#Train Conductor Emit

[pixelga1axy]

Train Conductor Emit and Fruit Loops sharing some candy

[cecilioque]

The Submas Designs are a lot more clever than you thought.

First lets look at the Submas overall design.  We know that the original design was intended to make the Subway Bosses look like clowns and kind of creepy (that backfired); hence the comically large shoes and exaggerated expressions. Let’s start to break down each part of the design. 

To begin, The Submas extreme expressions are a possible reference to the symbol of theatre; the mask of Tragedy and the Mask of Comedy.  The mask of tragedy is commonly portrayed frowning ( not necessarily cry) on a black base mask while the mask of Comedy is portrayed smiling on a white base masks. Sometimes these masks are gold or split black and white color.  The masks together represent the two extremes of the human psyche. Definitely the contrast we see between Emmet's smile and Ingo’s frown.

Next up, the coats.  These are obviously designed to look like train tracks.  The vertical grey lines representing the rails, the red brown the tie (the wood connecting the rails), and the buttons are the spikes that secure the track.  You can see the pattern best on the back of the Submas coat.  Looking at it you could laugh and say “I guess that makes the Subway boss themselves the train”, and you know what? You’re right.

This brings us to the most interesting part of their design, the color and pose.  Yes, there is an explanation to the silly pose too.  It’s so silly that we can just brush this whole design off as being another funny Pokemon character design; but unfortunately it’s actually thought out.  

The Submas themselves are the New York Subway. Or at least they are the personified version of it.  Let’s look at the colors again.  Black and White.  Very fitting for a game literally called Pokemon Black and White.  That alone brings us to some interesting comparisons with the game themes and pokemon.

Kudari or (Emmet in the English version) wears all white. He values routine and rules and is ultimately pretty point blank.  We can easily make that conclusion that  Emmet represents Reshiram and truth. If we break down his name we see that in Japanese it means something along the lines of “down train” or moving away/going down hill.  The different translations usually mean the same, except the name “Emmet” is a bit out of place.  A lot of people say the Submas names in English are most likely to be puns of “Ingoing and Emitting”.  But my crazy self did more digging and found that Emmet means “truth” specifically universal truth.  This name goes back to old German, Irish, and even Hebrew. All looping back to Reshiram and themes of the game. (On a funny side note, Emmet is also the Cornish word for ant; so Emmet having a Durant is really funny. ) 

Next up is Nobori or Ingo who wears a black coat and appears frowning. Despite that , his is very encouraging and excited about moving forward. This makes sense since the name Nobori in Japanese more or less means to move up/forward ( specifically up a mountain).  That’s why a lot of people believe that the poor man was eebie deebied for the pun because Warden Ingo works on Mt. Coronet. In English, Ingo is thought to be a shortened version of “Ingoing” which also aligns with not only the Japanese name but the character’s reoccurring theme of progress, moving forward, and ideals. In this sense Ingo very much represents Zekrom and ideals. 

Truth and ideals, Reshiram and Zekrom, Tragedy and comedy, white and Black.  All very good interpretations and symbolism for two funny train men. I would be satisfied with just knowing that, but no; the Submas are also a funny gijinka of the New York Subway.  This is the part the has me laughing at how simple it is and yet we just easily accepted that they were just a bit strange.

Take a look at this. This is a Zebra Board.  

Yep, it’s black and white. And do you know what? This MTA sign only appears in the New York subway.  What does it do?  These are used by conductors to indicate safety and that the train has lined up in the station. Every time the subway comes into the station, the conductor has to physically point at this board/bar to indicate that it is safe for the doors to open. The action is called "point and call" or "point and acknowledge".  This practice is used in a few other train/subway stations (such as Japan), but the black and white board is New York specific. The pose of the submas suddenly makes a lot of sense.

Other Important notes observations.

The Submas face represents the front of the train.  So their eyes are the lights (hence Ingos glowing eyes in PLA), their side burns are cow catchers ( see graphic), and the Medalion on the hat is round like a train number plate.  Another interesting thing is that the Submas use airline Captain Pilot hats like Japanese train conductors use.  The only part of their outfit that confuses me is the arm bands.  This is more of a police uniform element and not a train conductor thing.

so to conclude, the Submas are basically a reference to in game themes, Reshiram/Zekrom, Trains, and literally the New York subway

I am not an expert. These are just my observations. I could be completely wrong.  Take and add what you would like to.  If you have more to add about the design, feel free to reblog that info. I would also like to see your interpretation.

[crtorner]

"Flowers at the platform"

- my first attempt at fanfiction, mainly fluff, 600+ words, sorry for any typos and grammar errors :) this was just for fun!

“All abooaard!”

The train conductor announced. People ushered into their respective train carts clearly having places to be.

However, you stayed, sitting on a bench by the platform.

Waiting, and occasionally thinking of what you would cook for him, you listened to the chugging and the whistle of the trains that pass by like afterthoughts, dissappearing into the horizon with the smoke that emitted from the steam powered locomotive, billowing into the sky. None of them were ever his, but you knew you had to wait.

"It won't be the first and certainly won't be the last." You reassured yourself.

Waiting, something that you first learned back in the days where he was still in the process of courting you was a key part in this relationship you shared with the auror, no matter how long it took, with time, you found peace in it.

Considering his position as Head Auror of the British Auror office, Theseus often went overseas, leaving you alone for weeks that sometimes stretched out into months to your silent dismay and soon, acceptance. However, waiting for his train to arrive didn't bother you as much as most people would assume. After all, the sight of him before you was the greatest pay off of all.

With what you hadn't realised was bated breath and anticipation, you saw him step off the train. With the other behind him, his hand, withered with scars, fixed his already well-groomed brunette hair and the knot of his tie. He always made sure to look good for you - especially the times where he was scarce.

He stepped towards you with a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Dear." The older man greeted you fondly.

"Theseus! There you are." You got onto your feet, fighting the urge to run into his arms as you made your way towards him. You weren't a woman who waited for the husband to return from war— no, that was in the past, and thank god for that.

You could've sworn there was a floral scent in the air around you two as you examined his face you missed so dearly.

"I don't suppose you.." Before you could finish his sentence, the hand he had previously had behind his back outstretched to you with a bouquet of an assortment of colorful flowers in hand.

"I wouldn't ever." He clarified with a chuckle of triumph. The gesture was all too endearing not to bring a smile on your face, and that was exactly his goal.

Despite being an important man who, as it comes to no suprise, often was busy with his schedule packed with all sorts of admin and case work, not to mention the countless court trials that gave him a headache, however, nothing a cigarette or a glass of bourbon couldn't ease. He always had flowers for you.

Of course he had flowers with him, he always did whenever the time was right for him to return from his job as the Head Auror. If it wasn't flowers he had behind his back it would be something else. Sometimes it was small and simple. Other times it would be big and extravagant, but never did it fail to be a thoughtful gift he had brought with him to make you happy.

To see your face, smiling no less, at some point in time had become a luxury just as much as it was for you to see him in bed beside you.

"Keep that smile, would you?" Theseus requested as he pushed your hair behind your ear, his eyes tracing over your features that had been crinkled with a smile. Your cheeks growing a rosy colour at the touch of his hands, withered from the excessive use of writing tools.

"Well then, let's get going, I would have to wait any longer to be at home with you." You two walked along the train platform, with each others hands intertwined.

“How is Newt, by the way?" You asked.

"Oh, off somewhere in China on another one of his beastly endeavours, what's new?" The wizard mused to himself.

[aangelinakii]

THE SWAP

in which black cat makes the swap

chapter : two

character : tangerine

fandom : bullet train

song : zanzibar , billy joel

date : 17th june 2023

as the woman boarded the shinkansen, passengers talked amongst each other as they packed away overhead luggage and marched around to find their seats. she looked down at her ticket; carriage 3, seat 2e. she glanced up, scanning the purgatory between cabin one and two that she stood in. a couple stood next to her, conversing quietly to each other in japanese as they shoved their carry-on luggage into the baggage storage along with the other bags and suitcases and whatnot. black cat offered them a smile before shrugging off her coat and folding it over her arm, strategically covering the silver briefcase she held so closely to her body. if the owners of the real silver case were on this train, she would be foolish to wave around an identical decoy in plain sight.

she stepped through into the second carriage, ticket sat between her index and middle finger as she passed passengers already getting comfortable in their seats.

a much shorter male, dressed in the ticket conductor's uniform, appeared before her, asking to see her ticket. black cat presented the slick piece of white paper, allowing the man to look it over a couple times before he offered a small welcoming smile and stepped to the side. "have a nice trip," he said in broken english, though his confidence shone through, and black cat stepped past him.

black cat lingered in the passing period between carriages two and three for the remaining few passengers to finish packing their luggage into the storage, and to leave the compartment to find their seats.

once the compartment was empty, and she knew the restroom behind her was empty, black cat approached the baggage storage, stacked almost to the brim with various bags and suitcases. she crouched down, placing her decoy briefcase on the floor in front of her as she began to sift through the luggage for an identical case. come on... where was that blue train sticker?

and then she saw it.

the woman emitted a soft gasp when she spotted the silver glint in the overhead lighting, and the blue sticker she'd been keeping an eye out for. she grasped the handle and pulled it carefully out from the back, so as to not disturb the resting places of the other bags.

when she placed it on the floor in front of her, beside the decoy, her eyes widened. if she didn't know any better, she could've mixed them up. whoever this contact of hers was, they'd seemed to have studied the real case as a cat studies the birds outside, or as a student studies the content they need to know for their exams. the silver cases were identical, from the way they shone in the calm shinkansen lighting, to the placement of the blue train sticker stuck on the handle, and to the lock combination.

black cat took hold of the decoy briefcase from either side, and pushed it into place where the real one had priorly been. just for safe measures, she pushed it back a little further with her finger, so it sat more snug between the rest of the luggage, and she pulled away from the scene.

she took hold of the true case and hid it under the cover of her brown overcoat, folded over her arm, and set foot into carriage 3; the place she needed to be.

however, as she scanned the carriage for her seat – 2e, if you needed a reminder – it dawned upon her that, if the briefcase had been stored away in the limbo between compartments two and three, that the owner of it would be in very close proximity whilst she was in her new ownership of their briefcase. and now she promised herself to take extra caution as she sauntered down the aisle, to the double-seater which was apparently home to seats 1 and 2 e.

once she'd sat down, she carefully placed the briefcase in the adjacent seat, the window seat, and then situated her long coat on top of it, so that it sat as naturally as possible.

with a smile, black cat reached inside one of the pockets of her coat and pulled out the snacks she'd taken so long to pick out.

CRASH! glass bottles rattled together, the liquid squirming inside each like a hurricane had struck. a couple crisp packets fell to the floor. passengers gasped as they rose from their seats out of curiosity and mild panic. black cat gasped and her head shot around.

beside her, where the snack trolley lady was making her way down the aisle, a shaggy tall man had bumped into her, causing quite the ruckus.

"bloody fuckin' hell, do you mind?" black cat overheard the cockney voice of a young man. when she craned her neck around further to find the source, she saw the same two men she recognised from the station, sitting diagonally behind her in one of the larger four-seaters.

they both sat glaring at the shaggy man, who was rubbing his shin whilst muttering japanese apologies to the trolley lady. the two bowed at each other before the man carried on his way down the train with his head hung low to hide his embarrassment, and his pace had slowed down in order to avoid another situation like that again.

once she'd patted down her navy uniform skirt, the blonde trolley lady turned to black cat, plastering on her shiny commercial smile. she uttered some words in japanese, which black cat didn't understand, although gesturing to the snacks on her trolley – and she was competent enough to understand what she was asking. "oh, no, i'm okay," black cat smiled in return, holding up her pack of pocky to show the lady she already had some food and wouldn't be needing any of hers. the kind lady smiled and continued down the aisle.

and so, now with that commotion finished with, black cat took it upon herself to open up her pack of pocky, so she could enjoy her to-be short-lived shinkansen journey.

according to the map tucked into the back of the seat in front of her, which she'd pulled out the inspect, the first stop would be shinagawa station, and with the train's high speed levels, it was supposed to take roughly ten minutes to reach it. black cat glanced over at her coat, bundled up on top of the briefcase, and exhaled softly. she had a feeling this mission would go smoothly.

[kukkakisu]

Old Friend.

Words; 1,252 Content Warnings; N/A Conductor has a reunion with a familiar figure from the past.

The last thing Conductor expected to hear in the everlasting snowstorms was the cry of a child. It wasn't often it went outside, but occasionally it would join its companions there. It wanted to keep an eye on the Bracken, for one and secondly. Well. There was a yearning of sorts. One it wouldn't put to words even if it was asked to. Even if the weather wasn't pleasant, it was still nice to step outside now and then. It was where it was designed to be, after all.

Gears clicked as it walked with a purpose, warm steam emitting from the mouth of the metallic suit it had been with for centuries now. It had its ways of staying warm, but even for it, too long in this weather would be a death sentence. To anyone unwise it would have been a strange thing to hear in the snowy landscape, its movements sounding almost like a slowly approaching steam train. Not that those were made, or remembered anymore. Ancient creations at this point, long forgotten by the humans alive in this era.

The closer Conductor got to the crying, the clearer it became what it was. A whistle of surprise left it, echoing in the air like a locomotive that announced its arrival at a station. What was the poor thing doing here? Surely it shouldn't have been in a place like this. It was aware of their habits of travel, but Rend was far from home. One shouldn't have come here, considering it wouldn't be possible to fly back home.

It was familiar with them. It knew their limits. Their strengths. It didn't need to see one to know what it was. The sound alone was enough. It resonated with it, its scanner picking up the distress signal with ease.

A bright light shined toward Conductor and the figure behind the cries came into view. A massive robot. Even the ground trembled beneath it as it stepped towards the Nutcracker but Conductor stood still, its gaze fixed on the huge war machine. To it, they weren't a threat. It wasn't afraid.

There was a familiar softness it felt. One it reserved for only a few. It wasn't like it to be that way but… It couldn't help it. The Old Bird's cries were never something it liked to hear. It was designed to not be affected by it, given it was meant to work together with them. Yet still, there was a part of it that felt it tug at its code in a way it could not explain. It might have been a fault, an error even, but it didn't care. For this small moment, it let the feeling wash over it like a warm wave that returned to the shore after its long journey in the ocean.

01010111 01101000 01111001 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100011 01110010 01111001 00101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110010 01100100 00111111

Conductor kept its gaze as it communicated with the machine, another set of steam leaving it. It didn't have to wait long for a response.

01001100 01101111 01110011 01110100 00101110 00100000 01010011 01100011 01100001 01110010 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 01001100 01101111 01101110 01100101 01101100 01111001 00101110

The Old Bird's cries continued, loud enough that not even the winds muffled it entirely. Yet their silent conversation together was heard loud and clear. No amount of noise was able to break that connection. Conductor extended its hand. The only one it had left.

01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100011 01100001 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01111001 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100101 00101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110010 01100100 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101110

With that, the robot went silent. It stood still for a moment, keeping its yellow light on the Nutcracker-- illuminating its figure like a spotlight. Then, it reached for it. A threatening display for most, yet Conductor remained still as the large claws wrapped around its body and raised it upward as if it weighed nothing. It stopped once more as if processing the unspoken words that had been shared with it.

01000110 01100001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00101110

The hand moved, placing the other to sit on their shoulder. The claws opened and the hand moved back down, leaving it to rest closely against their head. Conductor felt a warmness spread at the Old Bird's words. It wasn't the machinery in it that kept it warm, this time, but rather a feeling of fondness. It had been a long time since it had been called that. Much too long.

A few tendrils slithered under its head, pushing it upwards so it could see better. They looked the same, albeit a lot more withered and rusted. There was a lot of maintenance to do. Lucky for it, Conductor had become quite good at acquiring parts for anything it needed to repair during its long time on this moon. It would be a hassle to keep it in good condition, given the harsh weather this place had. Still, it was a challenge it was willing to take. It owed them that much. They deserved better than to wander around aimlessly, lost and scared, without a purpose.

They deserved a home.

Conductor lowered its head back down and the metal clanked as it made contact with itself. Its gears whirred in preparation, a cloud of steam beginning to steadily leave it. It whistled, though this time it had a clearer tune to it. A soothing melody that echoed through the air like a song.

The Old Bird made a sound once more as well, though this time it was different. It wasn't a noise that it was programmed to make, but rather something akin to a hum. Something Conductor had taught it. Something it wanted to and liked to do on its own accord.

They followed its melody and the two continued their performance like birds that sang together in unison.

Conductor placed its hand against the Old Bird's head giving it a light pat. Like a parent soothing a child. Traveling this far couldn't have been an easy journey to make.

01010010 01100101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110111 00101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110010 01100100 00101110 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101000 01101111 01101101 01100101 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101110

With that, the machine began to quiet down. Its scanning light flickered for a moment before it too shut off. Slowly, but surely the Old Bird powered down. It was just a temporary sleep, but one they very much deserved. Only after they became inactive, did the Nutcracker stop its whistling.

Conductor had a lot of work to do until it would wake up again. It shifted its posture and jumped down on the cold ground, snow scattering under its weight as it landed. It moved to gaze at the silent, still figure once more and spoke something, even if they couldn't hear it now. There wasn't a point to talk but… Perhaps it was feeling a bit sentimental at this unexpected reunion.

"Rest well, old friend."

[ask-blog-for-cold-family]

My headcanon Universe 6 technology

1)U6FD Combat Light Armor Suit is a specialized and unique Light Armor in Universe 6 designed specifically for the needs of assassins and other specialized covert operatives. This light armour possesses enhanced mobility tools, such as an accelerator to increase speed and mobility. Additionally, the Light Armor includes a Ki Oscillator, which acts as a powerful weapon capable of emitting destructive blasts. U6FD combat light armour also features a Ki circumventor, which is engineered to hide the user’s presence, preventing Ki detecting mechanisms or other Ki-focused devices from identifying their presence.(It made by Frost company, is it a trend product on the black market)

2)The Ki Oscillator is a unique weapon in Universe 6, which allows its user to wield immense power through the use of energy fluctuations that amplify and manipulate external energy into destructive energy waves. This weapon can harness an extraordinary amount of Ki,This energy then oscillates and magnifies, allowing it to emit destructive beams and blasts. The Ki Oscillator is an incredibly powerful, yet difficult-to-master weapon, requiring extensive training and discipline in advanced Ki manipulation.

Ki Oscillator actually is a type of special microchip that put in human body, most for it will put at arm or palm. Ki Oscillator have 101~1k logic gates or 1,001~10k transistors. Ki Oscillator is a Nanoscale devices. Ki Oscillator is made by nanomaterials that come from a Nanoorganisms and mix with specail Ki-conductor mental. (Only the part that connect to human body use nanomaterials that come from a Nanoorganisms.) Ki Oscillator no need to use electricity, it use Ki as the Power source.

3)Ki Energy Fluid (KEF) is a specialized product in Universe 6, which utilizes specialized technology to process Ki particles into a conductive liquid state. This liquid possesses immense potential energy due to the high concentration of Ki, allowing it to be used for a number of applications, such as energy generation, propulsion, or even as a power source. KEF can be harvested from large numbers of individuals with high Ki levels, or can be extracted and processed in specialized facilities.

4)Suspend (SUS) is a technology product Universe 6, which acts as a special form of suspension technology, designed to hold an individual in suspension. This state of suspended animation has various uses, including keeping individuals in a stasis for medical purposes, or preventing a dangerous individual from acting. Suspension technology is used extensively in Universe 6, both by individuals for specific purposes, and occasionally as part of various technological systems.

5)The Ki Energy-Gathering Object (KEGO) is a technology product in the Universe 6, which acts as a device capable of gathering and concentrating the user's Ki, the life force of beings in the setting. It utilizes a special crystal which acts as a vessel for the concentrated Ki, and redirects the energy to create bursts of destruction, or as a source of energy to enhance a person's capabilities. It can also be used to draw out hidden Ki and reveal hidden power in individuals, making it a highly sought after tool for anyone who wishes to master their Ki energy.

6)Organic Matter Conversion Ki Technology (OMCKT) is a technology used within Universe 6, which allows for the manipulation of organic matter into a form of Ki energy. This technology uses a specialized device which converts the molecular structure of organic materials into a synthetic version of the life energy, allowing for the controlled and targeted conversion of living beings into an energy source to enhance one's Ki and power.

7)R7SS-20 Photon Armor Suit: Contains cloaking technology that allows the wearer to become virtually invisible in the environment. Equipped with 20 energy shield that activates when attacked, providing additional protection. It integrates biological monitoring technology and can monitor the wearer's physiological parameters in real time, such as heart rate, body temperature, etc. Equipped with an intelligent system, it can interact with the wearer to provide information, navigation or execute instructions. Contains a series of enhanced functions, such as enhanced strength, speed, endurance, allowing the wearer to perform special tasks or survive in extreme environments. have Ki circumventor, which is engineered to hide the user’s presence, preventing Ki detecting mechanisms or other Ki-focused devices from identifying their presence.(It made by Frost company, is it a trend product on the black market).

8)Optical Brain: It is a computer system based on optical components and a brain-computer interface technology that uses light signals to interact with computers or other devices.

[the-helper-house]

Toby was standing in the grass — which was, unlike the rest of the forest, alive — hunched over, possibly staring at the floor. Conductor realised there was a strange glow emitting from the boy. Then he saw something else.

Coating the child’s hands up to half the length of his forearms was a substance of vibrant blue colours of differing hues. They glowed, not unlike the small blue orbs surrounding the space.

Conductor got over his trance and approached Toby, albeit with a bit of hesitance. He reached the boy in no time, getting a better look at the kid’s arms. The strange blue substance appeared to have lighter dots in them, almost like stars, as if there was a nebula on Toby’s arms.

He held Toby’s shoulder. He stirred slightly, but didn’t move, so Conductor moved around to face the child, crouching down to be on his level. He sucked in a breath as he realised the kid’s eyes were made of the same blue substance on his arms. Toby stared ahead with a totally blank expression, completely unlike the kid he’d grown to know.

��Hey, kid?” Conductor said, an arm still on Toby’s shoulder. The boy seems to stir again at his voice, his eyes fluttering. Conductor put another arm on the kid’s other shoulder, shaking him gently. “Hey..”

Finally, Toby stirred. He blinked suddenly, as if waking up. The blue substance in his eyes and arms suddenly dissipated, and those blue lights in the sky flickered out all around them, the live grass at their feet suddenly wilting again. Even the moonlight seemed to disappear, leaving the two in total darkness save for the lantern.

Conductor raised the lantern up, illuminating the boy’s face. Toby blinked a few times, getting his bearings, before recognition flickered into his eyes and he smiled at the skeleton. Conductor grimaced slightly. What was that??

“Hi Mr. Conducky!” Toby said, as if he hadn’t just been possessed by the moon or something.

“Hey, kid, what was that??”

“Oh, I was just helping to my friend!”

“Uhh… who’s your friend?”

“They’re really tall!” Toby raised his arms to enunciate his point, “and they wear white robes and have long hair and have really cool eyes! You should meet them sometime!”

“hmm,” He feigned considering it. He didn’t really want to meet this person, “maybe some day, buddy. I think should head back to the Train, yeah? Kara’s wondering where you got off to.”

“Ohhh, okay!”

Conductor stood back up to his full height, taking the kid by the arm and leading him back to the Train. He felt its presence not far from here. Maybe it moved closer for him.

He considered Toby’s words about his supposed “friend”. Conductor didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t get a good feeling from that blue stuff. The kid looked like a different person. But it also felt… wrong. Like that blue stuff shouldn’t have had a way to get here in the first place. Like it shouldn’t have been here at all.

It might’ve been a bad decision, but he was worried what might happen if Birdo found out what had happened here tonight. That stuff felt illegal, like it shouldn’t be here or be being used. He was worried what could happen to Toby if the big boss discovered that stuff.

“Hey, Toby?” He said finally.

“Yeah?” Toby replied cheerfully, looking up to the skeleton with a smile. He couldn’t risk letting anything happen to him.

“Let’s… not mention this whole experience to Kara and Neo, okay? Let’s just keep between us two. Just us, no other Helpers either, okay?” Narrator wasn’t here right now. He couldn’t feel his presence this time. This wasn’t counting for the script.

“Oh, okay!” Toby responded. Conductor spotted the Train in the distance.

[pxmun]

Back in the normal realm, Stacy Jones was sitting anxiously next to her phone. She had gotten a call some time ago from Schemer about the disappearance of the Cupper siblings. As of her last conversation with Schemer, he had gotten a hold of Billy Twofeather's and the two had headed out to look for the kids. In the meantime, Stacy was at her computer booking the earliest flight she could get back to Shining Time City. Unfortunately, Stacy was running into trouble with the airlines due to the recent bad weather and flights being cancelled and delayed. Stacy had chatted with an employee over the phone, and they told the former station master that right now wasn't the best time to travel by air. She had tried the trains, but they too were having trouble getting through the snow up in the mountains. Stacy sat in her chair forlorn, first the incident at Shining Time Station and now Kara's kids were missing. She felt helpless just like on that horrible day back at the station, Stacy didn't know what to do. The phone rang and Stacy immediately answered it, Billy was on the other end and Stacy had hopped he had some news on the kids, but there wasn't. Billy and Schemer had checked the schools, Darius's workplace, and the Cupper's house, but there was no trace of them. All Billy knew was that Darius had finally quit that awful job and that his coworkers had said he was moving somewhere, they didn't know where but from what Darius described it sounded like somewhere in the United Kingdom. Billy was suddenly interrupted by Schemer; the former arcade owner had overheard a group of Romeo's classmates talking about how another classmate last saw the teen heading in the direction of Shining Time Station. Both Billy and Stacy were in disbelief, for what reason would the kids want to go to Shining Time Station? The place was abandoned with no running trains. Schemer didn't know why either and he was really worried, as an urban legend had sprung up since the station's closing. A rumor had been spread around about those who visit Shining Time Station would end up being abducted by a ghost train that would take its victims to realms unknown. As soon as Schemer said that Stacy could sense Billy was thinking the same thing she was. "Stacy, you don't think Mr. C..." Billy suggested. "I don't know Billy; he was staying with me over here in California until a few years ago, then he just left and never came back." Stacy replied. With that Billy was determined to check the station and told Stacy that she should look and see if Mr. Conductor left anything behind that could lead them as to what was going on and maybe even the whereabouts of the kids. Stacy agreed, as she hung up the phone, she could hear Schemer in the background asking Billy about who Mr. Conductor was and what he had to do with his missing grandkids. Stacy thought that it might be time to tell Schemer about Mr. Conductor. Stacy searched around her apartment for any clues. After the incident at Shining Time Station, Stacy moved to a retirement complex in California. She was surprised when Mr. Conductor asked if he could come along. Stacy of course welcomed the tiny man to move in but didn't know why Mr. Conductor didn't want to go back to Sodor instead. Mr. Conductor didn't go deeply into his explanation, all he said was that from time-to-time conductors of his family would need to keep an eye on the sea every now and then in case anything unusual popped up. He didn't say what unusual thing, but assured Stacy that if anything did, he had something that could help. That is when Stacy noticed a strange golden light emitting from her closet. She cautiously approached the door, unsure of what was going on. Stacy quickly flung the door open to reveal that the source of the light had been coming from an old lantern. Curious, Stacy grabbed the lantern and carefully examined it. The lantern looked like an old lamp that would place on engines, but Stacy was sure that the Indian Valley Railroad didn't carry this type of lantern. Stacy was surprised by how pleasantly warm the light source was, it wasn't getting as hot as fire, it reminded Stacy of the big warm hugs she would get from her grandma. Stacy took the note attached to the lantern and read it. It was from Mr. Conductor, apologizing to Stacy for what happened at Shining Time Station and wished he could have done more to stop the tragedy, but gold dust can't fix the hearts of people. He tells Stacy to not lose hope and that her and the others will have an even brighter shining time when they were ready to return to the station. Mr. Conductor tells Stacy that should if anything should come up there is a friend, he knows who would be willing to help out. Stacy looks at the address Mr. Conductor had written down, along with a warning that his friend can be a bit stubborn and that they might have motives of their own. Seeing no other option, Stacy decided to ask Mr. Conductor's friend for help. Later that night, Stacy had found herself taking a taxi to the opposite side of Long Beach harbor.  When she stepped out Stacy could see a cruise ship terminal and a few of its big cruise ships, they loomed over the woman menacingly, almost as if they knew the secrets Stacy was hiding. Stacy though wasn't here to take a cruise, no, her business was with the old ocean liner before her. The RMS Queen Mary stood motionless at her dock, like she had since the day she was converted into a hotel. Stacy wondered why Mr. Conductor would lead her to this ship, from what she could see it was closed for maintenance and repair. Stacy wondered if Mr. Conductor's friend was a magical being like him and could possibly be living on the Queen Mary. As Stacy approached a ticket booth to get some information on if Queen Mary was still open during construction, she noticed that the staff member inside hadn't noticed her walk up. Stacy knocked on the glass window and still they did not notice her. At first Stacy just thought the staff member was being rude, but as soon as Stacy set down the lantern she was holding, the staff member jumped in surprise, to them it was like Stacy appeared out of thin air. Stacy was surprised as well and quietly wondered if the lantern had kept her hidden from the human eye. After an apology Stacy had asked the staff member about the Queen Mary and unfortunately found out she was indeed closed and would be for a few months. Stacy was disheartened to hear this as it meant that she wouldn’t be able to get in touch with Mr. Conductor’s friend. As Stacy grabbed the lantern and was about to admit defeat, there came a sudden creak of a port door opening. Stacy watched as one of the Queen Mary’s entrances slowly opened, a light from within the entrance flickered on as though beckoning Stacy to come aboard. Stacy was hesitant, but right now she was out of options to help the kids. She cautiously boarded the ocean liner, the door gently closing itself behind her. Stacy was surprised to see how dark it was inside the ship, at first, she guessed that all the staff had simply headed home for the night, but it was soon disproven as a pair of workmen passed by her in the hallway. Again, like with the ticket booth staff, the workmen did not notice the woman holding the lantern as they passed. By this point Stacy had entered the empty hotel lobby, she suspected that Mr. Conductor’s friend would be found here. She called out, stating that she was a friend of Mr. Conductor and that she had been instructed to come here if she needed help, she asked Mr. Conductor’s friend if they’d be willing to help her find her family friends. At first there was no response, then one of the hallways began to light up one bulb at a time, instructing Stacy to follow the path it was lighting. Stacy was led to a strange door, with a hiss it gently popped open with eerie illuminated stairs leading down into the belly of the beast. Stacy was unsure about going down there, but the note left by Mr. Conductor assured her that everything would be alright. She slowly descended the stairs, the metal creaking and groaning beneath her feet. After about a minute of agonizing terror, Stacy had finally reached the bottom.  Before Stacy was a large single boiler, its hatch was opened and resembled that of a gauging maw, ready to devour. Stacy read the instructions from Mr. Conductor: she was to fill the boiler with coal and then use the light of the lantern to light. Next to her, Stacy could see a shovel sticking out of a pile of coal. She once again set the lantern down and took hold of the shovel and scooped a large amount of coal. It was heavy and Stacy struggled to lift the shovel up to the boiler. She finally managed to dump the load of coal into the boiler, but it still needed plenty more coal before the boiler would be ready. Stacy repeated the process again, but this time she scooped up less coal. It took her a bit longer, but Stacy did manage to get the boiler full. After she was finished, Stacy took a moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat and coal dust off of her. Once she tidied her up, Stacy grabbed the lantern and brought it to the boiler.  She slowly turned the lamp around so the light source faced the inside of the boiler and the coal. With a bright flash the coal sparked to life and the boiler was finely lit. As soon as it did something happened. Suddenly the whole ship began to shake and rattle violently. Stacy’s first instinct was to run and leave the ocean liner before it fell apart on top of her. As she ran, Stacy didn’t notice the innards of the Queen Mary begin to twist, turn, and readjust themselves. Stacy had to dodge moving parts as she tried to escape. She had managed to make it back into the hallway and came upon a freighting site, the hotel was being ripped to shreds as staff ran for the exit, some screaming that they finally believed the Queen Mary was really haunted. This shocking moment made Stacy realize that the ship wasn’t falling apart; it was repairing itself. Stacy watched in stunned astonishment as the hotel parts were being rearranged to make the Queen Mary the way she once was before her conversion into a hotel and attraction. Bits of metal, wires, and mechanical parts were refitted into boilers, propellers, and turbines. Finally snapping out of her stupor, Stacy saw the open exit door and darted towards it. She was nearly there when the door suddenly slammed shut before her. Stacy was trapped! She felt panic begin to swell up and nearly had a heart attack when the intercom speakers cackled to life. A voice of an old high class British woman was soon heard. “Ah, Miss Jones. I was told I would be meeting your acquaintance sooner or later. Please, come on up to the bridge, there is much we need to discuss.” The voice insisted.

[i-normally-dont]

In response to that post about gender being genres, imagine a phantom train speeding along the open plains at night. It’s conductor is leaning out the window with smoke and flame emitting from their eyes as they laugh maniacally. The train is passing over a rickety old bridge and as soon as it’s halfway over it will disappear, but it hasn’t yet. My gender is the act of having observed that scene.

[pixelga1axy]

Just some Legends Kyurem doods

Au belongs to @salon-maiden-anabel and me

Copper and Lian's older design belong to @salon-maiden-anabel

[themoleculartesting]

Safety Tips Before You Buy Laboratory Equipment

Laboratory supplies and equipment enable scientific research, tests, and experiments. Lab furniture and storage keep workspaces organized and safe to work in. Lab utensils and instruments from the benchtop chemistry analyzers measure, mix, sort, handle, and dispense lab materials accurately and precisely. Lab microscopes provide sharp, high-resolution images for precise analyses. And lab chemicals help produce accurate results.

Electrical laboratory equipment such as ovens, hot plates, heating mantles and tapes, vacuum pumps, and stirring motors may pose a risk of electric shock. When using such equipment, be sure to use only the amount of heat needed and never leave a plugged-in device unattended or unsupervised. Also, avoid touching hot surfaces and be careful not to overheat or overcharge devices such as drying ovens. The use of steam-heated devices is preferable whenever possible, as they do not present shock and spark hazards.

If a piece of electrical laboratory equipment is plugged into an electrical outlet, a fuse or other overload protection device should be installed to disconnect the circuit if it becomes overloaded. This is especially important in equipment such as variable autotransformers,1 vacuum pumps, electric heaters, drying ovens, and electronic equipment. You can learn more about buying these products on this article.

Mechanical laboratory equipment such as centrifuges, scales, and hoods can present a variety of hazards if not properly used. Trained laboratory personnel can reduce the risks by checking and rechecking power outlets and making certain all wiring complies with national standards and recommendations, reviewing general precautions and personal safety techniques, and being familiar with emergency procedures. Injuries caused by bodily contact with moving parts can be reduced through better engineering, enclosing or shielding hazardous mechanical parts, and not wearing loose-fitting clothing, jewelry, or unrestrained long hair around machinery that has rotating or moving parts.

Chemicals that produce fumes or vapors are often used in the laboratory, and these substances can cause lung irritation, eye irritation, chemical burns, and even burns to the skin. Proper control and ventilation can prevent these hazards by maintaining adequate humidity levels, ensuring that storage and disposal areas are well-ventilated, and encouraging the use of vapor and gas-tight safety-sealed bottles and containers.

Many types of laboratory equipment emit harmful electromagnetic radiation. Radiation sources such as X-ray and electron beam equipment are government regulated, and trained laboratory personnel should use them appropriately to minimize exposures to ionizing radiation. Other sources of electromagnetic radiation include arc lamps, ultraviolet and tungsten-containing lamps, and high-frequency radio-frequency equipment.

Laboratory equipment that is plugged into an electrical outlet should be visually inspected monthly for frayed cords or those which are insulated in a way that exposes the conductor. Cords should be replaced before they become a potential fire or shock hazard. In addition, all electrical equipment should be plugged into a receptacle that is grounded or protected by an AFCI or GFCI. To get more enlightened about this article, click here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laboratory.

[magnumversum]

La Vie De Fête Season 1 Episode 2: Rapanu

RATED PG-13

Rasheb Nevim zoomed through the hallway like a speeding motorcycle in a race, illuminated by the dim red lighting panels. There were gangsters to his left and right, and behind and in front of him, wearing shades and firing assault rifles at him. He could feel the rumbling of speeding subway trains beneath him. There was a stairway ahead, just a few feet; and there was an elevator taking him down, maybe quicker than the stairway would.

Weighing his risks, if he took the elevator, he could make a quick getaway, but others would get hurt. If he took the stairs, Rasheb would have to put up more of a fight to get to the control room. Rasheb took a hard right, evading some bouncers and the big man himself, and steering into another hallway. He went for his trusty red swiss army knife, which he always kept at his side, and got to work.

An escort to the big man himself, the big honcho Rasheb had been tracking down for weeks, whom Rasheb believed was had info on an election campaign rig, strayed from the hoard of gangsters, over to Rasheb, obscuring the scarlet illumination with his terror-fermenting shadow. Rasheb thought, “Smart intimidation tactic.” But he wasn’t intimidated, only frustrated.

Rasheb swung his hand back, gathering momentum, then went to town, penetrating the gangster with his long, versatile and durable steel blade. There were more gangsters coagulating in the hallways, and Rasheb was feeling overwhelmed. A blood-curdling scream came over the speaker, as the train conductor was relentlessly mauled by pirates with cutlasses. Rasheb felt the lacerated edges of his dagger pierce his side, before a loud boom came over the speakers.

Barricading the exit, shrouded in the dash strobes’ ostentatious blue luminescence, the deafening sirens of military choppers trailing him, Djorrhan Djorrhar effortlessly strode through the grungy foyer, putting down gangsters while wearing a clunky, wrinkled tuxedo, all while struggling to fix his sexy, messy hair at the same time. The blinking lights emitting from the police cars became more panicked, alternating between red and blue flashes in random intervals, and time, like oscillating sentences in a book, went by in the blink of an eye. Lights flash. Rasheb finds himself in a courtroom, sitting in a gallery, observing a sentencing.

The courtroom was arranged awkwardly, where the counsel tables were absent, and there was a panel of judges in place of a jury. The defendant was shackled to the window, and the judges were seated facing the defendant. The whole courtroom smelled like burnt cigarettes. Even Rasheb could smell the judges’ shabby robes from the back of the gallery.

The defendant, illuminated by a fading blue light, didn’t know why the jury panel was abolished in this state. There was a sense of terror in losing his right to judgement by his peers. He committed terrible crimes, beckoned for pardon, but no remorse could save him. He was being brought before the judges to be sentenced for his capital murder crimes.

He wasn’t going to be pardoned, or given mercy, or bail. It was already too late to negotiate a plea deal with the smug prosecutor. The defendant’s best option, as advised by his counsel, was to accept the sentence: life in prison without consideration for parole. The judges banged their gavels, commencing the beginning of the hearing.

The judge sitting in the center of the bench spoke with vigor: “Would the defendant, Djorrhan Djorrhar, like to speak before the panel renders its sentence?”

Joran rose from his seat and said, “Honorable judges of the panel, I am a man ridden with guilt, with pain, and agony… I’m suffering, judges. I wanted a family, and my crimes took that away from others. Reverend members of the panel, my crimes took away from others the very thing I pined for: a connection. My actions took that away… I deserve punishment for what I did, judges.” The bailiff shackled him up and guided him away from the panel.

As the judges rendered their verdict final, time, like the swinging pendulum, accrued momentum. Rasheb found himself back in the subway station, running away from a feisty mob. He put up his dukes, threw a sloppy punch, missed, and fell to the ground. There was reverberant gunfire coming from the other end of the hallway, and it wasn’t Joran; he was occupied, trading blows with the other mobsters.

Rasheb pushed a gangster against the wall, squeezing his chin, and sliced his throat open. He grabbed another mobster by the collar of his shirt, and gouged his eyes out, before pushing the crook away. A ninja snuck up behind him, putting a katana to his neck. Rasheb turned around and shivved him until his stomach was puking blood, then yelled, “The Rapanu gang has reached its final end.

“If anyone tries to resist arrest, the police have been commanded to use lethal force. Put your hands up, and get on the ground.”

“There’s no escape for you convicts now.” Joran bellowed this, while slowly reaching for his piece at his side. “You’re all going back to the hellhole where you belong, so don’t think about moving.”

Wearing a wrinkly tee and sweatpants, one of the criminals was quivering in the quiet, dark corner of the room, only made visible by the flashing red and blue light the police cars let into the room. The shaky man was trembling behind a broken, neon orange sign. Joran noticed the man, and crept towards him like a storm creeping upon a quiet town. “Listen, man: you’re not going to jail.

“They are, but you’re not.”

“Th—thank you sir!” The criminal slipped his hands into his pockets, relaxing. “B—but wh—who are you?”

“I’m Djorrhan Djorrhar, and this is my friend Rasheb Nevim. We’re looking for the leader of Global Cultivation Worldwide. What’s your name?”

“M—my name’s Lawrence Florence.” He got to his feet and nervously tapped on a flyer pinned to a bulletin behind him. John Doe Clean Up: a privately owned plumbing crew. Successful company, and amazing service.

Joran used the service before—he called their 24/7 hotline when he was up late at night to fix up his apartment in California while he was away—but he didn’t know why Mr. Florence was pointing at their flyer. “What is John Doe Clean Up’s involvement in Global Cultivation?”

“I—it’s a coverup. John Doe is a front for a cult.” Lawrence took a photo out from inside his jacket. There was a man and his wife, sitting in the front porch of a peaceful house on a farm, and the sun set behind them.

Rasheb jerked Lawrence close to his prickly beard. “Who is the man in that photo? What is his connection to John Doe Clean Up, and how does this connect to Global Cultivation?”

“Th—there’s a man, right? H—he calls me up one night, says that someone is talking trash about him on the street. I go out, tossing out the garbage, and there he is, standing with a hood over his ugly face, smoking crack and shooting up my guys downtoon, and he jumps at me, beats me down and takes my money! Williams took my money!

“J—Justin Williams took my money!”

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on Ao3

Rated M

The high collared throat of his jacket couldn’t mask the canned air of Shinjuku Station. Japanese Metro facilities were usually pristine compared to those overseas, but most passengers were blind to the Residual matrix littering the city’s above and underground railways. Scrutinizing the luminescent stains on the walls, Satoru swiped his IC card on the scanner and headed towards the boarding dock, waiting with some other strangers for the midnight train to take him home. Not that he was itching to return. He needed time to himself, to mull over recent events.

“You’re the reason she’s here…”

For the upteenth try, the white-haired Sorcerer jammed his left hand into his pocket, twirling the irritable ring with his thumb, hoping with enough persistence it would pop off, but it was useless. The little collet dug into his skin with every vehement twist, every tug. The Six Eyes essentially made him a Jujutsu locksmith, an exorcizing Houdini, but no matter how much he pulled, twisted, scraped, or bit, the ring stayed on. He wanted so badly to incinerate the gold like he did the Curse from the previous night. The girl needed the protective charm, not him. If it weren’t for the Reverse Technique, his finger would be rawed red by now. He heard a merry jingle chime through the intercom.

“Rapid train will be arriving at platform 10 shortly,” announced a placid voice. “For your safety, please wait behind the yellow line. We thank you for your cooperation.”

Lights shone in the distance, reflecting off his shades. He forfeited the ring when the train emerged from the tunnel and hissed to a rolling stop. Sliding doors opened and Satoru boarded the coach, peering over his shoulder to make sure no one suspicious was following; a habit amongst his lot. Nope. Just the typical old ladies and salarymen this time, their thermographic silhouettes colored in blobs of red and orange. Perfectly normal.

“Doors are now closing,” the conductor spoke. Satoru was only half listening. “This is a Chūō Line train bound for…Priority seating is reserved for elderly, handicapped passengers, expecting mothers…” Eventually the metro moved with a jolt. His stance kept him from falling over, though he refused to take a seat because, like most trains he typically rode, neon residue caked almost every square surface of the coach, from the handlebars to the chairs. It wreaked of Cursed Energy, decayed and cold. Satoru lifted his boot off the floor to inspect the wad of paranormal entrails ruining the Italian leather. Makoto’s sure to kill me when I get home, he thought. It would take more than a bucket of bleach to wipe this shit off. Frustrated, he brought the boot down, squishing the residue under his weight until he heard the coach groan from the force. Anger churned inside him, festering, growing hotter. Damn them. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

How was it that he, the strongest Sorcerer alive, descendant of the Vengeful Spirit, Sugawara no Michizane, inheritor of the Six Eyes and the Limitless, the first Gojo to possess both Cursed Techniques in over 400 years, had somehow been bested by a couple of old fogies and a foreign aristocrat he’d never heard of until very recently?

Satoru stared out the window, listening to the “tha-chuck, tha-chuck” of the monorail passing over the tracks. Tokyo blurred into smoke. His mind wandered back to the moment his life forever changed. That cold, gloomy trip he made to England four months ago.

A portly man with a balding head, wearing what must’ve been expensive coattails, sat across a lacquered table, the Cuban in his right hand emitting chalky grey fumes, while jeweled fingers tapped the table rhythmically. The fat bastard was enjoying himself too much for Satoru’s liking and the tobacco was starting to give him a headache, combined with the harsh glare curoscating through Roccoco chandeliers. Everything about this interaction offended him; The heady smoke, the bright lights, the three-piece Brioni he’d been forced to wear, which quickly became too hot, and then this Oswald Cobblepot wannabe sitting before him, all smug, dressed like a cliché supervillain just asking to get punched. It took immense restraint not to grab hold of the cigar and shove it down the earl’s suilline gullette. He hated this man. He hated this place.

As if sensing his contempt, the earl puffed another heaping cloud. “Gentlemen,” he crooned. “To what do I owe the honor?” His voice caused the muscles along Satoru’s jaw to tighten. Honor? What did this motherfucker know about honor?

One of the elders spoke amidst their small caravan, rising from his seat. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Thames,” he answered emphatically. “You know why we’re here.” He drew himself up stiffly. “We’ve come for the seer.”

Thames flashed his ivory stained teeth. “Ah, yes,” he relished gleefully. “Why, of course you have. How silly of me to think otherwise.” He flicked the cigar ashes on a tray, leaning back into his chair that accommodated his rotund girth. “But I am a man of principle, you see? They say there hasn’t been a living seer in — what — one hundred, two hundred years, or so? Given that reason alone, I couldn’t possibly hand her over to you free of charge, now, could I? No. That would be bad business on my part. Very bad business.” He twisted the coarse hairs in his beard, before taking an indulgent drag from his Cuban. His eyes sharpened. “Name your price, Jujutsu Sorcerers. If I find your negotiating skills up to snuff, she’s yours for the taking.”

And negotiate they did, each side throwing out numbers in rapid succession, turning them down, then proposing new ones. But Satoru broke from the proceedings when the amount reached eight figures, opting to take in the room instead. Anything to keep his mind off the money and what they were using it for.

He made quick inventory.

Two…

Six…

Fifteen….

Twenty display cases oriented themselves around velvet settees and ottomans, stocked with just about every treasure one could fathom; opal lozenges, slabs of lapis lazuli the width of dinner plates, columns of verdant emeralds and tsavorites, their raw conchoidal fractures glinting under the lights. Magenta spinels faceted to metal rods. Satoru could tell by the inclusions embedded in the gemstones that they weren’t fakes. Their incessant brilliancy meshed loudly with the Savonnerie botanicals carpeting the floor, not including the infrared radiation he was attempting to suppress. His eyes felt like they were shrinking. He’d forgotten his sunglasses back in London. Infinity blocked the tobacco from reaching his nose, but it couldn't screen the myriad of light and invisible color from assailing his vision. Hell. Makoto was right. He should’ve brought the Bufferin tablets with him when he had the chance. Spreading his tongue between his molars, he tried in vain to relieve the growing headache from clamoring up the nerves in his skull. His head pounded furiously like waves hitting a rocky promontory, innumerous, unceasing. Don’t think too much, he told himself. Keep looking.

In one curio table lay a medieval manuscript, its Latin faded and withered upon dog-eared parchment. Another case held an impressive mini replica of a seventeenth century galleon, bedecked with ten sails, The Naiad painted on both sides of its bow; Faberge eggs, gold coins, jadeite bottles, enameled pill boxes, silk tapestries threaded with mollusk and sapphire beads, portraits of dead people hanging on red damask, junk, junk, junk. It’s all junk to him. Of course, his Six Eyes noticed other things normal eyes could not.

The billions of microscopic dust particles hovering in the air like fallout. An overlapping stitch puckering from a brocaded cushion on the other end of the room. Switching to infrared for a short spell, he saw volts of bright electricity thrumming outside cables in the walls. And scurrying under the floorboards were three little mice, their rodent cheeks stuffed with kindling. There was probably a nest somewhere the occupants weren’t aware of. He smirked at the thought. Served them right.

However, a bronze instrument, a lyre, was mounted to a wall near an old grandfather clock. Might've been the oncoming headache, or the tobacco smoke, but he swore the polymer wires strung between the harp were not so. They held an unusual sheen to them, keratinous, humanlike. He could make out the individual filaments in the strings, black and shiny, too thin in diameter to be horsehair, but that wasn’t the creepiest part about the room.

A mural of naked mermaids luring sailors to their deaths stretched across the ceiling above him, their long hair and pearly smiles beguiling. Some men looked away in abject terror, while others leaned in for a fatal kiss, the ship going down in the middle of a raging sea. Satoru snorted, thinking the panorama a tad histrionic. They were nothing like Japanese mermaids with mouths like monkeys and golden fish scales. But now that he thought about it, weren’t sirens supposed to have feathers? Whatever the case, the painting was frighteningly lifelike, he’d give them that. Perhaps if he stared long enough, one of the feminine creatures would leap out of the watery fresco and pull him under. He almost wished it would because the sound of flesh-on-flesh cemented in a firm handshake told him the proceedings were over. A bargain had been struck. All they needed then was his signature to solidify the deal.

That evening in Berkshire, Gojo Satoru purchased his bride for a whopping thirty million pounds sterling, close to four and a half billion in Japanese yen, essentially pocket change. Well done, Satoru, he mocked as he signed his name upon the dotted line. You are here by guilty of human trafficking. However, it wouldn’t be until his wedding day that the Sorcerer finally laid eyes on the woman he would call his wife.

“Train is now stopping.”

The train slowed to a crawl, jerking him forward a little as it came to a halt. The pulsing in his head abated. Tobacco smoke feathered out. Lord Thames’ crooked smile vanished into the night and the doors slid themselves open. This was his stop.

Satoru exited the train and stepped onto the outdoor platform, hearing the locomotive speed off shortly after. The April chill had yet to recede and it smelled like macadam and fresh rain. By his estimation, the school campus was approximately three miles away. Through the dense pine brush, he could make out the striped road leading up the highlands, a couple kilometers north from the Meiji no Mori Takao National Park entrance. His phone read 12:15 A.M. and a message from Makoto. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” her unobtrusive way of asking him where he is. He told her not to cook him anything since he’d gone out, but the housekeeper knew him too well. And after storming out of the izakaya, Satoru realized he hadn’t eaten much except a few bites of mackerel and a club soda. He was more than a little hungry. Better get a move on then.

He began the ascent, his residual stained boots scuffing the pavement as he trudged up the street, unconcerned with getting run over. Cars rarely made the drive here. He could walk in the middle of the road as much as he damned well pleased. Higher and higher he went, immersing himself into the tectonic rock and ancient pines, the painted asphalt looping this way and that.

Crickets hummed. Frogs croaked. The cool breeze wisped through his hair. Trees gently swayed and a break in the clouds revealed a waxing crescent moon, brightening the conifers in a pale lunar glow. Perched on a branch, a couple yards to his left, he spotted a scops-owl with blood and feathers emanating from its beak, a dead hawfinch caged between two talons. On the ground, a female tanuki rummaged through forest leaves for juicy beetles and wild berries, sniffing the air for predators. He watched an elegant sika deer cross a trickling stream and hedge its way deeper into the valley. There were no streetlights. It’s only because of the Six Eyes he's able to capture this nocturnal world, this thriving ecosystem. He stopped to admire it, the stars glinting above the mountaintops, untainted by Tokyo’s light pollution. What it must be like to be way up there, far away from this chaos and disorder.

Satoru felt as though he were mourning the aftermath of a death. The death of his old life for this new uncertain hell he’d woken up in. Years of ingrained Buddhist philosophy remind him that life is a series of impermanence, a constant flow of change. “All things are passing illusion.” wrote the wise monk, Kenkō. “What is there that remains unchanging?” Nothing, of course. Fighting this truth will only lead you further down the path of suffering and reactivity. In other words, he needed to “quit his bitching,” like Nanami so eloquently stated, and accept life’s unexpectancies for what they were; use “skillful means” to avoid getting struck by that “second arrow.” And yet knowing what he ought not, Satoru found himself despairing anyway, like he’d nose dived off the edge of a cliff and was waiting for the ground to flatten him. He’d already experienced this once before, the day his best friend walked out on him.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru? Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

Right now? He wished he were neither.

Lost in himself, the Sorcerer wasn’t aware he was walking again until he approached the school entrance, moonlight reflecting off the mokoshi roofs like snow caps. The Gojo estate was located farther north off campus. Satoru made it past the temple gates, shuffled past the student dormitories, when suddenly a melodic sound reached his ears. A sweet sound akin to a woodwind instrument. He paused to listen. Weird. Who the heck was playing music this late at night? Now vaguely curious, he changed directions and headed towards the sound like a hound chasing a scent, desperate to reach its source. And the closer he got the more he understood the sound wasn’t recorded music, but a voice. Someone was singing from the women’s bathhouse it seemed.

There were no female students studying in Tokyo at that time. The voice was too young to be an elder or staff member, which meant...

Satoru bent over a little known hole in the wall and saw her.

“...A-mach air bhàrr nan stuagh ri gaillinn Fuachd is feannadh fad o thìr Bha mo ghaol dhut daonnan fallain Ged is maighdeann mhara mi…”

She was sitting on the edge of the pool, her smooth legs submerged in the steaming water. A towel was wrapped around her waist, but it wouldn’t hide much. Satoru's been involuntarily looking through clothing since he was four years old. That towel wasn’t gonna cover jack-shit. The naked plane of her back was exposed to him, wet and glistening. When she raised her arms to slide a toothed comb through her long garnet hair, he’d catch the sides of her breasts, and sometimes a lovely pink nipple would peep behind the mist as she continued detangling her wet tresses. The white linoleum channeled her song into ringing echoes, numbing his brain, curling around his insides. He felt his scrotum burgeoning against his thighs, swelling like a blimp. He couldn’t help himself really. She sounded so fucking good, so soft, so clear, like water welled from a spring; a crystalline soprano. Maybe if he just unzipped his fly and allowed himself to…wait.

What the hell was he doing? Was he under a Cursed Technique of some kind? Because, damn, it certainly felt like one.

“Chan eil mo chadal-sa ach luaineach Nuair bhios buaireas air an t-sìd' Bha mi'n raoir an Coire Bhreacain Bidh mi'n nochd an Eilean Ì…”

Seriously, what language was that? It was unlike anything he’d ever heard. English alone was gibberish, but this language was on a whole different level of strange.

Satoru had long believed there was nothing new for him to experience in this world. When Fushiguro Tōji plunged his “Inverted Spear of Heaven,” into his throat and enabled him to reach the level of understanding necessary to perform the Reverse Cursed Technique, and fuse Red and Blue to make Hollow Purple, what greater high was there? What earthly pleasure? What worthwhile goal? And if all things were passing illusion, what was the point? Even the activities that he used to enjoy no longer satiated him the way they once did; sex, video games, movies, sex, caffeine, pissing off Utahime, sweets, more sex, etc. Nothing wowed him, nothing excited him. He’d forgotten what it was like to live for the present, existing, more or less, in a perpetual state of lukewarmness. To put it mildly, he was twenty-four and bored.

Then Hannah Thames entered his life - or rather - she barged in, flipped his world upside down, and threw it off its axis, together with his sense of control.

She really wasn’t what he expected.

On their wedding day, with her chin wedged between his fingers, he couldn’t deny she was beautiful, though not in the conventional sense of the word. The partners he often coaxed into bed tended to be…well endowed. Hannah was dainty by comparison, tiny, fragile looking, someone he wouldn't have chosen for himself if given the option. However, her proportions weren’t entirely undesirable either; long hair, a cinched waist, moderately sized breasts, all of which he found annoying because he was hoping to find something not to like about her. But those eyes? Holy crap. He’d inscribe those verdant brown eyes to memory, along with her rich auburn hair, her tiny freckles scattered across her cheekbones that could only be seen up close, and her innocence. So much unadulterated innocence staring back at him he could almost choke. It didn’t take an expert to know she was a virgin, which twisted his stomach into knots. Made him nauseous, angry. Furious even.

Why!? he wanted to scream, grab hold of her shoulders and give them a fierce shake as she slid that ring onto his finger. Why would you do this to yourself? You stupid girl. Can’t you see? He could still feel his thumb on her lips, soft as rose petals. I’ll only break you.

Innocence? Satoru didn’t know what to make of innocence. The virtue held little value to him. Their marriage was simply a means to an end, a show of good faith for the higher-ups; He’d (begrudgingly) marry the foreign woman as promised, and in return, they’d offer him a teaching position at Jujutsu High. It didn’t matter whether she possessed The Sight, or that they wanted him to retrieve the Sukuna fingers. He wasn’t planning on taking their relationship a step further. Simple as that.

“...Seall is faic an grunnd na fairge Uamhan airgid 's òir gun dìth Lainnearachd chan fhaca sùil e Ann an cùirt no lùchairt rìgh..."

So, why did he feel like an asshole the moment he ditched her after the wedding? Why couldn’t he erase those innocent hazel eyes from his mind? When he held her in his arms last night, why had it scared him to imagine her with a bullet through her head? Like Amanai Riko all those years ago. And why the fuck did her voice make him wanna bust a nut right then and there like a adolescent teenager? Shit, what would Suguru do, if he were —

“That psychopath isn’t your friend, Satoru. He’s a traitor. A murderer.”

Gojo let out a quiet huff.

Right. Suguru’s gone, he thought, and he ain’t showing signs of coming back. Each passing day served as a reminder to Satoru that he was on his own.

The Sorcerer looked back through the peephole at the bathing woman, still singing at the water's edge, combing her long skeins of hair, oblivious she was being watched.

He then stared fixedly into his palm at the wedding ring on his finger. He flexed his digits, balled them into a fist and closed his eyes, listening to her sweet music drown every part of him and the onsen.

“Hù-bha is na hoireann ù-bha 'S ann le foill a mheall thu mi…”

He remained motionless, breathing calmly in and out of his nose to settle the uneasiness in his soul and the throbbing between his legs.

“...'S ann le foill a mheall thu mi…”

Satoru’s hand fell to his side, his will power slipping away.

He waited there, seconds, minutes, hours. He wasn’t sure. Hannah’s serenading eventually ended and he stopped to hear her petite frame exit the pool. He could hear water droplets plopping to the floor as she moved, remembering the curvature of her ass underneath that towel draped around her waist, how soft she looked, how supple. Then his mind reeled back to her breasts, fantasizing how those lovely pink nipples would feel inside his mouth, tightening and melting on his tongue. Tossing her wet hair to one side, the ventilation system caught wind of her scent just as she entered the hallway and brought it to his nose like a gift. She smelled like lilies after a morning rain. His brain went fuzzy, helping little to soften his erection as he finally acquiesced and brought a hand down to unzip his pants, eyeing the damp spot on his boxers as he filled out some more, groaning in relief. Ah, much better. He then panted a short laugh, unable to recall the last time he’d been this hard. By a voice, no less.

He should’ve been ashamed of himself for it.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, he became vastly intrigued. After all, he’s never been one to stay on the downlow for very long and any woman who’s able to arouse him this good is definitely worth “getting to know.” Maybe this’ll be fun. He’s never pursued a person like her before. I mean, if this is Hell, there’s no reason why it can’t be an enjoyable Hell, right? And she’s pretty easy on the eyes.

Fine, he ultimately decided. He’d cooperate just this once. And if he didn’t like it, he’d switch back to Plan A and keep his distance. For now though, he’d humour the idea and see where it took him.

This whole marriage thing.

Chapter Contents

[waywardstation]

Some vague disjointed thoughts and ideas for you!

- Going off of the idea that Emmett’s memory as a whole (or at least, most of it) is being used to seal away The Thing… the group find little glitzy white parts nearly everywhere. Often it’s subtle, small, like it was always meant to be there- but other times it looks like parts have been broken off completely. Things like white stripes along the cars, decorations- buttons on the controls, stickers that look a little faded but that are still pure white, a button or scrap of fabric here and there. Emmett was a huge part of Ingo’s life- there is no way to cut him out completely.

- Perhaps the group discover memories of Ingo’s Pokémon around the station and the trains? With each piece restored, the static fades from their shapes and finally, at the end, Emmett faces you with Pokémon who’s forms are finally crisp and clear to you, the static faded from them and all their lines filled in.

- Early on, the group discover something that will assist them. A little candle with an accompanying holder (or whatever it’s called). It lights up the darkness, and allows for forays a little deeper down the tracks without the use of a train. It is dangerous- who knows what lurks out there?- but with it you can find train cars which had been stranded out in the dark, inaccessible to you. It burns with a lavender flame.

- (As they recover more of his memories, at some point, they have a lantern instead of a mere candle. They can make longer trips, it casts more light- but it seems to be far more… alive, now.)

- The Conductor starts out misty and blurred and undefined, of course. But even as he regains his shape a little- he still looks washed out and gray, just slightly off pure white. It’s not quite noticeable until you reach the final part of the journey- then, he almost seems to glow, the purest white you’ve ever seen.

- There are paper notes and graffiti all over. Post it notes stuck to the walls, graffiti on the train cars- one car looks like the whole car is made out of a note, like a journal entry sized up and folded into an intricate train car. A lot of them seem to have been torn in half or scrubbed off, precisely where one might have thought it was about to mention something. Or perhaps someone?

- Lady Sneasler is out in the real world with Ingo. And yet, the others are accompanied by her in his mind as well! This is because the lady Sneasler who follows them is not the real Lady Sneasler, but rather a projection of Ingo’s memories. She is newly conjured up, or perhaps only new to the station- a manifestation of Ingo’s desire to keep the group safe, since he cannot be there to protect them himself. Lady Sneasler protects him, and she is powerful and clever, so obviously this desire takes her shape. Unfortunately, since she is newly made to be her “own being”, she does not know her way around the station as MG Emmett does. She is in essence the personification of Fight or Flight, but with more sentience.

- The intercoms, radio, and anything that emits noise is constantly echoing with static drowned noises. Songs who’s words he can’t remember, old discussions, arguments, excited shouting… the group can restore them, dial back the static- but mostly it does absolutely nothing except get a song stuck in his head again (he finds it quite annoying, but is relieved to finally know the words) or get something minor unstuck. Sometimes, whilst clearing up a sound, you hear something that sounds like a name- but the track promptly shuts down completely with a crackle of static or a feedback noise. He gets a headache from those.

- As the group restore more and more memories… The Thing begins to resemble Ingo more accurately. As Ingo remembers, it too absorbs the knowledge. Just before they finally meet it, they might notice that the cars are seemingly becoming darker again. They still run, but the lights flicker as if something is taking them over. When they reach the final car, after defeating MG Emmett… it is already lit. Bright, the windows are clean, the car seems completely intact and undamaged, it’s spotless. And inside, you can see what looks like… Ingo? He’s sitting facing away from you, but the collar of his coat and that hat are unmistakable. They’re in pristine condition, unlike what the real Ingo has on right now, not a wrinkle or tear in sight. It’s nearly identical to what he used to look like. Nearly. But there’s something wrong with him. Most obviously, though, the first thing you notice that is truly off… is the fact that his eyes are red.

-PA (also yes, I know it’s spelled Emmet, but I refuse to change)

PA these are all really well done!!! Absolutely love them to bits and I see all of these as canon to this AU!!

I especially appreciate that you solved the Lady Sneasler dilemma!! That is such a good solution! Now she can be both with Ingo to comfort him, and with Akari and Irida as a helper, something I wanted both of! THANK YOU PA!!

[delaber]

Remember (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Bucky doesn't remember much but he remembers blond-haired, blue-eyed man.

Words: 1.3K

Bucky doesn't remember much.

He remembers what he did yesterday. And the day before. A few weeks back too and how he pulled an unconscious blond man away from certain death in the icy river. He doesn't remember why he felt inclined to save the slightly familiar stranger's life and flee to another continent afterwards, but he remembers the feeling of doing the right thing. Disobeying.

Still, he's bitten his nails down to the plate while sitting amongst rattling barrels of barley and wheat, nervously awaiting orders for what to do now that he is across the ocean - but the orders never come. He is a free man. He can do whatever he wants, he reminds himself and almost cries at the thought. He's not sure he likes it yet.

Thankfully, he is blissfully distracted when the freight train's rumbling engines come to a definitive halt, and he sees a sign in neat letters of some European city he's not sure he's ever heard of before. Bucuresti.

He traces the cursive letters with his eyes and hears the beautiful symphony of syllables when the conductor on the other side of the platform rolls it off her tongue. Bucuresti. Something about it emits peace, so without giving it a second thought, Bucky jumps out from his hiding place behind the barrels, tucks away his metal fingers in his pocket, and blends in with the masses of the city.

He keeps to himself while he walks around. He sleeps on benches, in parks, on dirty tiles in subway stations - but he likes the city. For the first few days, Bucky thinks it's because of the rest squeezed in between Bucu- and -i, but suddenly, foreign syllables spill automatically over his tongue and the sweet Romanian grandmother who is subletting a dingy apartment understands him when he in perfect Romanian asks for full discretion.

"I never rat on my own pack, fiul meu," she pats his cheek as if he is one of them. Calls him my son as if she trusts him with her life.

...Is he Romanian? Is that why Bucuresti seems to calm him? He doesn't feel Romanian - he feels more like a tourist, an intruder, someone who doesn't belong - not like someone's fiul.

So he continues his voluntary isolation while searching for answers.

So far, he's done everything he can think of. Yoga. Meditation. Eating the right things; plums, green beans, gagging on pineapple that he realises he hates. Nothing jogs his memory from before the train ride in and a vague memory of being called Soldat. Everything else is blank - well apart from the blond-haired, blue-eyed man from the river. The image of him has edged itself into Bucky's brain and it is driving him insane! He can't let go of the thought that maybe blond man holds the key to his past.

Cross-legged and desperate for answers, Bucky sits in the middle of his one-bedroom apartment while he tries to block out the musky smell of moulded wallpaper as he racks his brain for information on who he is. He sweats, and he grunts, and he gets so annoyed when everything remains blank that he yanks the elastic band out of the stupid bun on top of his head before he stops. Focuses on blending in instead, hoping to dear God that his brain will play along later.

He does what the people around him are doing. Buys a phone. Learns the internet. Meditates. Eats. Sleeps. Repeats. Googles "blond man, blue suit". "Man with star on chest". "Handsome blond". No result.

He knows he's seen him before. He knows!

"Come on, remember" he groans at night and squeezes his eyes shut. Presses in on his eyeballs so hard that he's kaleidoscoping. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes, he gets titbits, small glimpses of what he should remember. Mud. Gashing wounds. Harsh commandoes while his brain is being fried. Pliers. He tries to focus on the other stuff though. The pleasant stuff. Blond hair and blue eyes.

"Remember!" He hisses at himself, "Remember! Come on, Bucky!" It shoots out of him, and he freezes.

His eyes grow wide.

...Bucky?

Bucky?!

His name is Bucky!!! He lets his hands fall to his sides, stops the aggravating kaleidoscope while whispering to himself, "Bucky...". It sounds familiar, like the name of a long-lost lover. His name is Bucky - but that's not all though, is it? It doesn't seem like a first name, so he presses in on his eyeballs again and wrenches his brain. Waits for the other shoe to drop but falls asleep none the wiser.

It comes back to him a few days later. He's staring at the rusty shower head as he tries to wash off the most recent nightmare when suddenly, he remembers. His name is James! James Buchanan Barnes but he likes to be called Bucky! It sounds English. American. And suddenly, he remembers stars and stripes. His own palm pressed to his chest during the pledge of allegiance. He's American. He grew up in Brooklyn.

Excited that maybe pictures online can help him remember the rest, he jumps out of the shower, leaves wet footprints all over the floor while he marches to his phone and searches for pictures of Brooklyn ten years back. Then twenty. Thirty. Forty. But he has to go back almost seventy years before the pictures on his screen begin to look normal; the women are dressed differently, and the buildings look familiar. He remembers a particular street with a barber and a small store, and when he closes his eyes and goes back in time, blond man sitting by his side. He's smaller, thinner - but it's him. No doubt.

Bucky clicks an article with a vaguely familiar German name in the headline. It instinctively sends shivers down his spine - sounds like something he should remember, and he quickly learns that it is a name of war. That the young men in America were shipped off to the battlefields in Europe. Remembers that he was too. There's a muffled memory of men whispering the twenty-third psalm, of airstrikes and projectiles buried in mud, but when he filters through the rifles and the ear-splitting bombs, ignores the panic they induce, blond man is still by his side. He's bigger then. Taller, burlier, a war machine. Bucky's stomach churns at the thought. He remembers not liking that blond man has been turned into a weapon. He's Bucky's friend, not a symbol.

'That's why I pulled him from the river', Bucky thinks to himself. ‘We're friends.’

Friends. He remembers the feeling of having friends.

He's disappointed when the next few weeks bring him nothing. No titbits. No epiphanies. Not even when he's kaleidoscoping or meditating or splashing his face with cold water. But every night, he whispers to himself what he remembers. "My name is Bucky. I am from Brooklyn. I have a friend." But when he wakes up, he's always disappointed that nothing else has come back.

He walks around in a vegetative state for days, frustrated with himself and his inability to just fucking remember - until one day, he wakes up in the middle of the night after that nightmare. The worst of them all: the one with the free fall. It’s different than usual; this time he isn’t alone, his friend is there too. But Bucky is still bathed in sweat and his heart is pounding a mile a minute while the image of blond man's horrified face is etched in his mind’s eye. He can still hear him crying out his name, can see him desperately reach out from the train as Bucky falls into the abyss.

"It's Steve!" Bucky gasps almost as if he is drowning in it.

The name overpowers him, ties him to the bed while the memories flood his senses. Not just memories of death, and war, and the free fall, but of childhood, and love, and friendship.

Suddenly Bucky remembers every line, freckle, and wrinkle on his friend's face. Remembers his laugh, his scent, his courage, and the way the two of them were inseparable even after he became Captain America. "It's Steve," Bucky repeats and hears how a small, relieved chuckle escapes his struggling lungs amidst all the chaos. He can feel the tears well in his eyes. Tears of happiness and calmness because suddenly he remembers everything; who he is, what happened to him, but most importantly, he remembers Steve. His best friend, his companion, his Stevie.

"Blond man's name is Steve!" he laughs and reminisces who they used to be.