t imagine how many steps that would be. Imagine bringing your food order up all that way Ooof. You make your way past dozens of other apartment doors until you arrive at yours. You unlock it with your finger print and step inside. It really wasn’t much but it was yours. You’re welcomed by your tiny shoe box of a kitchen, you head into the door to your left, your bathroom, or shower room you suppose, it’s far too small for a bath, you clean up after a hard day's work and heat your rations for dinner. It was supposed to taste like chicken soup but it beats you what chicken is supposed to taste like. You’ve heard it’s a rich man's delicacy, apparently it’s a bird, you can’t see how a bird would be very practical to eat. You've only ever seen wrens and crows though, apparently the really desperate even eat those, you suppose it would probably be better then rat. Your thoughts? You’ll stick to your lab grown rations.

Then it was time to snuggle into bed. You open the door to reveal a bed, that's almost all you can fit in the incredibly small bedroom. You managed to squeeze a bedside table and a lamp in the room, but it was quite the squeeze, at least you have a window. Many aren’t as lucky. You flop on the bed pulling the covers over you and turning your lamp off. Hopefully you’ll sleep soundly. You’d press X to doubt but you can dream harold.

Or not. Hours tick by and you turn over once again. There was no point in laying here bored so you instead scroll through the Holoweb.

Articles on extinct animals, news of a possible storm later in the month, more news on the rich getting richer, more robot rights protests in the upper city again. Oh a couple articles on soulmates interesting, are soulmates real? if you were immortal would your soulmate keep coming back? Can robots have soulmates?

Surely you need a soul to have a soulmate no? As interesting as those articles seem, you'd rather just keep scrolling. Is caffeine plus affecting sleep? That could be it but there is no way you could drop it now you’re in too deep.

You read article title after article title until eventually you tire your eyes out and finally drift to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read the rest of the fic here ⬇️

[abybweisse]

Blood Work (p1), Elitism, transmutation, and religious fear

⚠️ long post ⚠️

So, I now have a copy of Blood Work: A Tale of Medicine and Murder in the Scientific Revolution, by Holly Tucker. It's a reference for Yana-san, as she mentioned it in her old tuna.be blog around the start of the blue arc.

I see in the list of important people a mention of the real Dr. Moreau, and there's a later chapter about chimeras... so I know I'll be talking about that some, over this series of posts.

It's important here, too, because when researchers were first attempting blood transfusions in the 17th century, people were terrified about receiving blood from animals, like sheep and cattle. They thought that animal blood would transmute humans into human-animal hybrids. Even in the 20th century, some white people were terrified of receiving blood from black people, because they thought the blood could effect the race of their future children or grandchildren. Nonsense, of course, but they didn't understand.

17th century blood transfusions were generally performed by taking blood from a lamb or a calf. The barbers/physicians/researchers had no clue about blood types. Jean-Baptiste Denis successfully transfused blood from a lamb into a teenage patient. Then he made several successful attempts at transfusing from a calf to a "madman". The guy later died, and Denis was blamed. Turns out some doctors who didn't want him to succeed had actually poisoned that second subject with arsenic.

It wasn't even a matter of those physicians wanting his experiments to fail while theirs worked; no, they simply didn't want blood transfusions to become a practice. They were afraid of transmutation from animal blood, and they were afraid of what animal-to-human blood transfusions would reveal about humanity -- that we are truly just animals, too. The trial against Denis ended research into blood transfusions for about 150 years.

Blood types were still unknown in the late 18th century, when a physician wanted to attempt to revive George Washington's largely exsanguinated corpse with a transfusion of lamb's blood. FYI, he died on a December 14th, just like Prince Albert. His family refused the offer only because they feared sullying his body with animal blood, and they insisted his body must be left untainted and wholly together for him to be properly received into heaven. Such was the continued lack of understanding. Yana-san might have given Undertaker the idea to use blood transfusions in conjunction with other techniques for the reanimating and revival process from the account of what that physician wanted to do to Washington.

When blood transfusion research was in full swing, in the 19th century, they were starting to piece together the idea of blood groups, but they still didn't quite know about things like universal whole blood donor and universal whole blood recipient. There was a strong elitist element to this, so they generally thought like could only be compatible with like. They also still saw non-human blood as inferior, even if it might be compatible. The best compatibility was expected between twins and then between close relatives.

I have a feeling that Yana-san has played around with this bias, which would explain why real Ciel is only receiving AB (Sirius) blood, Canopus B, Vega O, and Polaris A. All those people at Sphere Music Hall are led to believe they are being treated as equals, when they are in fact being split up into a caste system where some "stars" are of a higher magnitude than others. And, at times, Blavat Sky and others have made it clear they see some blood types as being less worthy than others. By extension, some people are treated as less worthy. Blavat seems to realize that Sirius can receive blood from other blood types, because he gives "leftovers" of Vega and Polaris blood to the Sirius renal patients. It's possible that real Ciel doesn't know he can have any type of whole blood, but I suspect he knows and simply doesn't think anything else is good enough for him.

I'd also like to mention Snake and Finny here, since we know Finny was injected with something to increase his strength and other traits. Then we see Snake with various attributes that are associated with snakes. In either case (or both) we could be dealing with transmutation. It's not realistic in our world, but it might very well be possible in theirs. Each of them might have been injected with chemical cocktails derived from other animals: Snake from snakes and Finny from perhaps a few completely different species.

We now know Snake wasn't born a snake and turned into a human, but there's nothing to say he wasn't born human and "adulterated" with snake traits. There's also the weird story the freak show attendant claims: human mother and snake father. Maybe not an actual snake as his father but more like his mother being injected with snake blood or something... and that producing a hybrid child. Again, not what we'd consider possible, but the Kuroverse plays by different rules.

One other aspect I want to touch on in this post: Othello's and Grelle's fears regarding the very nature of human souls and existence. This is a form of religious fear, not too different from what George Washington's family feared. His family feared he wouldn't be accepted into heaven, while these two reapers fear humans might no longer even need souls, and that heaven may no longer matter to them. What would that mean for the existence of reapers, when their supposed salvation requires them to keep collecting souls?

Well, I'll probably talk about bias and fear again, as well as these other issues, but I'll stop here... for now.

[emiplayzmc]

Radio Comet Addison (Hex: a97183)

-Height is 6'0" (72. in.), and he's one of the oldest Addisons in Cyber City - he refuses to say his exact age.

-A radio star in the 50s and 70s in Cyber City specialising in radio ad sponsors, he worked at the same station that Broadcast does, and mentored him in the showhosting business when he first started working there. He quite liked Broadcast's hyperactive and enthusiastic nature.

-He gets frequent headaches and CPU overloads for seemingly no reason.

-He's got a big ego, priding himself on his voice and talent which was easily wounded if people badmouthed it - he was also quite snoopy, and knew things about pretty much everyone at the station. Despite these flaws, he's quite a patient man, which made him a pretty good mentor.

-He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

-He's the first carrier of a virus that doesn't have a known source - aka, he's Patient 0 of it. Hence, he's also the main spreader of the virus by compulsion to do so and conditioning so as to not lose himself completely until a victim is found and infected. He targets and chooses prey, and stalks them like a komodo dragon until the right time to infect comes. He tries to do it as little as possible, but the longer he goes without infecting, the more the virus compels him to do so until it eventually puppets him itself until a victim is found, no matter if it was an intended target or not.

-Because of the damage to his body the virus causes, his original voicebox is shattered, as well as one of his original eyes giving out - the tendency for his parts to give out now has caused a bit of a scavenging and hoarding habit with him, stealing parts from Addison bodies he finds occasionally in the Trash Zone and stashing them in spots he frequents if he needs to fix himself. He keeps his old voicebox in his pocket, but his new one doesn't do him much good since it's also somewhat decayed and broken. The corruption of his Freeze Ring caused his remaining eye to go mostly dark and leak oil as well, save for a dot of ice-blue surrounded by hot pink that acts as the pupil and iris.

-He's very bitter that Cyber City sort of gave up on him after a time... even if the virus was keeping him from just throwing himself at the first opportunity to be saved, he still somewhat had hope that someone would still look for him. The people he entertained still cared, right? He wouldn't just be replaced by a new starlet that caught their eyes...

-Mostly because of his bitterness, partly because of already existing feelings of unease and discontent, he despises the Addison species now, and hates what he is by extension. He despises what they're used for and made to do for their entire lives, and also hates that pretty much everything in the Cyber World - and the whole of the Dark Worlds, to his knowledge - have one purpose that they stick to for their lives, and if you fall out of the system, you're as good as forgotten to them. There have been many times where he's contemplated scavenging and body and trying to masquerade as a Swatchling or something, just to get OUT of being an Addison and try to re-enter society and get himself fixed, but he just never goes through with it. Whether out of fear or the virus or just calling it off, who knows?

-It's unknown what the virus does to a host's systems EXACTLY, but clearly Radio doesn't take it well. It's caused his systems and parts to slowly deteriorate over time, causing him to have to learn to fix himself with whatever means he can. It doesn't help that his Freeze Ring is also corrupted because of the virus, causing him a lot of pain that can only be curbed by taking the ring off, or constantly be eating healing items - HP is a different thing from his body's deterioration.

Anywaysss, FINAL PINK ADDI REF SHEET! That's all of my Pink Addis done! ^-^ Just because, here's a playlist I made for Radio / Zero because yes :]

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0xomIoF8QEoTwIYNco9MgS?si=cs86h9udR-KWN5pHg88dDQ&pi=TdO11IHvQqqb-

[the-blossica-fan]

Greetings!

The living situation in the suitcase will always be a mystery.

Like, laundry schedules: with clothes from loads of people from different eras and probably vey different methods of cleaning how the hell do they do dry cleaning? Maintance for Isolde's outfits must be extensive.

Anyways I have a fun/ angst ridden hc for Vertin: her outfit came from a tailor she met once, because clearly her outfit doesn't align with the Foundation's standard uniform, I hardly think being the TK would warrant an outfit so different to the usual colours (they really do lean towards the Manus in being darker).

I'll say she meant them really young, early on starting out as the TK, befriending a tailor in London who took pity on Vertin's attire, ill fitting field investigator outfit for a 12-13 year old. Vertin is still heavily suffering from the incident of the Breakaway so to that tailor shes a soppy wet cat in clothes that don't fit her at all.

The tailor? Up to you if u wanna flesh out who they are: attire wise VERY similar to current Vertin clothes, maybe longer and with a different accented colour. Vertin was staring at the clothes from the window until the tailor invited her in.

Two days later Vertin walks out in the attire we know today, maybe the tophat scarf thing was originally worn by that tailor, given as a gift. Probably the first clothes not dictated by the Foundation.

Ofc we probably know what happened to the people before Regulus, maybe the tailor was the first person she attempted to save in the suitcase but failed, the clothes while a little big serve as a remainder to that tailor and the little independence it gives Vertin.

If we ever met this tailor, in a miracle scenerio that we finally find a way to save the reversed I see a scenerio of that tailor meeting Vertin again, older and matured: "I see the clothes really do fit you now, right Vertin?"

(uh i made an oc didnt i. Make of this as you wish!)

Greetings once again, comrade!

Every time you send an ask it's either something fun that I'll have my time thinking over or angsty things you throw at me and I accept. This is the second.

The foundation has a thing with giving their youngest workers outfits far too big for them, it wouldn't be strange for Vertin to be walking around in a ugly gray tuxedo that didn't fit well. She had no hat but her hair would be in the same hairstyle as ever, something Madam Z gave to her.

Even then, Vertin still held that curiosity and wanting in her eyes, so when she saw a beautifully tailored suit being displayed inside the window of a tailor shop, she stopped to look at it, in a trance.

Knowing the story, perhaps this character you're describing to me is around 20 to 25 years old, but I think it would be fit for them to be around 28 to 32. They would run a tailoring business that's not doing good in money despite the works being so beautifully made, and once they saw Vertin outside with the ugly foundation fit she wore, they offered her to come in.

The inside of the shop is beautiful, covered in multiple tailored clothes and self-made outfits that surprised Vertin. The tailor would be taller with the iconic top-hat on their head and (maybe) medium length hair hanging out of it. They'd wear some nice clothes, dark but beautifully put together blues and whites that reminded Vertin of the suit outside.

She didn't carry any money so she could only speak with them, and, by accident, creating a strong friendship between the two. Vertin would pass by every time she was free and would always wonder why the shop is so empty.

One day, the tailor decided to make Vertin something that would look good on her to replace that foundation wear that made her look weird. They asked for no money, a loving gift for a friend.

It would be similar to theirs by Vertin's request. It was a little big, but they predicted Vertin would grow taller, so they made it slightly bigger to fit when she grew.

"It's lacking the hat. Don't worry, I'll make you one in no time." Said the tailor to Vertin after tailoring the suit, fixing the foundation logo in it.

The storm was approaching quickly, perhaps the 1980's storm that washed away the era completely, and Vertin knew it.

She asked the tailor if they trusted her, and after some hesitance, they nodded and (with a lot of surprise) entered the suitcase. Vertin informed them of the storm as it approached, telling them how it would wash away the eras and return to the past, but inside the suitcase, they would be safe.

(this isn't allowed to tell but Vertin broke the rules for her first outside friend who mattered a lot to her)

However, she didn't count the fact that humans could not survive the storm, and as they began to notice their body starting to turn into nothing (like Mr. Karson did), they turned to Vertin and took off their top hat.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make you a hat that fits better, but I hope you like this one.

The hat tipped to the side due to it being too big for Vertin, and she watched as her friend turned to nothing right in front of her eyes. Only their clothes and the top hat on her head remaining.

She didn't have a single picture of them, and with time, she began to forget their face and looks. After this, she bought a camera and began to take pictures of every new friend she made in case they disappeared, so she would never forget about them.

If they were to ever meet again, I think it would be back in the same era. Vertin would be elated to go back to the tailor shop and she would see, in nostalgia, how the same suit she saw back when she was 12 was still there, as if it belonged there.

She walked inside, and there was the tailor, sipping on their tea with a smile before turning to her. They hadn't changed a bit, the era returned them to the same spot they were before.

"Vertin? Is that you? Wow, you have grown so quickly! The suit fits you perfectly, I knew I was right."

And they were met with a hug, Vertin's face covered by the hat pressed against their own suit.

"mm? You're okay? You're a weird one, Vertin. Ah, is that my top hat? It really fits you"

This time, they brought them into the lively suitcase, and they wouldn't disappear like they did all those years ago.

[danmeichael]

Mo Ran is 13 years old. He is at this horrible dinner party with his not-horrible aunt and uncle, and his only-annoying cousin. People keep getting up on stage and being presented with awards, and he has to clap for all of them because it's polite. He isn't entirely sure what's being celebrated and he doesn't really care, either.

His suit is itchy, the food doesn't taste good, and he really wishes he were at home playing a video game and eating fast food slathered in chili oil.

It's too loud, and it reeks here. So many alphas trying to show off how big their dick is, and omegas trying to bolster their alpha's ego by proving what a prized mate they are. What they're expected to do. What Mo Ran will one day be expected to do.

Mo Ran wasn't paying attention to what was going on on stage until suddenly his uncle jostled him and started pointing excitedly at the next person getting an award.

Ah, being here made sense now. It was Chu Wanning. One of uncle's friends, and probably the prettiest person on earth second only to Mo Ran's late mother. He didn't know how anyone could be that pretty in real life. He's smart, and he puts too much sugar in his coffee when he thinks nobody's looking, and he's an Omega, too, just like Mo Ran.

He proves just how smart he is by immediately starting on a short lecture the moment the presenter hands him the microphone. Most of the people in the ballroom are completely silent, save for a few whispers.

Nobody seems to comprehend anything he's saying, which means they're particularly stupid because Mo Ran understands at least half of it.

When he finishes speaking and is presented with his award most of the room claps out of obligation. Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng leap up into a standing ovation and start cheering. Even his aunt joins in, more quietly.

"That's my Yuheng! Woo!"

"LAOSHI IS THE BEST!"

"That's our boy!"

Even drowned in the bright white lights of the stage, Chu Wanning's reddening face is obvious. His expression stays mostly the same, but Mo Ran thinks he sees his eye twitch.

Everyone seems ecstatic until the alpha presenter lingers a little too long at Chu Wanning's side, talking to him.

There's an odd tension from his aunt and uncle, like a cup you filled up just past the top that stays in place only thanks to surface tension.

The tension breaks when the presenter puts a hand on the small of Chu Wanning's back.

Wang Chuqing is also an alpha, but she doesn't stink like the rest of them. Her smell is usually faint and clean and warm. Not right now. Despite the calm neutrality of her expression, her scent is angry and hot, scorching, so strong it's just shy of giving Mo Ran a headache

It only abates when Xue Zhengyong grasps her hand.

Mo Ran thinks that they share a heart, that Wang Chuqing's rage is her husband's as well, and vice versa. That's how he can tell how close she is to snapping, even though Xue Zhengyong is a beta.

The presenter smiles in a way Mo Ran is quite sure he thinks looks charming.

"Chu-xiansheng, you're doing incredible work in your field! Beautiful, intelligent, making a name for yourself. Any Alpha would be lucky to have an omega like you!"

Here we go again.

There is only a momentary pause as Chu Wanning takes the microphone from him without looking at him. Like he isn't worth it.

With the same burning cold neutrality he almost always affects, Chu Wanning says "Any Alpha would be lucky to be me."

Mo Ran is frozen even as his aunt and uncle start tidying their place settings, gathering their things in preparation to leave.

Any Alpha would be lucky to be me.

Mo Ran was not aware of the shackles around his ankles until Chu Wanning clicked a key in place to unlock them. He didn't know their weight until he realized he didn't have to carry them. They were turning him black and blue, how had nobody told him not wearing them was an option? That being the extension of someone was not compulsory?

He's only pulled out of what he might later call a religious awakening when Chu Wanning rushes past the table with bright red cheeks.

"We're leaving," he says, as close to frantic as Mo Ran has ever heard him.

Xue Zhengyong laughs triumphantly as he half-jogs behind him. "Way ahead of you, Wanning!"

Wang Chuqing makes sure he and Xue Meng are a few steps ahead of her before she joins the precession. "What do you say we stop for dinner on the way home?"

The discussion of dinner plans that follows is loud enough to drown out all the whispering, and Mo Ran's revelation renders anything he catches meaningless anyway.

[w4rningbutterflies]

"Oh no, not more of this." - tsukishima, kageyama

most people think in the way of abstract dreams  &  aching hearts that yearn for something more, something desperate.  of movies  &  television shows that have warped their mind into what the world should be, what their presence should be.  they dream in colors, abstract shapes, numbers, figures  ––  they are a solid whisper of consciousness that allows the brain to process. 

he has never thought that way.  ever since he was a child, he has thought in terms of velocity, distance, has calculated in the format of strength, conditioning.  his mind works in the width of a large rectangle; it's pieced together where pawns should be placed, where he should be moving the pieces in order to reach maximum height, maximum distance, maximum strength.  he works in the whisper of air past his ear  &  the feather light touch against fingertips just seconds after he calculates the right amount of force to use.  

he thinks in the form of icy hot spray, back patches, advil, tape, leather against his fingertips, the scent of too clean soap, the sound of squeaking sneakers against a court.  he thinks in the form of familiarity  &  loses himself in the count of steps that is routine, the count of touches before he has to set once more.   there's a bite that whispers in his soul, that counts every single breath that he takes, takes notice of the way that his lungs expand in order to give him the most oxygen possible.  he rests on his heels  &  he is more machine than he is man; in those moments he is nothing more than an extension of a ball, his heart slowing in time with the countdown on clocks, of the points that tick up on a scoreboard.

the snow settles underneath his sneakers, treading familiar paths that he would know even with his eyes closed.  it's like no matter where he is, he'll find his way to these spaces, like it's a soft whisper in his soul that guides him.  a compass that settles him even when he is lost in new cities  &  isn't sure the right pathway.  

the practice facility is familiar in a way that it shouldn't be, because he doesn't remember ever actually being there.  but he uses the side door  ––  climbs the stairs toward the top of the gymnasium  &  only flinches slightly when he realizes the trail that he's leaving.  it's an old habit, one that has to bring the mops out in order to make sure the court is spotless before closing up for the night.  tongue presses against his cheek; it's not his problem right now, because this is not his gym.  he will not have to leave it in the perfect shape, nor have his shoes sullied the court below. 

he watches the way that the bodies move  ––  calculates the way that their setter doesn't seem to push himself too hard, the way that the spiker on the left doesn't seem to clash in the right way.  it's a practice, but he can't help but point out sloppy habits in the same way that he had when he was a child.  teeth drive themselves into his bottom lip as he leans forward slightly, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets as blue eyes follow the ball  &  begin their calculations, even though it's not his team to calculate or find the flaws of. 

a familiar body looms around the net, calculates before he jumps  &  hits the block at the right angle.  a few seconds longer  &  it would've missed.  it's a sloppy play; a familiar habit of slacking off, of conserving energy by choice.  he's never understood it  ––  his body moves on automatic, moves with the waves of calculations  &  velocity, becomes one with the object soaring through the air.  there's too much competitive nature in his bones to give less; sometimes he wishes that he could, that he could find a different pathway that would allow him to not feel that bone deep exhaustion the longer he plays.  he's realized a long time ago though that he can't do it. 

for what it's worth, he waits until the practice is done to say anything; he slips through the stairwell once more  &  ends up somewhere near the door, hovering because he doesn't want to drag snow in once more but also because he hasn't been invited.  it had been a knee jerk choice coming here; being home should be familiar, easy, but he finds that it's not.  the longer that he's away in italy, the more it feels like this isn't his home anymore.  

he's used to familiarity in the way that his face is on television, the way that he has always been oikawa's protege, but this newfound way that people look at him, how they want photos, how they crave an autograph… it doesn't settle in his veins as well as he wishes that it would.  he is a man that's still not used to success in that way; his mind works in velocity, not in the way that a pen moves over paper  &  he has resigned to signing his name in english because as much as he hates to admit it, daichi was right when he once told him he'd have a hard time spelling the kanji's.

his shoulder leans against the doorway with an ease that he doesn't completely feel; they keep in touch enough, in the way that he keeps in touch with others as well.  but it's always that awkward moment when he stands there, when he's not sure what to say, if he should greet like a friend or become an enemy  ––

" those last two blocks were sloppy.  i see you haven't changed much. "   the words are out before he can second guess them, safe  &  familiar  ––  just like the court beneath his feet once more, sweat sticking to his back  &  trusting that tsukishima would actually hit the mark this time, put in the effort to surprise them all.  it's safe in a way that home sometimes doesn't feel, especially when tsukishima scowls right back at him.

in that moment, it feels like he's never left.  

his fingers sink deeper into his pockets once more, scrape against the fabric in a way to ground himself against the soft bite back.  he's long since learned that tsukishima expresses through bite, but is only sometimes more bark.   " don't blame me because you haven't learned how to play yet.  i'm surprise they keep you here.  sure you're not ball boy? "

to his own surprise, tobio smiles once the words leave his mouth.

[1000sunnygo]

Hey there, I love your translations and all the work you do. Did you learn Japanese or are you a native speaker? I would love some tips on how to get started for a complete beginner like me. I hope one day I can be fluent enough to read manga lol.

Ahh thank you!!

I'm not a native speaker, I just learned as much needed to read manga lol. There are some vague grammatical similarity between Japanese and my native language which might've helped a bit, but I still extensively google every time I encounter new words so it often takes really long for me to read something;;

I can provide some suggestion for beginners though, mostly my personal methods. Reminder that this is just for reading manga!

1. Enrich vocabulary

To improve listening skills: anime. Shonen anime has simple sentences so try paying attention to sentence structures, verbs and tense along with vocabulary. The manga you want to read will likely have similar words (better if the same series).

2. Learn Kana

There's one video I randomly found on my feed that made me learn kana (katakana and hiragana) alphabets. I don't think I would've learned to read if not for this video because it makes the letters easily digestible:

Learning kana alphabets is unskippable. These two steps alone would help you to read shonen manga by yourself.

I'm specifying shonen because it's aimed at younger people so each kanji has reading aid texts called "furigana". Basically, each kanji's pronunciation is written in hiragana letters beside it. They bother when you try to scan the image but helps in manual reading.

For example, you may not recognize (green text) 農場. But it has furigana (blue text) "のうえん" (no-u-e-n) written beside it, you'll recognize the word "nouen" from your vocabulary which means farm in Japanese. (page from The Promised Neverland manga, nouen is a frequently used word in the series)

3. Getting used to reading

After learning kana alphabets, as a beginner I used to work with pen and paper. I would write an entire sentence in English pronunciation first and then read the meaning. It helped me to separate each word (because JP doesn't have space between them.)

Sometimes I used to loudly read the English pronunciation for Google translate's speech recognition so it can translate the sentence for me.

Speaking of Google translate,

3. Applying Tools

Download Google translate app's old version (2020-2021 versions should be good enough) where you can scan a page, then switch off the app's auto update. It's an essential tool that (fortunately) works best for Kanji translation. If you're relying on auto translation, ignore furigana (the small texts) entirely, let it read Kanji.

Sometimes the scanning function can't distinguish vertical and horizontal texts. That's why learning to read by yourself is essential.

Now you're set, the rest is up to practice! When you start learning you'll want to read more to test yourself. And when you read, you get better. Hopefully you'll be able to read hand-written texts and recognize frequently used Kanji after practicing.

The complex/formal sentneces can easily translated via Google translator/DeepL/ChatGPT. But they need some human assistance. Without context they can't correctly interpret pronouns and sometimes you have to cut a bulk of texts into smaller parts.

A manga translation doesn't need to be 1:1. Recently I'm more flexible to suit a sentence closer to natural English than sticking to literal meaning. My English isn't the best either so I have to compensate 🤧

[player-1]

I know it's going to be a while for me to jump back to the Nexomon tag when the next chapter for my fic drops (and believe me, that's going to take a while), there's been a semi-crazy theory I've been going over since I was thinking of weaseling it into the fic (especially during the NexoLords Frozen Tundra arc) since it's something that doesn't seem to make sense in hindsight.

Namely with the NexoLords' attempt of reviving Omnicron, and even the earlier run-in with the goons holding a bunch of bomb-experts hostage and possibly planning to use the dynamite for their own plan...What if before the Guild stopped them in their tracks, what if they had a previous attempt to revive Omnicron, failed, and were trying to cover their tracks is the second time went bust? What if the NexoLords accidentally created a Tyrant that was nothing like the great King of Monsters but the heir of Omnicron's heir the first time around?

(Minor spoilers for Micromon, major spoilers for Nexomon 1, post-N1, Nexomon Extinction, and a bunch of rambling/theory crafting below)

TL;DR: Reverse doomsday cult in Frozen Tundra "accidentally" create a monster beyond their comprehension, abandoned it at Palmaya and perpetuate the cycle of neglect Omnicron started with his "weakest child" Metta, the one true heir to the King of Monsters...Then both their plans gets ruined by a blue-haired kid.

Like I made as a joke but already plausible theory, Omnicron's youngest kid Metta (the glass pinata with a titanium ego) would've been considered the king's heir due to his moveset following every bit of his power over all elements at once. But given Metta's (gestures wildly at everything) and not immediately putting the fear of Nexo-God onto humanity, he was ignored and cast aside as the lesser of Omnicron's children...Of course, until everything that happens before and after Nexomon 1. Apart from Metta being murked from Extinction's story due to the dev not wanting to develop his character further (or also from how congested the story is already with all the protags/antagonists); there are plenty of little easter eggs that still show Metta's influence on the world long into the Tyrant War and up until N:E's story. Like him previously making a resurrection machine to revive Omnicron and his siblings and his teacher/unofficial father-figure Malk having a database in a variety of "Nexomon" similar but unknown to the public (Micromon/Pixekai Project); ultimately leading to the NexoLords (and Lobo the ex-Guild Grandmaster) finding the machine's blueprint and Amelie and Logan finding the database and extracting the info to create a anti-Tyrant weapon to topple the war in their favor and end the mindless violence once and for all. And all of this was in the Frozen Tundra, mind you, and most likely in Metta's old home or in Omnicron's Tower/Tomb; though I'm all on the former being the case :).

Circling back to the NexoLords, obviously assuming they had a chance to revive Omnicron and "restore the world's order" with their new blueprints, jumped straight into building/testing out the machine in the tower where Omnicron was once slain long long ago. Maybe they used a Nexomon egg as the catalyst, maybe gathered some residual energy in the ancient site no sane person dared to venture to; but the Nexomon they got was nothing any of them had expected. It was something human-like but not, a Tyrant but not, and a Nexomon with stars in their eyes and a bright smile against the harsh and destructive world around them...

-That's right, this was a Byeol theory rant all along! And there's nothing you can do to stop me now!! >:D To try and make a more long story short, it makes some sense to me if the NexoLords (and by extension Lobo) made Byeol in their first and only known attempt to revive the doggo dad himself (going heavy in the copium since Omnicron's soul was completely destroyed after N1), so they had to work with what they had even if they had no idea what kind of ancient/primordial Tyrant they're channeling to achieve "world peace". Besides, even if Lobo was the ex-Guild leader and had every chance to read up on Omnicron's history, who wants to bet he had no idea that Metta existed if he was never considered a threat in the first place in the past? After all, Omnicron was a Normal-type and had power over all the elements, so why would he have a Normal-type kid as well? All of his children were killed off by Ulzar, so they had to go for the source of all Nexomon, the Normal-type monster, that's the most obvious choice! (/s) If that then applies to Lobo accidentally making Metta's Tyrant, then why is Byeol found in Palmaya and not Omnicron's Tower and/or the Frozen Tundra? Simple, the NexoLords really didn't want their token Tyrant being a baby cherub bird-thing and totally not Omnicron, so they dumped him at the one place that's "Tyrant-free" and getting the little guy as far away from their base of operation as possible.

But that's still a bit ironic, you know? Metta, abandoned by his father and siblings for not putting humanity under his thumb, eventually becomes the strongest Nexomon tamer in the world (aka the Nexolord) and putting together a plan to revive his dad to destroy humanity once and for all (and finally be his dad's special little boy :). Then there's Byeol, abandoned by a man with an Omnicron mask and his Children of Omnicron-styled lackeys for not being the true King of Monsters and ending the Tyrant War without anymore bloodshed; (fic-wise) becoming a beacon of hope in Palmaya and exploring the world helping those in need and avoiding Tyrant conflicts at all cost. Cause in Byeol's strangely starry eyes, his idea of world peace is for everyone to be nice and get along, human and Nexomon, simple as that.

Whether or not it if the NexoLords knew their "Tyrant" was being raised to be a goody-two-shoes is up to debate; but I really wanted to figure out someway to explain Byeol's existence other than "he's just a post-story legendary just because" or following the series' gimmick of using post-story 'mon for the next game, but the thought itself is pretty funny to me.

[siriannatan]

Let It Go

When idea for this AU hit me it contained no angst, but I managed to sprinkle some in

Jon ~200 years old Damian ~20-21

Befriending a half-vampire (a dhampir, to use proper terminology) was not something Damian's mother would have approved of. Luckily for both him and Jon, he lived with his father, who was far more positive on the topic of human-vampire coexistence.

Which is why he could patrol the streets of Gotham, looking for Ghouls (a half-dead husk left after a vampire of a certain power level drains a human and doesn't change them) and other monsters and magical populace messing with non-magical people, with Jon keeping him company.

Jon was pretty special as far as vampire ranks went. A proper dhampir born of a relationship between a human woman and a powerful vampire. What made him even more special was that even at the ripe age of two hundred years he was still a dhampir. Meaning he never drank blood directly from a human. And didn't like talking about it. As Damian has learned over years of inquiring. 

Well. Jon was a dhampir for some period of their 'friendship'. There was an incident where he had to drink Damian's blood to save them from a particularly nasty vampire who set the two of them as their target. Damian's right leg was broken and his left arm was dislocated. He was already losing a lot of blood. Enough for Jon's usually blue eyes to turn red from the scent alone. He did insist Jon do it.

"We either die here or you drink some of my blood and save both us and the hostages," Damian hissed, shaking his friend with his good arm. The Hunter was slumped against a warehouse wall. "I'll take full responsibility if our fathers dislike this decision and you'll be free to take any frustration out on me once I've recovered," he added solemnly and exposed his neck.

Jon's eyes were on his neck for what felt like an eternity before he whispered "I hate that you're right so much," and sunk his fangs in so fast Damian would miss it were it not for the mind-numbing, outrageously pleasant feeling. Even when barely conscious he appreciated the new way Jon moved. His body could finally keep up with his instincts.

Damian didn't regret his decision and thought Jon's attitude to the whole ordeal was well... childish. Especially considering Jon was two hundred years old. It was honestly a wonder how he avoided drinking blood from a living human for this long. While Damian had extensive knowledge of magic of all kinds. A necessity for an effective monster hunter. He had no clue what was the difference here. Blood was blood no matter the source, no?

Well, apparently it did. And now Jon wasn't talking to him. Even if he had kept his word about taking all responsibility when their father's found out Jon was a full vampire now, and pleased they were not. But Jon was a stubborn fool, he had not once visited Damian as he was recovering. Not that the young hunter cared much. He was fully expecting the vampire to be doing something more productive. But he was not.

Jon was sulking in his Gotham apartment. He lived there to keep his distance from his influential in the vampire community (the not evil vampire community to be precise) father and mother. He was hiding with curtains closed tight. Doors and windows shut closed. Not making any signs he was still there outside yelling at anyone who approached to leave him alone.

It got so bad Clark Kent. Jon's father did not use his full real name, more vampire nonsense challenging logic. Was worried Jon was doing something dumb. Like starving himself. And it landed on Damian to try and talk some sense into Jon. Even if everyone was aware he had even less luck talking to Jon than anyone else.

Once he had recovered - faster than normal mortals would thanks to Alfred's magic - he picked up a new case. Someone was distributing a magical drug to the non-magical population. With very unpleasant effects. And his investigation of the last few weeks landed him needing to infiltrate a certain gala where the main suspect might be meeting with his supplier. And Damian couldn't attend as himself. His being a Hunter would not work. But being Jon's plus one would. Not that Jon would willingly work with him.

But he was not one to give up easily. So he made his way to Jon's apartment and knocked loudly on the door. "Open up, Kent! We need to talk," Damian demanded, hearing some shuffling. Jon usually didn't bother even trying to be quiet and stealthy. 

"No, we don't, go AWAY!" Jon yelled back. Damian just knocked harder.

"I'm not leaving until we talk," He insisted.

That got an annoyed hiss and shortly after the door was opening. Jon looked like a nightmare. Even paler than usual. Eyes red. His hair was messier than usual. Still in the same clothes from the night, he bit Damian. It has been nearly a month...

"What?" the vampire snapped, not even inviting Damian in.

"I'm aware you don't want to see me much less talk to me but..."

"I'm not helping you with any cases, Damian, I managed to hold off drinking from a living being for two hundred years. Then I meet you and it's all over within two months?" Jon interrupted but did pull Damian inside his apartment.

"I know, and I understand it was important to you. I promise you I would have not proposed it as a solution for our predicament in that moment if I saw any other solutions, even if with a lower probability of success," Damian said while staying as still as possible. Jon was agitated and likely starving. And Damian was a mage whose blood he had tasted before. Magic user's blood was said to be particularly tasty to vampires.

"Meaning you know why I don't want to see you," Jon huffed, as Damian spoke he backed away as far as he could while keeping the conversation up.

"One more case. You help me with one more case and I'll leave you alone if you still want me to," Damian offered and extended his arm. "I promise all I need is your company, you won't have to fight anyone, I'll handle all of that. I promise," as he spoke he expected Jon to lash out at any moment.

Jon eyed him with narrowed eyes. Seconds stretched seemingly infinitely until Jon slowly approached. He didn't shake Damian's hand. Not at first. "I'll never forgive you if you make me do something I don't want ever again," he hissed before tentatively shaking Damian's hand. "So what is this case that absolutely requires my presence?"

"Shouldn't you eat something first?" Damian asked, arms crossed on his chest. "I just don't want you losing control in the middle of my explanation," he shrugged. Expressing that he was worried would only have annoyed Jon more.

"Fine," Jon grumbled and stormed to his fridge. 

As it turns out he had no blood left having turned all deliveries away. Not to mention he didn't amend them to his new, higher need for blood. 

Damian sighed and thought through their options. He needed to brief Jon today so he could get everything else ready in time for the gala. "You could have some of my blood if it helps, it's the least I could do since all this is my fault," he offered carefully.

Jon groaned. "You're such an idiot. You can't just offer your blood to any vampire..." he started complaining. 

"You're not some 'any vampire', you're my friend, Jon," Damian shook his head as he removed his blazer before sitting down on the couch. "And I fully trust you won't cross the line," he added while undoing the top few buttons of his shirt.

"You're a moron," Jon sighed but didn't protest Damian's plan any further. Seems his stubbornness had a limit. Which just maybe happened to be Damian's exposed neck. "Only a moron would willingly offer themselves to a starving vampire," Damian would have been more worried if Jon's tone remained annoyed. But as the vampire straddled him his voice and expression became distant.

"And you're a stubborn idiot," Damian chuckled and forced himself to relax at the first hint of teeth on his neck. 

Jon unlike last time didn't bite instantly. Instead nuzzling Damian's neck. Tracing along his veins with his fangs before licking the spot. Damian wanted to tell him to hurry it up. THeir closeness was dangerous. But he was smart enough not to. For one, he didn't want Jon to lose what control he had left. And for two, the numb feeling Jon's tongue left sent shiver's down his spine. The memory of the last, and only, vampire bite he ever experienced was still very fresh in his mind. Was it normal that he enjoyed it?

Probably not. Especially considering he had to curl his hands into fists to stop the urge to grab at Jon's hoodie. His hair. Anything. He had to bite his lips to stop any noise that would show how he was feeling about it. It was all over far too soon. But he managed to keep any disappointment hidden. His brain was foggy for a moment as Jon left his lap. He pushed the desire to stop him down.

"You okay?" Jon asked when Damian remained silent to his questions.

"I'm fine," Damian shook his head and pulled out a golden quill out of nowhere and proceeded to explain the case and his plan.

It was all easy in concept. Jon already had gotten his invite to the gala. One for vampires only. His father has already declined but Jon didn't check his post in nearly a month. And it said he's free to bring a plus one. Who didn't have to be a vampire or even have an ounce of supernatural in them? Of course, being from a family of known Hunters Damian couldn't come as himself. So the plan was he'd go in disguise.

"Do you have a suit somewhere in here?" Damian asked, before even saying anything about his disguise.

"I do," Jon nodded but made no move to go and look. Whatever. Damian was confident Jon would not flunk this. "Okay, so we'll meet at the hotel on the day, and go from there, all I have to do is get you in and follow your lead," he summarised, all not interested in the minute detail. It was the first time he didn't poke Damian for details. It stung. A lot. But Damian didn't insist.

A few days later Damian arrived at the Gotham Grand Hotel. He paid for the room but it was reserved under Jon's name. Well, not quite. It was reserved under the name El, Jon's family name. According to the young woman sitting behind the reception desk, Jon was already in the room waiting. Damian thanked her with his best smile. She blushed slightly, her expression turning to confusion as Damian walked to the elevator.

Luckily their room was close to the elevator. Damian was already hating his choice of shoes and the night didn't even start yet. Well, at least Jon didn't make him wait long after he knocked. 

"Where's your suit?" Damian asked as he pushed in past the stunned vampire. Maybe he should have given Jon some more details whether he asked for them or not. 

"Damian?" Jon asked dumbly as he closed the door. "Wha... you... Why?"

"I did say I couldn't come as myself, right? So tonight it's Danielle," Damian shrugged as he sat down, careful to not wrinkle the deep green strapless gown. Between it and a long wavy wig perfectly matching his hair he looked a lot like his mother. Nearly gave father a heart attack. "And I couldn't come to the hotel you're staying at as myself. Especially as I had to tell the front desk who I was visiting. Where's your suit," he complained, rolling his eyes at how obvious it was. In the last few days, their relationship mended slightly. 

Jon just sighed and snapped his fingers. Shadows enveloped him for a moment and when they dispersed Damian's heartbeat spiked for a second before he got it under control. Jon's hair was for once properly combed back. His loose hoodie and ripped jeans were replaced by an all-black suit that fit him unfairly well. Between the suit, his dark hair and the paleness of his skin the blue of his eyes stood out.

"Better?" the vampire asked, fangs flashing briefly. "Don't you think you're missing something?"

"Like what?" Damian asked as he dug out a make-up kit from a golden clutch that could only contain a few small things and his golden quill. His magic focus. 

"Here," suddenly Jon pulled out a black velvet jewellery box. Inside was a set of gold jewellery, a necklace, two earrings, and a bracelet. All decorated with the most perfect emeralds Damian has ever seen. Just how old was it and where and when did Jon get it? "I think it won't be too much green," Jon shrugged but did help Damian put it all on. It was lucky he got his ears pierced some half a year ago on a bet from Drake. 

He just hummed as he checked himself in a small handheld mirror. Just to not look at Jon too much. After quickly fixing his lipstick it joined the quill in the handbag. And then it was time to go. The lady in the reception blushed even more than before as Jon left the key. Well, Damian got it. Jon looked great in a suit.

When they arrived at the gala venue Damian was slightly shocked. He was to many galas with his family. Wayne's were a very public family. Minus their identity as Hunters. That the public had no idea about. But it was known well enough in supernatural circles. So he knew a lot about what to expect. But the lack of media was still shocking. Jon on his end looked bored. 

"I went to several of these over the years, they're always very boring," Jon said and yawned. It was mostly boredom, Jon never felt exhaustion. Even before the incident.

Jon was excellent company as they scouted the main hall of the mansion where the gala was happening at. Looking for their target. Well, Damian was. Jon lazily socialised with guests more familiar with his father. "Oh, he was busy and stuff, but I had a free evening and was a bit bored, and needed a nice place to take someone to," Jon smiled getting a vampire and witch of some sort to laugh. His arm loosely wrapped around Damian's waist.

On his part, Damian played the role of a ditzy model from Europe. Happy to be there and hopelessly in love with his (her) companion. In all honesty, it wasn't that hard to pretend if he was actually, secretly in love with the damned vampire. He was not acting when he smiled and giggled at Jon's jokes even if he didn't pay them any attention. And he most certainly wasn't acting when he'd lean into Jon.

Eventually, Damian spotted the target and excused himself with an excuse of needing to find the bathroom.

Following the target and getting the evidence he needed was easy. Making his way back to Jon was the hard part. Especially when he got cornered by some random idiot. And while normally he'd just knock him out he didn't want to cause more trouble than absolutely necessary. His heart was racing so fast that he had to hope Jon noticed and would come. He had no other way of contacting the vampire.

"I just got lost looking for the bathroom," Damian giggled nervously, keeping up the voice was a bit hard but he managed.

"You're the little thing the El brat brought along, aren't you missy?"

"Meaning you should know to stay away, no?" Damian was never this relieved to hear Jon's voice. And never saw someone jump back this quickly. Even if this guy wasn't interested in following the law, he was very much aware of what Jon could do and get away with, if annoyed enough. As Damian looked at Jon cold sweat ran down his spine. He never saw Jon smile like this. 

His eyes were expressionless. Staring at the man boxing Damian to the wall. Lips curved up in a smile that didn't convey any emotion. Maybe aside from pure rage, as he slowly walked up. His hands were in his pockets. Posture relaxed.

"I was just...."

"How about you stop wasting my time and just leave me and my companion alone?" Jon's smile fell into a scowl and the man practically ran off. "Are you okay?" he asked once they were alone.

Damian nodded, letting his forehead fall against Jon's chest as the vampire took the idiot's spot as Damian didn't move. "Just need a second to calm down," he quietly admitted. "But I have all the information I need so we can leave whenever," he added, taking in what little closeness he could still get from Jon.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," Jon suddenly said, pushing closer to Damian. "Someone's looking to bother me," he briefly explained but Damian's arms were already moving to pull himself closer to the vampire. Closing his eyes and trusting Jon's likely non-existent plan. 

Damian heard some shuffling as he remained still in Jon's arms. Their bodies pressed close. Wondering if Jon's wrath was worth a single kiss. Well, there was a chance Jon would not tell him to go to hell after this. So he stopped himself. Instead of focusing on evening out his heart beat.

"I think they're gone," Jon sighed and gently stepped back. Damian regretfully let go of him. "I think no one would notice if we sneaked out," he added, offering Damian an arm. A welcomed assistance. Even if he picked low heels his shoes were becoming uncomfortable. How the hell did Richard and Tim manage to wear ones with heels any higher was beyond him.

"That would be appreciated," Damian agreed and tuned out any and all noise. Enjoying the last moments of closeness to Jon he could. Hopefully, their relationship would recover but he was a realist. And Jon was seriously upset about that thing earlier.

Shockingly Jon didn't chase Damian away the moment they were far enough from the Gala to go their separate ways. "I'm not letting you go around Gotham looking like this," the vampire huffed as he wrapped his blazer around Damian's shoulders.

Damian was expecting Jon would take him to a hotel or something like that. But instead, he ended up having a shower and a borrowed change of clothes at Jon's place. Followed by tea and some sandwiches. Talk about mixed signals. But Damian accepted it wordlessly with a nod.

"You can have the bed, I don't need to sleep at all anymore," Jon offered as he joined Damian on the couch. But as far from him as possible. And he changed out of his suit. A shame, even if he still looked great in just a faded T-shirt and sweatpants.

"I could just call Pennyworth if you'd rather have me out of your hair sooner," even more mixed signals.

"I... I don't mind you staying the night...." Jon said, looking away even more. Damian was pretty sure his face would be red if vampires could blush.

What was he supposed to do with all these signals telling him Jon didn't mind them staying friends? So he just hummed and complimented Jon. "You looked great in that suit, not that you don't usually...." And failed spectacularly. 

"Not as good as you... though the wig was a bit of a shame," Damian's mind blanked. Jon liked him in that damned dress? They were both silent for a long while after that.

Maybe Jon liked him as more than a friend? Well, one way to find out. That is if you were raised in a cult specialising in killing monsters. "Push me away if it's too much," he said and as fast as humanely possible closed the distance between him and Jon in a kiss.

At first, Jon just sat there. Still like a corpse from shock. But as Damian started pulling back, preparing to apologise once more, he got pulled onto Jon's lap. With just a second to catch some air, they kissed again. It didn't matter who initiated it. Damian could finally get his hands in Jon's hair.

"You should sleep," Jon said once Damian needed air. 

"Only if you join me," Damian grinned. "Only for cuddles, I'm far too exhausted for anything else," he quickly added. That Jon had no issues with.

[myimaginedcorner]

SCALES OF JUSTICE - CHAPTER 8 UPDATE!!!

Hello again, my dearest readers! It hasn't been too long, this time. As promised, here I am with a new update, one that I hoped to make quick and small, but that resulted to be, as usual, a standard chapter. Oh well, these are better news for you: Chapter 8 is now available to play!! With it, we officially set ourselves to see the finish line, for Chapter 9 will be the next and LAST chapter in this book. One final push, one final battle, and everything will move to clear and clarify. Will you prevail, will you fight back to back, or will you see the cracks grow wider under your feet? The time of answers nears us - choose wisely.

I'm also noticing a new pattern in my update schedule, where I'm becoming awfully good at releasing chapters on a Monday... which isn't the brightest of my ideas. I only have another try, but I'll attempt to make it more reasonable.

As usual, I welcome any feedback, specially now that my beta-tester is quite occupied with her MSc (still a strong woman in STEM, still a prisoner to her project and her university. We shall remember her dearly). If you have any issues, recommendations, or comments in general about my work, feel free to text me here or make a post in CoG forum, where I will be answering you to the best of my capabilities. I tried my best to bring this update quickly - I checked for bugs, but I'm always very grateful for any help!

NEW THINGS IN THIS UPDATE:

Dine with Silver Demon, a man who's taken an odd interest in you.

Prepare to rest, and share the last moments of the passing day with someone... or with yourself.

Softlock available for TWO of the romance routes, and hardlock available for ONE of them. Will you choose to involve yourself in games of heart?

Number of saves increased from 3 to 5 slots.

Chapter 5 clothing options expanded - now, more choices are available to suit you best.

Chapter 8 is 63k words long. Some Sleepover scene routes might feel shorter than others, but all of them have overall around 8-10k worth of words between all choices. Replayability and length of playthrough vary from route to route!

KNOWN BUGS:

Sometimes, the image for Chapter 5's title doesn't appear at the beggining of the chapter. I'm unsure why, and thus the bug still persists.

DEMO DESCRIPTION AND USEFUL LINKS:

Scales of Justice is a fantasy game situated in another world, far away from Earth. There are plenty of species living together in harmony, but the human race is currently split in two civilisations: the one known as Hero kingdom, which is ruled by ‘heroes’, and the one named Vannais kingdom, controled by ‘villains’. Both nations hate each other and the fight between ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ here is something that happens on a national level. The game is focused on lore, on character development and your own perception of the world: perhaps, your MC just wants to live a peaceful life... or maybe wants to save the world.

Or even rule it, if you’re into such things.

If you want to know a little more about this project and read 8 chapters, I'll leave the link to the game here -> https://dashingdon.com/play/myimaginedcorner/scales-of-justice/mygame/

If you want to discuss anything on CoG's forum, I'll leave the link for SoJ here -> https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-scales-of-justice-new-project-announcement-and-demo-release/101088/16

If you want to send me a more extensive feedback, here's my email -> feedbackscalesofjustice@gmail.com

Any mistakes, concerns or questions you have, feel free to contact me through Tumblr! I am very excited to share this story with all of you, and I want to make it as good as possible with your help!

RO DESCRIPTIONS:

Shoren/Seile -> Heir to the throne in Hero kingdom, where your journey starts. Also, your old friend who is very attached to you. Likes to read and practices magic, enjoys adventure and heroic deeds. A recognised “Hero”, with blonde curly hair, pale skin and a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

Robert/Reina -> Order's Paladin, defender of Hero and Knight of Fate itself. Brave and honourable, determined to protect the people of the kingdom. Very loyal to friends and very dangerous as an enemy. Has short brown hair, tanned skin and an athletic build.

Valerius/Venis -> An Outworlder, who was caught by cultists from the Wicked Woods. Gracious, elegant and charismatic. Has long dark brown hair with a silver streak, olive skin and golden eyes.

Arion/Aria -> Leader of Vannais, a recognised “Villain” who escaped from Hero and now rules the enemy kingdom. Serious, reserved and temperamental. Doesn’t like to stay behind hiding in the castle, thus always personally appears in battlefields and negotiations. Has short blonde hair, pale skin and greenish eyes.

Be careful! These characters have their thoughts and opinions on the world and your actions: if you want them to support you, convince them or take their side… or neither. That is your choice after all!

[raayllum]

what fae like qualities do you believe aaravos has?

I don't know enough about the fae to say definitively (I've read some works depicting fae, such as The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser from the 1500s, A Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare, some other folklore myths) but I try to stay away from sources that are too Christianized for stuff that's more Pagan / northern and western Europe and the 1500s has plenty already.

When in doubt I'm loosely using wikipedia / old class notes for reference but if there's a site or source I think is cool and helpful I'll note it down below.

There is some that are generally common knowledge, such as:

Fae being mischevious tricksters with very particular phrasing. They don't tend to often be outright malevolent as a motivation, but often do harm to humans anyway either due to ignorance or blue-orange morality.

Blue-orange morality (for those who don't want to watch a video) is basically when a creature or being does not have a morality that operates that we would define it (on a spectrum of ethical right or wrong actions per consequence or intention). A good example is the spirits from ATLA (not LOK) or One-One from Infinity Train. He's a helpful little robot guy and he loves his friends, but he is ultimately bound and operates within the Train's rules. It's not that he can't deter from the Train's rules without distress or that he doesn't want to, it's that deterring from the Train's rules just doesn't compute to him as even a thing to do. He's operating on his own unique level and it's what turns him from a S1 ally to a S2 antagonist (but not villain).

There tends to be an emphasis on names, deals, and exchanges, i.e. if a Fae says "Can you give me your name?" and you tell them it, they own it and you by extension now, stuff like that. Also have a tendency to give humans they like, or humans who do nice things for them, gifts (whether it's actually a beneficial gift is sometimes debatable).

The Fae often lure humans away from the Ordinary Realm into the Faerie Realm, where time and magic work differently. Sometimes this means being whisked away, or unknowingly stepping through fairy rings. This can include both the Seelie and the UnSeelie Court (Scottish folklore).

Examples of the Fae in popular culture include Spirited Away (don't eat the food!), changeling myths (faerie leaving their babies in place of your own, nowadays seen as a connection to old stories of Autistic individuals), arguably Coraline (film and book), will-o-the-wisps, and other figures in Welsh, Cornish, and broad European folklore, etc.

Variants / similarities include huldufolk (Icelandic and Faroese folklore), sirens (Greek), kelpies (Scottish), etc. Over time Christian (bc of course) associations have also been applied as both demoted angels and tempting devils, but that sort of works given one of Aaravos' most prominent comparisons is Lucifer, and Prometheus, who were as crafty and clever as they come.

Basically:

Aaravos emphasis (or lack thereof) regarding his name and the general mystery surrounding it — "My name would mean nothing to you" even in the face of Viren's demands

We see the emphasis on phrasing given that it's been stated by the crew that Aaravos never lies, but we know he purposefully obscures and omits information

Entering into deals and exchanges with humans, giving them gifts and promises (Ziard's staff, Viren's rule for himself and Viren's life for Claudia)

Him seducing Viren yes I said it / everything with Sir Sparklepuff tbh

Fae can also sometimes set trials to pass or tasks for people to fulfil, similar-ish to Aaravos giving Viren a little fetch quest for them to communicate / "Those who fail tests of love are simple animals."

We don't know what Aaravos actually wants, exactly, or why, but given the indifference of the other Startouch elves to humanity's plights (and the fact they've let Aaravos wreak havoc and have never stepped in to stop him) it's a far bet their long, illustrious lives have given them a decidedly warped morality, and that Aaravos is pretty indifferent to other people's immense suffering at this point, too

His mirror realm being its own sort of faerie realm that he can bring Viren in and out of

Aaravos having multiple names and monikers — the Fallen Star, the Midnight Star, one of the Great Ones — much the way the Fae folk have many — the Good Neighbours, the Fair Folk, the Kind Ones, the Wee Folk, the Others (citation).

This isn't as much of a thing but all the nature motifs surrounding Aaravos (Elarion as a flower, the nature-esque patterns on the box that held the Key and that match the key, the flower and vine emulations on his mirror).

[anmechokola]

What if the Lunarians were genetically modified from the People of the Moon?

(SPOILERS FOR UP TO CHAPTER 1138)

Bear with me.

For this idea to work we have to make some assumptions. In chapter 1116, Vegapunk talks about the Mother Flame sample that was stolen, and he says that it's the only thing that could generate enough energy to power the weapon that destroyed Lulusia. So

IF the weapon that destroyed Lulusia is in fact the Ancient Weapon Uranus, as a lot of people theorize it is

and IF the Mother Flame is indeed the only thing that could generate enough energy to power it

THEN I'm assuming the Mother Flame - or at least something like it - already existed at the time that the Ancient Weapons were created

If everything related to the Great Kingdom was erased, then they could have had an energy source like the Mother Flame and its knowledge was then lost to time and later rediscovered/reinvented by Vegapunk. Related to this is a theory that in the Harley text the mention of the "forbidden sun" in the First World and the "sun" in the Second World could be talking about the Mother Flame (you can read more about it - extensively - here)

We don't know how old the Great Kingdom actually was, the only timeline we have is that it was defeated along with Joyboy at the end of the Void Century 800 years ago, after which all knowledge of it was suppressed. So it could theoretically have existed during the First and/or Second Worlds of the Harley text

We know that, at an unspecified moment in time, the "people of the moon" went to the blue planet due to a lack of resources. The Skypeans and Birkans stayed on sky islands, and the Shandians went further down and founded Shandora more than 1100 years ago

(chapters 472 and 261)

We also know that there was an extremely advanced civilization that existed during the Void Century and was an enemy of the 20 nations that later formed the World Government.

(chapter 1115)

And Whitebeard said that a long time ago there was a "Land of the God(s)" atop the Red Line, where the Lunarians lived.

(chapter 1023)

We don't now when exactly the Lunarians were eradicated, but we do know that most of the rulers from the 20 nations founded Marijoa on the Red Line after the end of the Void Century, so I think it's safe to assume it happened during or before that (maybe because of it?)

So far, the people we have seen that have wings are the Lunarians (or, rather, King), who have big, utilitarian wings, and the People of the Moon, who have small and apparently unusable wings

Both of them are also named after the Moon (Luna is moon in Latin)

(chapter 1033)

We know that Lunarians are extremely resistant and can survive, as Queen puts it, in any natural environment

.

Now that we've established all this, what's my point? Well, I'm just wondering if it would be too much of a stretch to imagine that the people of the Great Kingdom, more advanced than Vegapunk, could also have been involved in genetic modifications

(chapter 1138)

In the Harley text, it says that the First World ended in "death and darkness". In such an inhospitable environment, you'd want people to be resilient, right? So what if they modified the People of the Moon who actually came down to the planet, and ended up with a race that has more endurance, power and speed than a normal human, with the bonus of being able to fly? Those flames on their backs could be a byproduct of being modified using the Mother Flame, or could actually be a piece of the Mother Flame. Maybe that's where Vegapunk got the idea for it, since we know he was at Punk Hazard and would have had access to King's data

(chapter 1022)

Maybe it doesn't mean anything, but Marco talks about a race that can ignite/combust ("発火"する), which has a less... natural sounding vibe, doesn't it?

This would also give another possible layer of meaning to the line from the Second World that says "Man killed the Sun and became God", which could mean

The 20 nations killed Joyboy (user of the Sun God Fruit) and called themselves gods

The 20 nations destroyed the Mother Flame that powered the Ancient Weapons used by the Great Kingdom, so the world lost an infinite energy source and became dependant on the World Government, giving them the power of gods over the rest of the world

The 20 nations eradicated the Lunarians, who were called gods and possibly had the Mother Flame on their backs, and took their place on the Land of the God(s) that later became Marijoa

.

(chapter 1023)

[Lastly: if King is from a race of genetically modified people who can use fire, then this part where he's being compared to Sanji, another person who was genetically modified and can use fire, is pretty ironic]

[datura-tea]

i just realized something. my player characters with bethesda-mandated family (lone wanderer gwen and sole survivor sofia) are estranged from that family. meanwhile my couriers (moz, kiwi, and avery) have pretty good relationships with their families :) that's what happens when a backstory isn't forced to your character i guess!!

details under the cut

gwen and james, though stuck in close proximity in the vault for 19 years, are as distant as can be. james has his work, his projects. gwen has all the turbulent drama of childhood and teenage life. they have their moments, but otherwise? nothing much. except for lectures and reprimands, they don't really talk, especially post-james and ellen's divorce. gwen has more of a relationship with ellen and butch than james.

their relationship gets worse topside, when after all gwen has done to get to james is pushed to the side because all james can think of is project purity. so after he dies, what does gwen do? let his pet project die as well. she doesn't even know what the passcode number is, when sarah lyons asks her. how the fuck would she know? her father barely told her anything. she didn't know ellen deloria wasn't her biological mom until after james divorced ellen and told gwen the truth. she's not even sure if he loved her for herself, or if he just loved her the way a parent loves their child - as an extension of themself and their values. now that he's dead, she'll never know for sure.

sofia has a good relationship with her family back home in the philippines, all six siblings and both parents and both sets of grandparents, and countless uncles and aunts and cousins of them. the problem is nate. and shaun, eventually. the thing is, sofia never imagined herself marrying a foreigner, much less a blue-eyed american soldier. she never would have married nate if he hadn't gotten her pregnant. but with abortion being illegal in the philippines, and with nate being "a true gentleman" in his words, there was little else she could do.

in boston, a shotgun wedding. which turned into a loveless marriage pretty quick, once the honeymoon phase wore off. homesickness. morning sickness. anti-asian racist microagressions from neighbors who've never met a filipino before, even though america annexed the philippines decades ago. a miserable life, freshly post-partum and friendless and jobless, all alone in a big house with only a baby and a robot butler for company. who wouldn't fall into a deep depression?

and don't get me started on shaun. sofia placed all her hopes and dreams and joys on meeting her baby boy and watching him grow up, teaching him tagalog and sharing with him all her favorite meals and memories. can you imagine how sofia felt, when he got kidnapped? when she spent her first year in the post-apocalypse relentlessly trying to find him? when she killed kellogg in her rage and grief over him? when, finally, they meet and he isn't a baby but an old man, the leader of the group she's looking to dismantle, and she realizes that he came from her but he's not of her, he doesn't know her and she doesn't know him, and she hates everything he stands for, but still she's his mother and she loves him but she'll never like him? can you imagine???

meanwhile: moz and her big family with her mothers dalisay and philomena, her big brother lakan with his wife guadalupe and their eight kids (all adopted), and her husband ulysses and their child ree, plus everyone in the painted hairs, everyone in their town whom she calls tito and tita and ate and kuya and bunso and totoy and nene :) nothing but love and understanding there!!

kiwi and their family of butchers and tailors - grandmother, father, mother, and brothers, all adept with shiny sharp things. strict but loving, in the "i want what i think is best for you" kind of way. kiwi would have stayed if their father didn't keep forcing the butchershop and their straight marriage to a family friend's daughter on them. honestly if kiwi went home, they'd find their father a changed man - he only wants kiwi to be happy, really; if wearing sequins and being the right-hand man of mr house is the key to that happiness, then so be it!

avery is an only son, raised by a single mother after his ncr ranger father died. he and his mother will defend each other to death - which is why avery set fire to his mother's asshole (now ex-)boyfriend's house when he hurt avery's mom. on the run, avery still writes letters home. he never leaves a return address until after he gains amnesty for his arson charge. by then, his return address is the lucky 38. his mom sends him one hell of a letter. the first thing he does after winning the battle of hoover dam is go home to his mom :)