#originally quickly translated this on mobile

[hanszoe]

Q: In a universe where Hansi was alive, would [they] live with Levi, Falco and Gabi? A: I feel like [they] would bear a role where [they] would be busy and going all over the place so I don't have an image of [them] settling in one place.

Q: Of the main characters Hansi is the only one whose family wasn't illustrated. Does Hansi have brothers or sisters? A: I have an image that [they] are estranged from [their] family.

Q: Hansi easily made a stew, so aren't [they] good at cooking? Or is that the degree of cooking that everyone in the regiment is capable of? A: It's one of the skills of a soldier, so everyone is capable of cooking.

Isayama's answers to questions about Hansi from the SnK 15th anniversary edition of Bessatsu Magazine

[kyouka-supremacy]

from where do you read the manga?

I know this is not what you asked for, but here’s a masterlist of bsd resources I’ve used over the past year. Because every time I join a new fandom I always think “oh, I sure wish there was an all-inclusive masterlist that explained in detail how the material is divided and where to access to it instead of having to dig in myself”. So, this is for you January 2022 Kyotag, and for anyone else who might find this useful! I trust posting this on Tumblr is safe, but please do not share this outside of Tumblr in any way; it’s not for me, it’s for all the people who care to share. Specifically, do not share this on Twitter in any way or form. I will unleash a wild pre-promise Akutagawa after you if you do.

Edit: My biggest thank you to @amythedemisimp, who helped me expand and enrich this list. For your priceless contribution, thank you so much!!! Edit 2: Thank you so much u/barnacleunderthesea for reaching out and sharing new stage play subtitles!!! Check out their BSD English Content Archive here.

BSD resources masterpost

Before visiting any of the websites listed below, make sure to install and activate the uBlock Origin extension and to be using Firefox web browser.

Bungou Stray Dogs Story by Kafka Asagiri, art by Sango Harukawa. The original manga. Ongoing, monthly chapter release.

• MONTHLY CHAPTER FANTRANSLATIONS: translator 1 • Website 1: Official English translation of the manga up to volume 19 / chapter 83 (including all the extra volume contents and omakes) and fantranslations from chapter 84 upwards. It’s my favorite streaming platform for the manga as it grants easy access and download to most of the official translation (the quality is not the best, a sligthly blurry 900×1350px per page, but it is what it is). When visitng on mobile, there’s surges of adds on certain days for some reason, but overall it’s manageable. • Website 2: Official translation up to volume 20 (chapter 88), fantranslations after that. • Website 3: Official translation up to volume 23 (chapter 104), fantranslations after that. Lacks all the additional volumes content (and thus the first page of every volume since it’s in colour). Includes the Japanese raws up to chapter 104, so it’s useful if you need to quickly check the original. Denies download of the pages, and features a watermark. • Website 4: All the chapters fantraslated. Recommending it because it’s always nice to read different translations (and endearing too, at times. You wouldn’t want to miss “Dazai Osamu – Ability: Human Failure”), and because it’s for some reason the only website my university’s wi-fi allows me the access to, so shout-out to it. • Website 5: Raws from chapter 79 up to date. The image quality (1164×1618px) is generally better than the official manga English release.

Bonus chapter 1 • Bonus chapter 2 • Bonus chapter 3 • Bonus chapter 4 • Bonus chapter 5 /// (alt. translation)

DVD omakes

• DVD omakes English fantranslations masterlist • Vol 4 omake English fantranslation • Vol 9 omake • DEAD APPLE DVD omake English fantranslation • Folder with all the avaible omakes fantranslated in Chinese

Wan! Story and art by Neco Kanai. Gag spin-off manga. Ongoing.

• Link 1: Download link of the official English translation of the first four volumes of the manga • Link 2: Chapters 1-22; fantranslation. • Link 3: Masterlist of fantranslated chapters • Link 4: Various misc chapters fantranslations • Link 5: Various misc chapters fantranslations • Link 6: Various misc chapters fantranslations

Gaiden: Ayatsuji Yukito VS. Kyōgoku Natsuhiko Story by Kafka Asagiri, art by Oyoyo. Manga adaptation of a spin-off novel. Currently in unofficial hiatus (?).

• Link 1: Download link of the official English translation of the first two volumes of the manga • Website 1: Fantranslation of all the released chapters

DEAD APPLE Story by Bungo Stray Dogs DA partners, art by Gun_Zi. Manga adaptation of the novel adaptation of the Dead Apple Movie. Completed.

• Link 1: Download link of the official English translation of the four manga volumes • Website 1: Fantranslation up to chapter 13 (discontinued)

BEAST Story by Kafka Asagiri, art by Shiwasu Hoshikawa. Manga adaptation of an alternative universe spin-off novel. Completed.

• Link 1: Download link of the official English translation of the four manga volumes • Website 1: Official English translation. Denies download of the pages, and features a watermark. • Website 2: Fantranslation • Website 4: Raws (1115×1600px)

Dazai, Chūya, Age Fifteen Story by Kafka Asagiri, art by Shiwasu Hoshikawa. Manga adaptation of a spin-off novel. Completed.

• Website 1: Official English translation up to volume 2 (chapter 10) • Website 2: Fantranslation • Website 3: Raws (1115×1600px)

Anthologies Six official anthologies, compilations of gag and slice-of-life oneshot chapters by various authors.

• Anthologies raws and translations masterlist

Novels Ten light novels set in the bsd universe and written by the bsd author that complete, expand and enrich the bsd story.

• Link 1: Folder containing all the nine official English translations of the novels, a fantranslation of Gaiden and a pdf merging novels 1-7 (minus Dead Apple) fantranslated in Chinese. • Link 2: Official English translations of the first eight novels, avaible to read online. • Link 3: Fanmade audiobooks of the first seven novels officially translated in English.

Extra Light Novels

• Gakuen Bungo Stray Dogs (fantranslation (incomplete)) • Untitled Ikebukuro Flagship Animate Store Story (fantranslation) • Kunikida and Katai's Brilliant Days (fantranslation) • The Day I Picked Up Dazai: Side A, Side B  (fantranslation)

Rakugaki Note Collection of bsd illustrations by Sango Harukawa, published in 2016

• Folder link

Anime Five season anime. Watch order is season 1 → season 2 → Hitori Ayumi (OVA) → DEAD APPLE (movie) → season 3 → season 4 → season 5

Streaming site 1 • Streaming site 2

Drama CDs Audio dramas recorded by the anime voice actors cast, released between 2015 and 2017. Some albums feature character songs.

• Drama CDs masterlist

Bungou Stray Radio Web radio for the anime hosted by Yuto Uemura (Atsushi’s va)

• Playlist (missing episode 17) (untranslated)

Welcome! To Uemura Detective Agency Anime vas show hosted by Yuto Uemura (Atsushi’s va) included in the first anime season blu-ray

• Playlist with all 12 episodes (untranslated) • Episode 5 highlights translation

Stage plays Eight stage plays that adapt different anime seasons and novels

• Folder link (mostly translated)

BEAST movie Direction by Kōichi Sakamoto, script by Kafka Asagiri. Movie adaptation of an alternative universe spin-off novel.

• Folder link

Official pages

• Kafka Asagiri's Twitter • Sango Harukawa���s Twitter • Sango Harukawa’s blog • Shiwasu Hoshikawa’s Twitter • Gun_Zi’s Twitter • Neco Kanai’s Twitter • Official manga Twitter account • Official anime Twitter account • Official Mayoi Twitter account • Official stage plays Twitter account • Official Beast movie Twitter account • Official exhibition Twitter account • Official Gakuen Twitter account • Official Wan! serialization site • Official Gaiden serialization site • Official DEAD APPLE serialization site

Other resources

• BSD wiki • Mayoi wiki • BSD-bibliophile • BSD updates countdown • BSD calendar • Interviews masterlist • Magazines Archive • Archive of official art • Megathread of art by Harukawa • Megathread of anime art • Merch archive 1 • Merch archive 2 • Official art scans • Website for manga volume raws, dvd ripoff, op/ed albums and basically everything • @/akutagawaprize, Tumblr archive of official content through 2015-2020 • @/popopretty’s blog for misc translations • Guidebook Gongeroku scans • Masterpost of literature works referenced in the bsd franchise • BSD Honorifics and Nicknames • Every Piece of Information Involving the Book • BSD anime irl locations tour

If you found this list useful, could you consider contributing to the archive? Things it would be nice to add include:

• Good quality scans (>1350px) of the 20th volume of the manga (Sorry. Once again, personal request.) • Wan! official English translations (minus volumes 1-4) • Retrieve the missing short drama Return of the Detective's Good Mood • English subtitles for the remaining stage plays (BSD on Stage & Fifteen) • Better quality versions of the stage plays in general (especially Fifteen) • Translations of the remaining Anthology chapters (please check the masterlist above, I ran out of links per post) • Translations of untranslated magazines interviews (check out the megazines archive spreadsheet to see what has and hasn't been translated so far) • Anthology 6 raws • Anthology 1 official English translation • Scans of any of the Guidebooks (except for Gongeroku) / Genga Collections / Illustration books

If you think something should be added to this list, please do not hesitate to reach out!

LAST UPDATED: 25/10/24

[waywardxrhea]

Tuna-Tober Day 16 - Din Djarin

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!mechanic!reader

prompt: against a window

word count: 2,252

content: smut! MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY! nipple play, choking (not in great detail, just a mention), fingering, unprotected PIV sex, language (in Mando'a that i found on here so who knows if its correct lmao). some cute FLUFF that had me kicking my feet it was so cute lol

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist

mando'a translations

mesh'la - beautiful Osi’kyr - oh shit

Moons ago… 

You were walking to a drop site where you were going to get some parts for a ship you were fixing when you passed by something that had you doing a double-take. After rubbing your strained and tired eyes, you blinked hard as you focused on the ship across from you. It couldn’t be! Looking at the time, you noted that if you did just a quick look around the craft, you would still be able to make the meeting with your parts dealer, so you headed toward the vintage ship. 

The ship in question was an ST-70 class Razor Crest M-111. This type of ship was used during the days of the Empire, and you hadn’t seen one since you were a child. Your father had worked on a few now and again over the years, but they got more scarce as time went on after the Empire fell. The broken ships that people commandeered in the chaos were how your dad taught you how to repair them into better condition than even new. 

It was how you ended up on this far-off planet in the Outer Rim. Your shop was mobile, on a souped up ship of your own that was able to accommodate you and your clients’ ever-changing ship repair needs. This time, you were on Florrum for someone who needed a tune-up on a freighter, and what should have been an easy fix turned out to be more complicated than they let on in their original consultation. Nevertheless, you were able to get into contact with the people who had the parts you needed to make the necessary repairs. 

Which is what had taken you to admiring the Razor Crest in front of you. Doing a quick walk around, you noticed that whoever the owner was had added some upgrades of their own. The original laser guns were replaced with more powerful ones for starters. It made you wary of being around the ship because heavy firepower could mean that the owner wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with. You knew how important peoples’ ships were to them. 

As you stood looking at one of the side panels that had some wires poking out from what looked like where a deflector shield had failed, you heard heavy footsteps approaching. The unmistakable sound of a blaster being pulled from a holster met your ears before you heard a modulated voice say, “Step away from the ship.”

Putting your hands in the air, you slowly turned around to face the voice as you said, “I didn’t touch anything. Just admiring. And looking at this panel that needs repair.” When you turned around, you were face-to-face with a Mandalorian in shiny silver beskar who was hauling what looked to be a passed out man. “I-I see that you’re quite busy though, and I have to meet with someone for some repair parts for a Questor. Forget I was here,” you said quickly, not wanting him to pull the trigger on the blaster aimed right at your forehead. 

The man didn’t say anything nor did he move a muscle, but he also didn’t react to you turning and quickly making your exit, so you thanked the Maker as you tried to blow off the anxiety that had filled your entire body because of the encounter. Sure, there had been blasters pointed at you in the past over one thing or another, but the commanding presence of the Mandalorian had shaken you. Maybe it was the inability to see the face of the person pointing the blaster at you or the glint of the light off of the armor. Maybe it was the rifle poking out from over his shoulder or the many rounds of ammunition and explosives he had ready to use at a moment’s notice. Maybe it was the uncertainty of what happened to that man he was dragging along with him. 

Whatever it was though drove you to the nearest cantina after making more progress on the Questor you were tasked with fixing. The atmosphere inside was electric. It was the most lively place you had stepped into since being on this planet, and you knew lively and fun was just what you needed to relax. 

After a couple of drinks, you were finally starting to shake your anxiety when you heard from beside you the same voice from before saying, “I hear you’re the person to go to for ship repairs.” You tensed up for a moment upon hearing the voice, but the drinks in your system dulled the usually sharp edge of the guard you shielded yourself with. Looking over to the Mandalorian, you nodded silently. “Well, like you saw earlier, my ship’s in need of repair. There’s more than just cosmetic damage that I won’t discuss here. You’d earn more than your fair wages if you could fix it.”

And that was how you ended up traveling with the Mandalorian. Din Djarin. You learned quickly that he wasn’t all weapons and armor and intimidation. When he wasn’t in bounty hunter mode, he was a sweet and accommodating man who was fiercely protective of those close to him. Din had made space on his ship for all of your work supplies, and when he was gathering up bounties, you repaired ships in whatever area you were stationed at that day. 

Repairing the Crest was an almost daily occurrence and the main reason Din found himself tracking you down to another planet to ask you to travel with him. You thought the request odd at first, but after seeing the ship after one battle, you knew you needed to help the man out. On top of repairing the Crest as needed, you also helped take care of the spirited child Din found himself in charge of. Grogu. He tended to mess with things he shouldn’t, but it wasn’t usually anything a quick modification couldn’t fix. 

Living and working with someone on a daily basis had its way of pulling people close together, and no matter how much you and Din tried to keep things professional, your escalating feelings were inevitable. At first things started off physically when he found you in a compromising position in your bunk, thinking you had been hurt judging by the quiet noises he heard coming from the area. From there, things got more intimate. You noticed him ghosting his gloved hands over your arms as you worked around the ship, how he would put his hand gently on your lower back to guide you when you were both in the market for supplies, but especially in the way he called you mesh’la. You didn’t know how to speak Mando’a and Din never told you what the word meant, but even the modulator in his helmet couldn’t mask the fondness in his voice as he said the word. 

One night, the three of you were traveling on your ship to get parts you needed to fix the Crest. The dealer was clear across the galaxy though, so you were all in for a long trip. After getting Grogu to sleep and closing the door that held the bunks, you took a quick turn in the refresher. 

You came out with a towel wrapped around your body, having forgotten to grab your night clothes before heading in, but didn’t get too far before you felt supple leather caressing your skin as the towel was gently taken off of your body. The chill in the air made the hair on your arms stand on edge, and your nipples began to pebble, not only because of the cold, but because Din’s fingers were instantly on them the second they were revealed to him. 

A deep sigh left your chest as he began toying with your chest and a lazy smile made its way onto your lips as he began his ministrations. Because of the Creed, Din couldn’t take off his helmet around you, so you had never felt the pleasures of his mouth either for a simple kiss or more, further down your body. He learned how to get you riled up with his hands alone though. A few gentle caresses over your thighs, a gentle tweak of your nipples, and then a surprisingly light and sensual hand around your throat had your center begging to be filled in only the way he could. 

As your hands began making their way to the belt of his flight pants, Din began leading you to the front of the ship where you had a bay window that revealed the beautiful majesty of space flying past the ship. You gasped and arched your back as it hit the cold glass, and that gasp turned into a moan as Din slipped two now ungloved fingers into your core with ease. The smirk in his voice was audible as he commented, “Someone’s excited.”

“I have you giving me pleasure, of course I am,” you breathed, a quiet moan slipping past your lips before you began pushing at the waistband of his flight pants. 

Before either of you knew it, Din had you hiked up and held against the window as his powerful hips thrusted into you, the angle something completely different and unfamiliar to you. It had your head rolling back and your jaw falling open in pleasure and your chest heaved as you let out sinful sighs and moans. As the blue and white lights of hyperspace flickered over your body, Din was suddenly filled with a feeling he had been fighting off since he met you and you began traveling together. Love. 

Without a second thought crossing his mind, Din whispered, “Keep your eyes closed.” 

“D-Din, what-?” you began to ask as he slowed down to a stop, keeping you pinned against the glass as you clung to his body. 

“Please. Just trust me,” he said. 

You nodded and kept your eyes closed as the sound of his helmet disengaging filled your ears. A quiet gasp left your lips before you asked, “Din, did you just…? The Creed-”

“Keep your eyes shut and you won’t have seen my face,” he said quietly, his true voice filling your ears. It was beautiful. Rich and sweet like a warm breeze washing over you. The words he said next hit you square in the chest and for a few moments you were lost for words. “Mesh’la. Beautiful. I love you,” he said in a breathless whisper before your lips were met with the gentlest of kisses. 

“I love you too,” you whispered against his surprisingly soft lips before deepening the kiss just a bit to test the waters. 

You were met with enthusiasm as Din kissed you back with fervor, finally starting to rock his hips into yours once more. When he did, you loosed a moan into his mouth as the added pleasure of kissing him completely heightened the pleasure he was giving you. “Osi’kyr! You feel so good,” he grunted out, his hand gripping tighter on your ass as he pounded into you. 

Any words you had to say in reply died on your tongue as Din switched from kissing your lips to your neck in a sloppy, open mouthed manner. The sensitive area getting attention was stimulating enough and had the coil in your core starting to tighten, but you began barrelling toward your high when Din latched onto your neck and sucked, surely with the intent of leaving a mark in his wake. He wanted to leave love bites all over you. They were something that would mark you as his. He wanted to be able to see the evidence of your intimacy throughout the week. For others to know that you were taken. 

He got so carried away in his mission to mark your neck, and only realized that you had hit your peak when the vibrations of a loud moan and a shout of his name were on his lips. The feeling of your core pulsing around him combined with the beautiful sounds, now unfiltered by his helmet got Din impossibly closer to his own high as you desperately coaxed his lips back up to yours so you could kiss him again. Your wanton moans on his lips drove him to his climax, and with a deep sigh, he filled you up, the pleasure sparking through his body unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

After a few moments of keeping you pressed up against the cool glass, Din lowered you down gently, your unsteady feet hitting the floor with a quiet thud. He began reaching for his helmet to don once again, but as if you could sense him doing so, you pulled him into another kiss before resting your forehead on his as you told him, “It can wait. I’ll keep my eyes closed. I just wanna kiss you. Please.”

And so he did. For hours, the two of you got lost in each other's lips. By the end of the night, you had been marked on practically every intimate area Din could reach, and you both learned how talented he was with his tongue. For that night, you kept your eyes closed, but soon after, you had found a suitable covering that Din approved of that you could wear when the two of you got intimate. You both had become addicted to the taste of one another, and you were way too far in love with Din Djarin to never kiss him again.

a/n: this turned out a lot fluffier than i intended, but you know what? it's kinda sorta very adorable! the words just kinda flowed out, but like...the hand on her lower back at the market?? i want it to be me! 🥰😭 i also didn't originally plan the love confession, but that just kinda came out too, whoopsie.

ps: yes, nearly half of this was plot, but to me, Din smut has to have some sort of plot leading up to it. i simply could not write it without a little background as to how we got here!

anyways! likes and comments are appreciated as always! xo, brooke <3

[roguemaki]

I finished transcribing the the Ichiro Ohkouchi (G Witch series composition and script) interview included with the Season 2 Vol.3 Blu-Ray.

Here's a translation of the snippet about Suletta and Miorine's initial concepts:

Miorine, the deuteragonist, is a cool character. Did you mean for her to be a contrast to Suletta? Ohkouchi   Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury takes place on two main stages: the school and the corporate world. In the initial concept, Suletta was the protagonist of the school side, while you could call Miorine the protagonist of the corporate side. In those early drafts, Miorine stoically bore her burdens and was the mistress* of Suletta’s enemy – she was the direct opposite of her current character. The plan was to have Suletta and Miorine’s adverse circumstances reverberate against each other, until they finally meet and their destinies are transformed… something to that effect. But as we revised the scenario, we decided to place both of them in the school setting from the beginning. This way, the story became more straightforward and ignited more quickly – we could highlight their chemistry as soon as possible. Because we were writing an original series, instead of taking the audience’s attention for granted, we wanted to quickly start showcasing the story’s appeal. That's how we came up with the current version of Miorine, who has to take on the responsibilities of running a company while she attends the school. *TL Note: 愛人 (aijin); literal definition is “lover,” but its primary usage in modern Japanese is “a person, usually a woman, in a relationship with someone other than their legal spouse” aka “mistress”

Interesting that Mistress!Miorine was still a thing even after the pivot from the initial war-oriented concept to the school/corporate setting. The staff decided to make her a student character in order to bring Suletta and Miorine together earlier.

I will translate the rest of the interview as well but it's gonna take a while...

[lanzhans-resting-bitchface]

Took me four hours but I was able to convert and format a Mandarin epub to include pinyin notation above the text:

Technical details below for anyone interested

I was trying to do this on my personal laptop, which is, unfortunately, Windows. I found two GitHub projects that looked promising: pinyin2epub and epub-with-pinyin and spent most of my time trying to get python to work. I wasn't able to get the second project to work, but I was eventually able to get some output with the pinyin2epub project.

The output was super messy though, with each word appearing on a different line. The script output the new ePub where all the tags that encapsulated every word and pinyin were on a new line, as well as having a ton of extra spacing.

I downloaded Calibre and edited the epub. With the help of regex search and replace I was able to adjust the formatting to what is shown in the picture above.

All in all, I'm fairly happy with it although it does fail to load correctly in any mobile ePub reader I've tried so far ( I have an Android). I think it's the <ruby> tags are either unsupported or cause a processing error entirely depending on the app.

Once I have motivation again I'd love to try to combine the original text epub with a translated epub. My idea here is that there would be a line of the original text above followed by a line of the translate text so on and so forth. I'd probably need to script something for this, maybe it could look for paragraph tags and alternate from two input files. I'd have to think about it a bit more though.

Unfortunately my Mandarin isn't yet strong enough to read the novels I'm interested in entirely in the original language, but I'd love to be able to quickly reference the original text to see what word or character they used, or how a phrase is composed

Feel free to ask if you want to try to do this and need any clarification. The crappy screenshot and lack of links because I'm on my phone and lazy.

[myriadium]

Basic Biology of Vestals | Vers. 2.0.006 - Marucho

INTRODUCTION

Vestals are an extraterrestrial species with a complex and vibrant history with impressive technological developments and intricate social relations.

Vestals originated from Vestar (pDID: 4685-6684-9999), which exists in an alternate dimension (DID: P-4685-6684-9785). It is hypothesized that early quantum fractures have created access from Vestar to Vestroia only very recently. Vestar circles a weak star (sDID: P-4685-6684-9958) which plays a crucial part of life on Vestar.

It is unclear when Vestals developed into their current place in their planetary timeline due to the different way time moves in that dimension, but it is very likely that their evolutionary process occurred very quickly, leading them to take over their planet and advance technologically at an almost unprecedented speed. The current state of Vestar is quite overpopulated, creating an initiative in Vestal society to spread and occupy different worlds.

For more information on the development of Vestal society, supplemental material can be found in Marn: The Fates of Vestal Societies (translated by Ace Grit). To stay on track, this report will only detail Vestal biology.

GENERAL BIOLOGY

(pictured above is an R-Vestal)

Vestals in their natural form are quintrupedal creatures with two sets of limbs; the primary ones that are used for mobility, and secondary limbs that resemble tails, which are used for balance, as weapons, as defense, or in some groups, as communication. According to archeological finds, Vestals used to have six primary limbs, but evolutionary pressure for taller/higher reaching creatures lead to the limb developing into a vestigial stub in the chest area [1]. The added support in the back of the body allows most Vestals to be able to "stand", or rise up on three limbs to almost double their height.

Vestals range from having 1-7 secondary limbs. In most cases the more limbs a Vestal has, the weaker each individual limb is. In severe cases of hyperpolymelia, surgery may be performed to fuse the limbs and strengthen the overall structure. Mutations in the primary limbs much rarer than secondary ones, but polymelia in primary limbs almost always leads to limbs that are too weak to be used.

Most of a Vestal's important internal systems such as pulmonary, cardiovascular, and digestive track can be found in what would appear to be the "chest" or thorax of the Vestal. The head of the body is mostly empty, resembling a mouth of sorts that Vestals very rarely display publicly.

The face of the Vestal resembles a mask of sorts, and is made of a hard, tough material that does not grow and cannot heal, meaning young Vestals' heads do not grow [2]. The faces hold a combination of optical receptors and empty holes that allow sound to pass through. Vestals' optical receptors detect the UV end of the light spectrum, like bees on Earth. Additionally, sound is generated from a Vestal's thorax and intricately moved through hollow bones and through the face to create sound.

(pictured above, a full grown Vestal with their young. Young Vestals develop with wider primary limbs to help develop balance, which usually wilts and sheds as the Vestal grows.)

Most notably, Vestals have evolved to work symbiotically with fauna that grow on the top of the body (translation of the name of the fauna is currently being discussed). The fauna species depends on several factors from UV intake, nutrients, and heat; the appearance, length, and color of the fauna range wildly, but the most common ones are 6-12 inches and resemble blades of grass. Vestals with less efficient fauna usually develop certain organs or specialized limbs to allow the Vestal to obtain more energy.

VESTAL BUILDS

As mentioned before, the symbiotic fauna can develop in a myriad of ways, with varying levels of efficiency at gathering energy from UV light. This is a very crucial way of generating and obtaining energy, meaning the efficiency of fauna can drastically affect the physical build of a Vestal.

It is imperative to mention that the different builds of Vestals mentioned are very uncommon. Due to the popularity of gene editing in Vestal society, an average Vestal would display a combination of traits from different builds: Technological advancements has lead to a higher standard of living, allowing more diverse and unique builds based on an individual Vestal's aesthetic or functional preference.

(1) Tank - Certain Vestals have strong, stocky builds with unwilted wider primary limbs. These Vestals grow a tough armor around most of their bodies, giving them more protection from injuries and heat loss. These Vestals are usually found in colder environments, where the Vestals are well suited for staying warm, the wider primary limbs able to travel icy or delicate terrain. Symbiotic fauna is not as efficient due to limited access to the sun, resulting in very slow metabolism and requiring many T-Vestals to use their powerful secondary limbs to kill prey. T-Vestals with access to medics or gene editing tools usually opt for more efficient fauna implantation surgery (FIS), where spores of fauna from drier/sunnier areas are implanted into the Vestal's skin.

(2) Runner - In the parts of Vestar that are open plain, R-Vestals have developed to run from predators. They usually come with a sharper face shape and shorter neck, and the outside of their skin is smooth to avoid drag when running. The fauna of an R-Vestal is the most efficient, so much so that most R-Vestals are able to live without additional UV supplements. The primary limbs of an R-Vestal are pointed and delicate, meaning limb injuries are very common due to the amount of force concentrated into a tiny point.

(3) Hunter - In areas of high canopy cover and low light, H-Vestals have evolved to a life of running, similarly to the R-Vestal, but instead of fleeing, H-Vestals primarily get their food source from other animals. Using their serrated primarily limbs, R-Vestals are able to climb up rocks and large flora, while also using them to spear their prey. H-Vestals usually develop more than two secondary limbs, and are able to communicate with them silently during hunts. Their secondary limbs are also noticeably sharper for maximum skewering hunting. The fauna of H-Vestals are the least effective, which is why so much of the ancient H-Vestal's diet is other fauna.

(4) Sleeper - With the highest surface area of fauna on their bodies, S-Vestals were found in the tiny pockets of Vestar that enjoyed high amount of sunlight all year round. Archeological records show that this build of Vestal almost never reproduced, possibly because of a much longer than average lifespan; almost triple that of the average T-Vestal. This is thanks to the high amount of fauna found on the Vestal's body, which increases energy production. Paired with a habitat with very little predators, S-Vestals derived their name from the society of prehistoric Vestals not doing much except enjoying their days.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

[1] Although current Vestal gene editing technology allows for the removal of the vestigial limb, the influence of the existing royal families, who choose to keep the vestigial limb, has made this body part a sort of fashion statement. There are certain modifications and shapes of the limb that can go in and out of style, and this is usually affected by the appearance of royalty or, in lesser cases, celebrities. fuck Zenoheld! -D

[2] It is currently unclear how Vestals reproduce. Young Vestals are extremely rare. Interviews with Vestals show that they are confused with the idea of sexual reproduction, and it seems like they hatch from egg-like sacs produced by a single progenitor. Current hypothesis is asexual reproduction in combination with changes to genetic information brought on by natural mutation/gene editing/environmental factors/diet.

Vestals also don't believe in marriage. - Ace

[trollol360]

396, 397, 398

399

Sorry, I meant to make this way earlier, I just got distracted and busy with other projects.

This was originally written 9/1/23:

MHA 399 dropped and it literally made me cry. I have much to say because oh my god.

"These should boost my speed and mobility for tighter turns! He must be getting bored of the one-sided struggle." The way Toshi has to rely on the support gear because it's all he has left. He has no quirk.

"Tentacole, plus... Froppy Suction Pads!" Eleventh and Twelfth; Shoji and Tsuyu

"Tail-Man. Shoto" Thirteenth and Fourteenth; Ojiro and Shoto

"And then... I'll set the trap." Originally, I was using a fan translation when I wrote this, and it said: "Now... I'm on the hunt." And I said: "Well, well, well, how the turn tables." Not much to say that I haven't already said, lol

"Assuming repeated, massive damage to that body shortens his life span... I know just the quirk to get the job done all at once..." The way he thinks and he's quick on his feet. Toshinori has always been smart (much to Endeavor's "All flash and no brains" comment about him)

"The problem is the power source! Playing this by the book won't be all too effective. Lend me a hand, Anima?" Fifteenth; Kouda. Toshinori specifically states that doing it the regular way won't be enough. All Might knows that All for One can tank hits, so (my assumption at least), he needs to wear him down first to be effective. [Which, now knowing what happens, is incorrect. He needs to give it enough time to power up before he uses it]

"Cackling like a mad fool one minute and scampering and hiding the next?" He's back to being an asshole, but he's still chasing after All Might. Seems like he forgot what he's doing.

"Here he comes!" Uh oh, smile's gone. Didn't expect himself to be found so easily/followed quickly

"Your goal here is no mystery to me. And I don't need to waste excess strength... To twist that grin into an agonized grimace. Power-saver mode is plenty enough for killing you." Jesus fucking Christ, All for One is scary. The people who've said they'd kill All Might during Kamino, but he didn't kill Toshi (nor did he kill his drive). Despite it seeming like All for One captured All Might for one panel, he breaks free. He can just kill him, but either he won't (and wants to drag it out), or he can't (All Might's just too good).

"Rise!! Liar!! Descend!!" (Despite this being a serious battle, Toshi looks really silly, but that might just be me, lol) He's not smiling anymore, something closer to a grimace. Both in the way that All for One said he'd do, but also in the way during the USJ incident (and others). (I.e: "All Might's here... And he's not smiling."

"Hmm? No, I really am conserving my power." All for One says he's going to kill Toshinori with low effort, but it seems like he's trying his all (or something close to it) [He's trying to act like he can kill All Might really easily? Or just bluffing about it]

"Now where'd that lovely smile go? You're nothing but a bag of bones missing half his guts! An old fool providing hospice care for himself... With shoddy simulacrums of the children's powers!" All for one notices that All Might's smile is gone. We're shown that Class 1-A's quirks do and have protected Toshinori. During USJ, the first movie, etc. Deku, Todoroki, and Balugou are the students who are closest to All Might's power (Deku being a given). But All for One hasn't seen how well they are [or at least refuses to believe that they've improved]

"Smile, you're still on camera!! The whole world's watching, remember?! They'll see the Symbol of Peace falling to his doom... As the Symbol of Impotence!" 'Impotence -- Inability to take effective action; helplessness'. All Might has already fallen from grace by society's standards because he's not really there anymore (I.e: Stain saying that he's a failure). Toshinori couldn't use his Mech Suit trying to help society anyway, because he knew he'd have to fight All for One eventually. It's not that he's abandoned them. Far from it. Toshinori is a man who wants to help people when he can, that's why he's so god damn depressed in S6. He's seeing Deku abandon him to go out on his own and he couldn't do anything to help. Society fell back to how it was when he was a child. In all his 40 years, society fell back to how it was with just one attack that he couldn't do anything against. When he lost his quirk, it was basically him being quirkless all over again. Being ignored, attempted to be killed, and unhelpful. That's why he's so fulfilled helping again. Because while it's his fight (One for All) with All for One, he's still saving hundreds of thousands of lives again.

"Their guiding light is about to be snuffed out." The way All for One no longer looks human. He fucking slams Toshinori to the ground on his left side.

The ashes of the snuffed-out flame. He doesn't have an ounce of One for All left in him.

"You still don't get it... Good buddy!!" All Might is not done (even when All for One hits him straight on). He puts the Shoto canon in All for One's mouth and fires. He plans on killing him. He wants to kill him.

"Lights tend to flicker on and off! So while my light might be snuffed out... Someone's sure to pick up my torch and shine on!" This isn't a death flag. He's not talking about his life, he's talking about his legacy. Deku, Bakugou, and Todoroki will carry All Might's legacy, while Class 1-A as a whole will carry Toshinori's legacy (at least that's the way I see it).

I don't have much to say about Aoyama's part in this chapter, sorry (but I do love his character). The heroes are downed and Aoyama's one of the only heroes left to fight. Roses coming out of him feels like symbolism. "Hence why I said "merci"... Reminding myself of how shamefully I've lived... Is what spurred me on to follow in the wake of the light they bring! It's given me the desire to shine... From deep down within my core!!" These lines of dialog show Aoyama's character growth from being found out as the traitor.

"Let there be light in the darkness!" The way Aoyama smiles/grits his teeth just like All Might is so... *Chefs kiss*

"So that I might twinkle as well!!" Toshinori doesn't need One for All to keep going, but the lights of his students and people who believe in him. The flame doesn't have to return.

"So no, I'm not here to lose, All for One!!" All Might restates it yet again, cementing it in. He'll kill All for One if he has to.

"Know this name... As you burn away!!" HIS SMILE IS FUCKING BACK!! He looks so tired, beaten, and bruised, but he's still smiling. (The way his face is drawn makes me want him carnally... But that's my simp for him speaking)

"CAN'T STOP TWINKLING! ★" Sixteenth; Aoyama. The parallels of them both attacking with the laser, GOD. This chapter made me so fucking ill. I literally cried and felt like screaming.

[theculturedmarxist]

A former editor for the German main daily newspaper, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ), Dr. Udo Ulfkotte became nationally renowned in dissident circles for his 2014 book Journalists for Hire: How the CIA Buys the News, originally published in German, which went through multiple translations.

The book relays Ulfkotte’s experience with how the CIA and German Intelligence (BND) bribe journalists to write articles free of truth and facts, and with a decidedly pro-Western, pro-NATO bent or, in other words, propaganda.

One of Ulfkotte’s formative professional experiences was as a war correspondent during the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988), where the Iraqis were considered to be “the good guys”—because they were serving Western interests in confronting Iran, whose Islamic regime had toppled a long-standing U.S. client, the Shah, in a 1979 revolution.

Iraqi war crimes under Saddam Hussein were covered up along with Washington’s interests in trying to weaken and divide two aspiring Middle Eastern powers so the U.S. could dominate the region and exploit its oil resources.

When he first arrived in Baghdad, Ulfkotte was a little scared. He did not have any experience as a war correspondent. The Iraqi Army quickly sent him off to the front line; the bus was full of loud, experienced war correspondents from prestigious media such as BBC, and Udo was just a miserable rookie.

The first thing that struck him as odd was that everybody was carrying canisters with them. He got upset that very moment and he thought to himself: “Ooops, if the bus gets stuck far from the petrol station, all of them chip in by filling in some petrol into the engine so Udo decided that in the future he would have to carry a canister as well.”

They were on a bus for hours on end riding through the desert. At 20 to 30 kilometers from the border, there was literally nothing there. There was no war whatsoever. There were armed vehicles and tanks long since burned to ash. The reporters got off the bus and sprayed the contents of the canisters all over the vehicles. The Iraqi soldiers were there with them with the machine guns: “Imagine that, tanks in the desert, burned to ash a long time ago, set on fire only now. The clouds of smoke all around. And the reporters positioning their cameras.”

What he witnessed was flame and clouds of smoke behind them, and the Iraqis running around in front of the cameras all the time with machine guns in their arms and scowling military looks in their eyes. Udo mustered up courage and asked one reporter: “I understand. The photos are brilliant, but why do they keep stooping and ducking down?”

The man replied: “Simple. In the audio played in the background one could hear machine guns, and it will sound very good back home.”

Udo kept thinking all the way home. “Young man, you did not see a war at all. You were by the campfire. What are you going to write about?”

Yes, that is a problem for a rookie working for a news agency. Performances are mainly adapted to suit the media needs. It is necessary that one “fits in” with the other seasoned professionals and concoct stories out of thin air that those in positions of authority want the people to hear—not ones that actually exist.

When Udo got back to Baghdad, there were no mobile phones; they were waiting in the Rashid Hotel for hours at times for the international line. He first phoned his mother, not his employer. He was desperate. He did not know what to do. At that point his mother started crying over the phone: “My boy! You are alive!” Udo thought to himself: “What do you mean? Is everything all right? My dear boy! We thought….What is happening, Mother? We saw on TV what happened around you.”

The TV channel had already sent back the fake stories and he tried to calm his mother down, trying to explain that it did not happen the way she believed it did. She thought Udo lost his mind. Udo said in his book that he would finish there, because he was not there to tell us a satire. He only wanted to say that this was his first experience with the truth in journalism and war correspondence. Basically, he was utterly shocked with the first contact he made. But, unfortunately, that was not an isolated case.[1]

In Udo’s naïve mind, war was a place where a reporter could report on horrifying events and help the public to empathize with the victims of war and expose the hidden political machinations behind it.

Instead, he found himself forced to write fake stories from far away from the front lines and to manufacture propaganda to induce consent among the public.

The ones manufacturing the stories were associated with the intelligence agencies whose job it is to deceive the public.

By serving as a correspondent in the Middle East, Ulfkotte was able to meet agents from the CIA, British M16, the Israeli MOSSAD and the German intelligence agency Bundesnachrichtungendienst (BND).

His editors used to readily cooperate in such operations of collating intelligence information, which the reporters would dutifully transcribe for the public back home.

The skill of unofficial reporting is when a reporter essentially works for the CIA and he or she is not employed in an official role, Ulfkotte explains.

Both sides hugely benefit from their partnership and at the same time both sides can deny their relationship. The CIA would have found young reporters and they would then be their mentors. All of a sudden many doors would open for them, they would be granted awards and before they knew it, their mentors (read: paymasters) would have owned their whole careers.[2]

This is basically the name of the game. This is how it all works. Ulfkotte admitted with regret that he published articles in his own name that were actually written by CIA agents and other intelligence services, particularly the German secret services.

Ulfkotte went on to say that he had close contact with the German intelligence service, BND. Two persons from BND were regularly coming to the newspaper office where he worked. On occasion, he says, he was not only given the report but that the BND wrote the articles, which were published in the newspapers under Udo’s name.

Udo was asked by an interviewer if he could document what he was saying and he responded yes, that he could.

“I can say that this and that article with my text in the papers was written by the intelligence services because I couldn’t have possibly known what was written in it. I couldn’t have possibly known what was there in a cave in Libya, what secret thing in one particular place, what is being built there. That is what BND wanted to publish (using my name),” writes Udo.[3]

It was not like this only in FAZ. This was in other media as well.

“If we had rule of law, there would be an investigative committee to investigate dubious claims. Political parties would be outraged and rise [against the injustice of the fake news], regardless of whether they were the political left, the political right or the center and they would say: ‘What is this guy Ulfkotte saying? And he claims that he can document everything? This needs to be investigated.’”[4]

Udo continued: “This is still a common thing. I know some colleagues of mine who still maintain a close contact with the intelligence services. I would feel very good if there was an investigative committee but this obviously is not going to happen, because it is in nobody’s interest to do so. Because in that case the general public would understand to what extent politics, media and secret services are closely connected in this country.”[5] And in this world!

When Ulfkotte had a close encounter with his own conscience—and if one reads Dostoyevsky, they know that there is no person in the world who does not wrestle with their own moral dilemmas—he decided to elaborate on his experiences. In doing so, he provided significant insight into contemporary media and of the society that we live in.

Almost everybody knows but only a few dare speak about what Udo said.

He wrote: “I was in close contact with some European media or big private media companies—you cannot write or say what you feel like and what your views are necessarily. I can tell you that what I am saying here is what I have experienced everywhere. There are clear directives and everybody knows that one cannot publish what they want in the newspapers owned by Springer such as Bild or Welt—for instance the articles critical of Israel. There is no way you can do that there! You have signed an agreement that you will not challenge the question of the existence of a country of Israel or the Israeli point of view. These directives exist in all big media companies.”[6]

Ulfkotte continued: “If you do not wish to remain stuck in the lower corporate levels but you would rather travel with the chancellor, ministers, president or with the politicians, in the airplanes which belong to the government, in that case you have to adhere to certain rules. I have learnt that rather quickly.

What we consider as free journalism is a rather orderly and orchestrated thing to its every detail. But for your superiors, it is vitally important that that is not viewed as censorship and limiting of free reporting or whichever (bland and vague) terms and phrases they tend to use.

I soon realized that when I was tasked to accompany Helmut Kohl, the then German Chancellor, in my capacity of a journalist, you are not invited to do this job because your name is Udo Ulfkotte but because you work for Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung.”[7]

Udo went on to write:

“In such a case, one is expected to deliver a certain kind of reporting. Which one? Forget about my news agency. This is to do with all of them in general. At the outset of the journey, a reporter is given a set of directions as to what to ask, how to communicate. Normally, you are not told what to say and ask, to write something in this way or that way but you are painfully aware that if you do not do that in such and such a way, you will not be invited next time. Your media company will be called to tell them that you are not wanted. And then you are out!

Those in charge of the cooperation with the media are the non-government ‘think tanks,’ those foundations and organizations which arguably are ‘independent’ in the same way that independent journalists supposedly are.

I am often asked where are those people who ‘pull all the strings,’ so that everything is told in a similar way? Look at those people who sit in the huge transoceanic think-tanks and foundations, for instance, look at the foundation Atlantic Bridge, and in all such organizations. And how is one supposed to influence others there?

I know from personal experience. Let us not speak only theoretically. The German Marshall Fund invited me as their colleague to visit the USA for six weeks earlier on. All expenses paid. This think-tank had close contact with the CIA, and I gained easy access to all the U.S. politicians, to all of them I was eager to be in contact with.

Above all, they literally showered me with gifts.”[8]

The journalists and the news agencies which are supposed to be, if one follows the logic of their role in a democratic society and its laws and constitutions, and then code of ethics and professional conduct, to take care of general interests, find themselves facing a challenging situation—take something for yourself or give something from within yourself for something distant and uncertain. A human being cannot resist small things that the powers that be are able to provide for them profusely.

“Media is just a word that has come to mean bad journalism.” – Graham Greene

All that is the name of the game. When The German Marshall Fund took Ulfkotte to the U.S., they told him that they knew he took a diving course in Oman. The CIA knew with utmost precision. They even gave him diving equipment through his contact in Oman.

During these six weeks he got an invitation from the governor of Oklahoma. He went there. There was a small ceremony and he received honorary U.S. citizenship. He became an honorable citizen of the USA. It was written in his certificate that from then on he would only write nice things in his reports.

The English version of the book by Udo Ulfkotte, The Bought Journalists, i.e., Journalists for Hire: How the CIA Buys the News, appeared on May 15, 2017, but by it having been published, the whole story surrounding it was not over.

According to the research by Off Guardian, Tayen Lane Publishing has since removed all references for this book from its website. Amazon UK indicates that the title is currently unavailable, with the possibility of the purchase from independent distributors, which offer used copies for an exorbitant amount of a thousand U.S. dollars per copy.

At least a 2019 version of the book, Presstitutes Embedded in the Pay of the CIA: A Confession from the Profession is available for a reasonable price on amazon and goodreads.com at least in the U.S. Though you won’t find the book on display in Barnes & Noble or other big book shops as the powerful people who rule the world don’t want its content being widely read.

Regrettably, Udo Ulfkotte died of a heart attack at the age of 57 (Tracy, 2018).

After reading his books and writings, one wonders: “Is there anybody in the mainstream media who has not worked for the CIA?”

“In America, the president reigns for four years, and journalism governs forever and ever.” – Oscar Wilde.

Edward Snowden and Julian Assange are both world famous, with the former having much more luck by moving to Russia. Udo Ulfkotte, however, is almost completely out of the public gaze, although he was a journalist and whistleblower in the media industry, possibly as important as both.

One might think that this comes across as paradoxical. Yet it only means that the public does not recognize profound relations in the media industry.

Ulfkotte was a renowned European journalist with a Ph.D. in the social sciences and an immigration reform activist, among other things. When he wrote Gekaufte Journalisten: Wie Politiker, Geheimdienste und Hochfinanz Deutschlands Massenmedien lenken (the translation of its original title is Bought Journalists [alternatively, a translation of the title more to the point is Journalists for Hire]: How Politicians, Secret Services and High Finance Steer German’s Mass Media), he became one of the most significant whistleblowers in recent history.

James Tracy pointed out in Off Guardian that Ulfkotte showed how the Western secret services took over the central place in the Western journalism.” According to Tracey, Ulfkotte was able to witness all that with credibility and his personal and professional integrity because he was working in top echelons of the mainstream media profession for years.

Tracy added that the presence of the secret (intelligence) services is neither a chance encounter nor is it random. Their recruitment techniques are always similar in every corner of the globe.

[iamthekaijuking]

Gigabash character overview: Rohanna

Plant kaiju are kind of a rarity in the genre. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s more animate object kaiju than there are plant ones. I suppose that’s cause the average viewer/reader of kaiju media would probably be more engaged with a more active animal-like kaiju than an immobile plant one (plants can actually move btw… just very slowly and they usually aren’t mobile). So I was quite surprised when Passion Republic Games revealed that a character in Gigabash’s roster was a plant monster! PRG got around this classic conundrum by simply… making her a mobile plant. She also covers the “nature’s vengeance” archetype popular in kaiju fiction… sorta. We’ll get to that.

Rohanna is, of course, also the only confirmed female kaiju in the original roster.

Rohanna is an agile, slight stunlock heavy, character with fast attacks, some of the slightly slower ones of which hit hard and/or are ranged. She even has a “teleportation” attack that is a little tricky to aim. She also has three quirky moves too. One has her summon a big thorny branch that knocks an opponent upwards, but she can also use it as a club like some of the infrastructure in some of the stages. Her other two moves each summon a minion for a short duration, one of which is actually her ultimate. These minions are respectively called Piki the Pear and the Royal Warden.

I normally play Pipijuras and another character, but if things get serious and I wanna win I bust Rohanna out.

Design

Rohanna, despite being in a game heavily inspired by Ultraman, wasn’t actually inspired by their handful of plant monsters or even the most famous plant kaiju, Biollante. Instead, Passion Republic Games wanted to make something that represents their home country of Malaysia, and so based her off a Malaysian cryptid called the Sang Kelembai. This is a little ironic considering the creature is described as pretty hideous in legend and Rohanna is a beautiful flower monster, but her left arm (which grew back this way after being burnt away by a certain “dragon king” we’ll cover next) is purposely designed to be monstrous to reference the creature that inspired her. Further inspiration was taken from the Bunga Raya flower and the Malaysian tiger, the patterning of the latter was used for Rohanna’s S-class form. Rohanna has some concept art.

Interestingly, Rohanna’s eyes are actually the green glowing slits on her chest, which is shared with the Royal Wardens. Her flower head merely has eye-like markings, although considering that she turns it to “look” at opponents it’s probably safe to say that it has some photosensing abilities too. The devs also said she can absorb the genome of any plant she comes across and can replicate it.

Lore

Rohanna is another one of the kaiju of Tarabak Island and one of the big three fighting for dominance. Her terf is specifically west of the dam that the fallen civilization of Tarabak built, and is defended by giant thorny vines and patrolled by Royal Wardens.

In the in universe book The Lost World of Tarabak by Petyr Faust, the same one that told us about Skorak, we learn a bit more about the civil war situation going on. I neglected to mention but one of Petyr’s party members, Doug, actually knew the language of the natives and so acted as a translator, and he also wanted to become a member of the Eyes of Skorak. In fact it was the sole reason he came on the expedition, and he ultimately stayed on the island and was enslaved by the followers of the “infamous dragon king”.

We learn from Rohanna’s followers that another reason people rebelled against the dragon was that aristocrats actually leveraged their guardian monster against anyone they didn’t like, which very quickly led to an authoritarian government.

When Skorak ate the dragon from the inside out, some people fled the city and eventually wondered into Rohanna’s territory. Luckily for them, Rohanna actually provided them with food and shelter, and still does to this day. Out of the three kaiju and their factions fighting for control over Tarabak, I’ve got to admit the followers of Rohanna do have it the best of the three. In comparison to the indifference of Skorak and the cruelty of the dragon king, Rohanna actually cares about her worshipers somewhat. However there is a catch; her followers must be unflinchingly loyal to her and support of another kaiju is met with death. This fate almost befell Petyr’s crew when Rohanna saw Doug’s Skorak mask, but they were saved by the Eyes of Skorak throwing stink bombs at her army, which also tells us that Rohanna’s kind have a keen sense of smell. Unusual for a plant.

It’s Rohanna’s intolerance of people not worshipping her and a few other things that make me think she’s not actually a selfless being or even an embodiment of nature’s wrath, and in fact I think the only reason Rohanna was kind to the people fleeing from the collapsing civilization of Tarabak all those years ago was just so she could have worshippers of her own. Rohanna only ever leaves her territory unless another kaiju slights her or other humans take something from her, like her Pikis. There was one time Rohanna attacked Japan at the beginning of Thundatross’s story mode for reasons we don’t know, but since OtamaTEC researches kaiju and Giga Energy they might have actually taken something from her. It seems like Rohanna only ever plays the role of “natures wrath” when it directly benefits her, which I honestly think adds a cool extra layer of pathos to her character.

Passion Republic Games made some art of her and a Piki for Mother’s Day.

It’s really cute and sweet, but it also leads into something I’ve been wondering. Are the Pikis actually her children? Or do they simply see Rohanna as a mother figure? If they are her children, then are the Royal Wardens males? Or maybe a warrior caste like ants? Is Rohanna the queen caste of an eusocial species of plant kaiju?!

Also I don’t really know where to put this tidbit but one of Rohanna’s taunts is a reference to Filthy Frank. Do what that information what you will.

[televisionenjoyer]

why did you discontinue the turkish house project :(

that's actually a great questionnn because I loved the turkish house MD adaptation translation project and I think about it every other day

It wasn't one thing or the other but rather a combination of things, mainly:

Getting the episodes was a huge hustle: I had to pay for the Kanal D app subscription that would ONLY work on mobile, then screenrecord the episodes, making SURE that my notifications were completely off and that no pop ups would interrupt the 45 minute run of the episode. Goes without saying that I couldn't use my phone for anything during that period

Subbing takes sooo much time. It wasn't the first time I ever subbed but all my previous experience at work and independently was of videos no longer than 10 minutes. A 45 minute episode was huge, and they would take me several hours. Hours I didn't have because of my job (fortunately I got more home office days so I could potentially solve that issue)

Not only is subbing hard, but I DON'T SPEAK TURKISH. to translate the show I was relying on two things: the spanish dub that I got from my Kanal D subscription, and an english subtitled source that was not only of a bad quality but also clearly translated into english by someone who wasn't 100% fluent in English. Now, English is not my primary language either, but I tried to make things at least a bit more cohesive (in hindsight I realize now it was worth trying to run the turkish version through premiere's voice recognition and a reputable translator to cross reference with both the spanish dub and the dubiously subbed version, but it did not occur to me at the time)

The audio situation was HELL. I went above and beyond to try to offer you guys the SOURCE material in the best quality I could achieve. With this I mean, I didn't see any point in offering these episodes with the spanish dubbed audio, personally, as someone who enjoys watching live action in its original language. I made it my mission to switch the audio of my source to the turkish audio from the dubiously subbed version. Here's an issue: not only were there minor synchronization hiccups that I had to localize and fix, but also the turkish run was the two hour long run in opposition to my 45 minute run version so I had to kind of find my starting spot. Not as easy as it sounds when the videos are TWO HOURS LONG and you're working with two different episode numbering systems 😵‍💫

The storage situation was unmanageable since I was using Google Drive at the moment. In hindsight I should have invested my time on further research on other sharing options like uploading it to archive.org or even making my own torrents

But honestly, mainly? There just wasn't as much engagement as I was expecting. That was maybe the biggest thing. Knowing myself I would have kept pushing through for at least two or three more episodes if I knew enough people were interested. I felt like I was going above and beyond for this, working a lot of hours for free on something I was quickly losing passion on and I was doing it all for myself. So I just stopped.

I still have a special place for hekimoglu though, and a passion for rescuing lost media/abandonware that makes me want to give this another try, somewhere in the future. Also I was kinda hooked on the show and wanted y'all to get to the good bits so bad (I did way too much watching ahead). But who knows. At the moment I'm kinda disconnected from house md as a whole and also the fandom so it is possible that someone has found an easier way to access these episodes in good quality and I can just rest in peace. Maybe with house being on Netflix there's more interest from people that have a clue as to how to make the process less tedious. Maybe I could eventually figure out a way to make it work and bring it back. Maybe we could circulate a petition for Kanal D to offer these episodes with english subtitles once again.

[ninthprime]

hxh 403 post

more like halkenburg x halkenburg! [i am pancaked by a truck]

first of all: those of you who waited for the official translation need to know that the original name of halkenburg’s nen is the fucking japanese title for “we need to talk about kevin.” this is not a joke

also you need to know that the tcb scans translated worio’s name as “wario bae”

okay but seriously though, great chapter. look at these fucking panels. i got so tense immediately. that’s comics baby

obsessed with what we’re learning about halkenburg. shout out to the people who guessed the secret of his birth was that he was unma’s kid. i can’t believe him being close to tserriednich and not getting along with his mom and sisters was foreshadowing for THIS

i’m inherently suspicious of the reasoning for unma giving him to duazul, though- it seems pretty thin, and would have had to be done fairly quickly after his birth i’d think, although halkenburg does seem to know that she’s his mother. it’s plausible that unma picked up how brutal ben and tserriednich were turning out by that time; going by beyond’s plan, ben is probably about 30, i’d imagine tserriednich is about ~26-28, and halkenburg being just before the twins in the birth order means he’s probably 19-20? but they all would have still been pretty young. i’ve seen people theorize tserriednich and halkenburg were traded between their mothers, but i feel like tserriednich is too old for the public not to know about that. honestly it makes the “halkenburg is beyond’s child” stocks go up in my mind, because it implies unma had larger reasons to keep him out of the limelight. he has a nen beast though, so he could use the seed urn just fine…

i also did notice the crib and mobile in unma’s room. the idea that it’s her grandchild and ben’s secret is that he has a child is the most plausible one i’ve seen. i also liked this theory that it’s woble’s curse sacrifice and unma is working with beyond, to go with the idea that hal is one of beyond’s kids. but that takes a little more stretching, so i think ben’s secret kid is more likely right now. speaking of ben- curious as to his next move. i saw a lot of people think that he’d lose it with balsamilco gone, but he’s holding it together a little better than i anticipated so far. that said, it’s pretty clearly a race against time for halkenburg to get to him before he declares martial law now.

i do think the theory that halkenburg is planning on taking ben’s body and winning the war that way is most likely, but there’s a part of me that wonders if this is his way of stepping out of the succession while still participating. in his confrontation with his father, he initially thought he’d rather die than continue, and nasubi had to make it clear that he couldn’t escape (a theme of his whole arc!). i could see him ending up in a non-royal body and, unable to prove he’s the ninth prince, instead propping up one of his younger siblings. or even blowing up the whole thing altogether. he’s clearly all in now, i’m just not sure of his endgame, and he’s too smart not to have some ideas.

lastly: gotta give a shout out to zhang lei. i love him, he’s so fucking fun to me. i love how his whole crew is no help at all. i love his ZhangCoins (tm). i love that he’s canonically a dragon quest fan. excited to see him meet up with kurapika again. i’d love to see him interact with tubeppa as they both work with kurapika…we know she thinks he’s a glutton and hates him, but they’re really similar in some ways, so i’d love to know what he thinks of her.

[devilofthehounds]

God Eater 3 Character Novel | Unstained Choice: Chapter 4

[image id: A novel cover. On the right side is Claire Victorious from God Eater 3, holding her Charge Spear-type God Arc and staring off into the distance with determination. On the left side is a young Claire, holding a handkerchief in her hand and looking sad. In the background is a Gleipnir banner. The text, when translated into English, reads “God Eater 3 Character Novel | Chapter 3: Claire Edition | Unstained Choice”. /end id]

This is a fan translation. Original text here.

Masterpost 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Several years had passed since my determination replaced the promised handkerchief wrapped around my hand with a red armlet.

At eighteen years of age, I lived my days as a member of Gleipnir.

Gleipnir 6th Engineering Battalion, Special Transport Unit. Our primary mission was transporting supplies to the front lines.

Compared to when my father and brother led House Victorious, my days were less than glamorous.

From the day I decided to become a God Eater, I began to study medicine in earnest. The first aid skills I acquired earned me an excellent reputation within Gleipnir.

"With you keeping us safe, I can concentrate on the enemy." Those were the words of a God Eater I didn't know the name of; one of the few commendations I'd received since joining Gleipnir.

Just a little bit of kindness could transcend status and position, connecting people and saving their hearts.

After that day, I began studying medicine in the hope that I'd have more opportunities to do so, but I never imagined it'd earn me such a spotlight in my daily life as a God Eater.

I still had the handkerchief from that day in my bag, cleaned of all stains, as a good luck charm to support my unwavering resolve.

Although I hadn't yet fulfilled that promise, I looked forward to the day I eventually would.

Rumors about her had spread so far throughout Gleipnir that they had even reached my ears.

Along with a disparaging epithet.

"An operation for developing new routes...?"

After a recent transport mission, a sudden announcement was made to those assembled at Port Arrowhead, Gleipnir's headquarters.

"I heard it'll be a large-scale operation to reestablish navigational routes around Arrowhead. They'll be mobilizing all Gleipnir units. After returning, we're to wait at the Port until the operation starts."

The sudden announcement of the large-scale operation had perplexed even the captain.

After returning to Arrowhead and unloading the cargo, our mission was complete. We had been ordered to wait at the Port until the start of the operation.

"By any chance, would you happen to be Claire Victorious?"

As I sat idly by with nothing to do, I heard someone call out to me from behind.

A man with an aristocratic demeanor approached, bowing graciously.

"It's wonderful to meet you. I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you like this for quite some time."

"...I'm sorry. I have a mission to attend to. If you'll excuse me."

It seemed like it would be a hassle. I turned and tried to get away as quickly as possible.

"Please wait a moment. I've already confirmed the completion of your unit's mission. I would very much like to deepen relations with the head of House Victorious."

He grabbed my arm and cut off my escape route.

People like this came along from time to time. He was probably just another aristocrat from a noble family looking to establish connections with House Victorious.

The man continued to hold my arm and began talking at length about himself, leaving me at a loss until—

"Searching for a bride at this time of night? Even if it's for the sake of your family, you seem pretty eager."

A woman came down from the nearby stairs.

"Ah...!"

Seeing her took my breath away.

"Hmph, you... What do you want?"

The man muttered under his breath as she approached.

"Oh, pardon me. You seemed to be enjoying yourselves, so I thought I'd join you. ...Now that I think about it, you were chatting up another girl the other day, weren't you? Are you getting along with her as well?"

Lifting the edge of her mouth suggestively, the woman casually stepped between us.

"Perhaps you're the type to shower wonderful woman with love equally. In that case, I'd love the chance to get to know you better. What do you say?"

"...Such an eyesore. Just you wait, you fragging hyena."

With a loud click of his tongue, the man left.

The woman sighed and turned towards me.

Beautiful silver hair and cold, sharp eyes. Her captivating smile and refined manners seemed even more polished.

"U-Um...!"

We'd finally met, but as for what to say—

"Lady Claire Victorious, I believe. My apologies for the intrusion."

With those words, the woman in front of me bowed respectfully.

A deep sense of despair came over me.

She didn't remember me.

No wonder. We'd only spoken once, when we were children.

I knew it was unreasonable to think she would remember me.

Still, it felt incredibly painful to see one of the lights that had supported me disappear without a trace.

"...Not at all. Thank you very much."

I managed to answer her, my voice trembling. I bit my lip. Was bringing up that day even a good idea?

It was such a brazen move. It would probably just confuse her.

In that case, it would be better to leave it forgotten—

"Heh... Heheh... Ahahahaha! That face! You look like a lost little kid!"

Suddenly, the woman burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Huh...?"

"Sorry. I was just teasing because I knew you'd remember."

Standing in my tear-filled vision, the woman elegantly brushed her silver hair aside and adjusted her posture.

"Gleipnir Special Ash Crawler Battalion, Assault Infantry Unit, 2nd Medical Corps, Captain Eir Albert. That's my title now. Long time, no see, Claire Victorious."

"Eir...!"

I firmly shook Eir's hand as she proudly proclaimed her title of captain.

I couldn't have been happier that the bond we'd forged that day was still intact like this.

"Hey, don't cry, you're being dramatic."

"But... But...!"

"You're just as much a crybaby as you were back then... We have a lot to talk about, so how about some tea? I'd say I'm a much better escort than that brainless aristocrat from earlier, wouldn't you?"

Of course. It had been a long time since I had been able to smile at someone.

Eir's room was lined with academic books on every subject as far as the eye could see.

"If there's a book that catches your eye, I'll lend it to you. I've read them all."

"All of them...?"

Just how much time had she devoted to that task?

The flame of ambition I'd seen in Eir's eyes back then still seemed to be burning undiminished to this day.

"You've become captain... Congratulations."

"Along with plenty of bad press."

While elegantly brewing tea, Eir took a stab at the unsettling topic.

I had heard many dark rumors about her.

Despite being a medic, she ravaged the battlefield in her lust for glory. She'd even killed her previous captain, taking their place. The Demon of the Medical Corps, Eir Albert.

The man's words from earlier—a hyena killing her fellow comrades—came to mind.

"...Such a terrible rumor. It couldn't possibly be true."

I muttered under my breath, suppressing the anger welling up in my chest.

But then—

"What if it were true?"

Suddenly, spine-chillingly cold arms were draped around me from behind.

"If, in order to restore House Albert, taking a life has become a trivial task for me... How would you feel?"

As she pressed her body against mine, Eir whispered seductively in my ear.

Without a second thought, I brushed her off.

"You shouldn't play the villain like that, you know."

Even when faced with such an ambush, I didn't flinch.

"I don't believe it. It's a stupid rumor."

Though not meaning to imitate her, I snorted in exasperation and laughed at the joke.

She'd do anything to achieve her ambitions. Her words were probably true.

But she wouldn't hurt anyone for that goal. Nor would she do anything that would cause her to throw away her pride. ...At least, that was what I believed.

Because she worked harder than anyone else to achieve her ambitions and continued to produce results, she had gained a number of enemies who disparaged her. That was all there was to it.

"...Right."

Eir muttered in a bored tone, as if teasing me was no longer worth the effort.

There was no mistaking the small smile that graced her lips.

"Well, let's put that aside for now. ...What do you think about the route development operation, Claire?"

After placing the freshly brewed tea on the table, Eir sat across from me.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a captain, after all. Lots of information graces my ears. Still, this operation really did come out of the blue."

Eir steepled her fingers in thought.

"Something happened that's big enough to move the entirety of Gleipnir. Or... it could be a rehearsal for an even bigger operation."

"A bigger operation...?"

"This is just a guess, but I'm certain this operation will lead to something big."

"I see... Then, this is a chance for you to make a name for yourself."

I said it casually, thinking Eir was planning to seize the opportunity for herself.

But contrary to my expectations, Eir remained silent, staring off into space.

"Yeah... Right..."

It seemed out of character for her to hesitate like that. But the next moment, Eir's usual fearless smile returned.

"Well, I'll do my best to knock the socks off those pompous jerks."

"Heheh, you really haven't changed at all, Eir. I'm actually kind of relieved."

"What? Are you really so happy that the higher-ups hate me?"

"That's not what I meant... I've always wanted you to fulfill your dream. I'm glad you're getting closer."

As Eir stared at me, taken aback, I opened my bag.

"Finally, I can fulfill my promise."

I timidly handed Eir the handkerchief I had treasured for so long.

"No way... Have you been carrying it around all this time?"

"Mm-hm. It meant a lot to me..."

From that day until now. And even once it left my possession.

It would continue to be a memory that would support my heart.

I wanted to return the handkerchief to Eir, who had led me so far.

"...Heh. Well then, I'll take it back as promised. I've been needing a dust cloth."

"I-I'd appreciate it if you'd treat it a bit more carefully..."

"Ahaha, I'm just kidding. ...Thanks. I'll take good care of it."

I'd been able to repay Eir's kindness from back then—with a little something in return from me.

"We've both been running around the Ashlands in caravans for a while now, so we don't get to see each other often... but it was good seeing you again."

"Yeah. I was happy to see you, too."

The paths we'd set our sights on that day would continue into the future.

Of that, I was certain.

"Good luck on the mission, Eir."

"...Yeah. You, too."

With cheerful expressions, we shook hands tightly.

The time we had spent together was still so short.

And yet, the time I spent with Eir was invaluable to me.

Translator's Note

[nekoannie-chan]

Love confessions

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader.

Word count: 643 words.

Summary: Brock confess his feelings in the middle of the snow.

Warnings: Little angst.

A/N: This is my entry to @there-goes-thefighter  Bri’s 200 (almost) Follower Celebration with prompt #7:

"Love confessions in the snow."

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @hallecarey1  @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @mylifeispainandiloveit​ @writingshae​ @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga​

You saw the snow falling through the window; it was falling faster than predicted, and surely soon it would become a storm. You sighed; you ran to grab your bag; you had to go to the store as soon as possible, or else you would not have supplies for the rest of the week and probably could not leave if the snow kept falling like that.

You were saying the snowfall would last for a week; surely around closing time, everything would be crazy.

You just hoped you wouldn't get stuck in the middle of the snowfall. Warnings were starting to appear on the street sign screens, and you also indicated that businesses would close at six o'clock at night and roads at seven o'clock to avoid accidents or people getting stuck in the middle of the storm.

You had almost four hours to buy everything and return to the compound, and you hoped that the others would also return on time.

You managed to get out just before the supermarket went crazy. You were just paying for the groceries when a lot of people started to come in just to buy enough groceries. You quickly packed the groceries in the car.

The amount of snow was a lot more than when you arrived at the supermarket, but you could probably make it back without any problems. It was two blocks to the compound when the car stopped; you saw on the dashboard that there wasn't even anything on; in fact, the car was completely turned off.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, this can't be happening," you said in frustration. You didn't plan to carry everything you had bought all the way to the compound; you called everyone on their mobile phones, but no one answered.

You opened the hood to see if you could find the problem. You were startled to hear the sound of a horn, and when you saw who it was, you felt relieved.

"Brock!" you exclaimed happily.

"What happened to you?" he asked with concern.

"Well... I have no idea; it just went out," you answered.

He checked quickly and went to his truck to get some chains so he could drag your car.

"I can't fix it here with the snow, but at the compound, I will," he told you.

After he fixed your car, you gave him a cup of hot chocolate. It was freezing outside, but you used to walk in the snow-covered yard every winter.

"There's something I've always wanted to tell you, well, ever since our first mission together," Brock commented.

"What? "Don't tell me you're coming to save me in the middle of a snowfall," you joked.

Brock laughed. Your sense of humor was one of the things Brock liked so much.

"No, not exactly." I think you're very smart, and you always care about others.

"You all are my family; I don't know what I would do if I wasn't part of the team." "Not after the X-men disappeared," you said.

"It must have been hard, but there's something else I want to tell you; it's something I wasn't sure I could feel at some point, and you're someone very important to me...

"I like you, Brock," you interrupted.

Since he saved you on that mission, you started to have feelings for him, although you were also confused. You had never felt something like that before.

"And you like me," he answered.

You looked at each other for a few seconds, then kissed, but the kiss was interrupted by snow falling from a roof.

"Okay, that was unexpected," you said, and you started laughing.

"We'd better hurry back; you don't want us to get stuck and freeze," he said, taking your hand. Despite the snow, you could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of the gloves.

[engko1]

The Modern Marvel: Exploring the Versatility of Porta Cabins

In the realm of modern architecture and construction, versatility, efficiency, and sustainability are becoming paramount. Among the many innovations rising to meet these demands, one solution stands out: the porta cabin. These compact, portable structures are transforming the landscape of construction, offering a myriad of benefits across various industries and applications.

A Glimpse into Porta Cabins

Porta cabins, also known as modular buildings or portable cabins, are prefabricated structures that can be easily transported and assembled at different locations. Originally conceived as temporary housing or office spaces, these cabins have evolved significantly, now finding application in diverse sectors including construction, education, healthcare, events, and even residential spaces.

The Advantages of Porta Cabins

1. Mobility and Flexibility:

Porta cabins are designed for mobility, making them ideal for temporary or remote projects. Whether it's a construction site office, a classroom in a rural area, or a temporary medical facility during emergencies, these cabins can be swiftly deployed and relocated as needed.

2. Cost-Effectiveness:

Compared to traditional construction methods, porta cabins offer significant cost savings. Their modular design reduces material wastage and labor costs, while their shorter construction time translates to lower overall expenses.

3. Customization Options:

Porta cabins are highly customizable, allowing for tailored solutions to meet specific requirements. From basic office setups to fully-equipped laboratories or classrooms, these structures can be customized with various amenities, furnishings, and layouts.

4. Sustainability:

In an era increasingly concerned with environmental impact, porta cabins offer a sustainable alternative to traditional construction. Their modular design promotes resource efficiency, and many manufacturers use eco-friendly materials and construction practices, reducing both carbon footprint and construction waste.

5. Rapid Deployment:

In emergency situations such as natural disasters or public health crises, the ability to quickly establish infrastructure is critical. Porta cabins provide a rapid solution, offering shelter, medical facilities, or administrative offices in a fraction of the time required for conventional construction.

Applications Across Industries

The versatility of porta cabins enables their use across a wide range of industries and settings:

Prefab Construction Sites: Portable offices, storage units, and restrooms for construction workers.

Prefabricated Education: Temporary classrooms, libraries, or administrative offices for schools and universities.

Prefabricated Healthcare: Emergency medical facilities, clinics, or vaccination centers.

Events: Ticket booths, vendor stalls, or temporary exhibition hall spaces.

Residential: Temporary housing solutions during renovations or for disaster relief efforts.

What is the life expectancy of a porta cabin?

The life expectancy of a porta cabin, also known as a portable cabin or portable office, can vary depending on several factors such as quality of construction, materials used, maintenance, and environmental conditions. Generally, a well-maintained porta cabin can last anywhere from 30 to 50 years or more. Regular maintenance, including inspections for structural integrity, roof leaks, and ensuring the integrity of the flooring, can help extend its lifespan. Additionally, factors such as exposure to extreme weather conditions, frequency of use, and quality of installation can also affect how long a porta cabin remains functional.

What is a porta cabin made of?

A porta cabin, also known as a portable cabin or modular building, is typically constructed using a variety of materials depending on its intended use, durability requirements, and budget constraints. However, the primary materials commonly used in porta cabin construction include:

Steel: Steel frames provide structural integrity and support for the cabin. They offer strength and durability, making the structure robust enough to withstand transportation and installation.

Wood: Wood is often used for the floors, walls, and sometimes even the roofs of porta cabins. It's relatively lightweight, readily available, and offers good insulation properties.

Insulation: To regulate temperature and improve energy efficiency, insulation materials such as fiberglass, foam board, or spray foam are used between the walls and ceilings.

Exterior Cladding: The exterior of porta cabins may be clad in materials such as corrugated steel panels, aluminum, vinyl siding, or fiberglass reinforced panels (FRP). These materials protect the cabin from the elements and enhance its aesthetic appeal.

Interior Finishes: Inside the porta cabin, materials like gypsum board (drywall) are commonly used for walls and ceilings. Flooring materials can vary and may include vinyl, laminate, carpet, or tiles.

Windows and Doors: Windows are typically made of glass, while doors can be made of steel, wood, or fiberglass, depending on security and insulation requirements.

[carnivalgore]

Never look back. One. Apotheosis of lost hope. - 31.07.2022

Name pronunciation:

I have decided not to translate the names, just because the story takes place in Poland, unlike most in the genre that center around North America.

Bielecki – pronunciation bi·e·lets·ki, a generic surname meaning something like “White” or “Whiteman”;

Shroomz – the only translated name in the story, originally Grzybek, translation literal;

Zuza – pron. zoo·za, short for Zuzanna (Polish form of Susan);

Szymo – pron. shi·mo with a super short i, like in the word “bit”, short for Szymon (Polish form of Simon);

Lis – pron. lee·s, meaning fox. Likely from a surname like Lisowski or Lisiecki, or from red hair. I haven’t really thought about it too deep;

Łezka – pron. wes·ka, meaning teardrop;

Juliusz Słowacki – a Polish poet; he is often made a patron of institutions due to his importance in Polish literature history.

✨🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑✨

Our world has turned into dust.

Many have snapped, given up. The streets were paved with corpses – hangmen hung up or fallen from trees, houses full of entire families poisoned with carbon monoxide and loners swimming in their own blood.

First came the mentally vulnerable. Next, those physically impaired. Elderly couples gnawed up to the bone, laying on sidewalks, dragged out of their homes. Paraplegic bodies hauled out over city greenery, inhumanly distorted, turned into a bloody mayhem, almost voluntarily, because they lacked the strength to fight back. The groggy junkies were easy to find underneath bridges and overpasses. Those ill and recovering in the hospitals, left behind by nurses and doctors as easy prey, were the ones fighting back for the longest. They had the blessing, or maybe a curse, to get that last chance. The faintest, pale glimmer of hope. The bravest lasted a month. They ran out of water soon afterwards. Children on the other hand were seen rarely, if ever. They were the ones protected at all costs.

For half a year I had been stationing in a nearby school. We had a group of around forty people, mostly families with children and shitheads my age.

Most of the refugees found the school shelter thanks to the enormous banners made of bedsheets that we’ve hung from the roof. At first there were only we, the biology class and the physics teacher. The rest of the students started panicking after the usual emergency routine had failed. They went running, likely in the direction their homes, but it was too late. Bielecki kept us locked up in the classroom till the evening. He instructed us to call our parents, yet we were answered by nothing but silence. Some of us were crying, trying to reach the other end for hours. I knew it was unlikely anyone from the outside was actually going to survive for long, and I had accepted it. We left the class only the next morning.

We quickly realised that the power went off in the middle of the night. We were lucky to had been stuck inside with an engineering professor who would find technological solutions for us. Mobile phones were forgotten soon after, because our first and most important rule was to not waste any drop of juice from that 50-year-old generator we found in the school basement.

Nobody yet knew how serious the situation was. Nobody knew the people falling like flies for an unknown reason were supposed to come back to life.

On the fifth day Bielecki ordered us to paint the banners. We’ve decided democratically that a bigger group will grant us safety, that’s why we decided to look for survivors. We didn’t even consider using a radio, our limited power supply was too precious. It took a couple of days for people to start rolling in. People had started coming out of their houses.

Officially, we were under quarantine. In practice, there was likely nobody else left to enforce that.

Bielecki had fallen on the fifteenth day. While he and the strongest of boys were trying to clean out the school yard of corpses, out of the blue one of the bodies moved. It bit Bielecki in the arm, tearing a chunk of his tissues off. The corpse was all swollen, the pressure had pushed its eyes out of its sockets, its sickly green skin had cracked, painting its surface with blackened stretchmarks. Nobody yet thought that this thing could ever attack anybody. They missed one simple detail, its torn out tongue. It had likely bitten it out of its own mouth, way before it would have swollen together with the rest of its body, allowing it to now chew on human meat. It no longer needed to speak, nor to swallow. It bit off its own tongue as a price for tearing into living flesh.

So they rushed back into the building, holding Bielecki as if he was the Christ in Pietà. I never spoke a word. I already suspected what was about to happen. Bielecki spoke in high pitch, assuring everyone that it was going to be alright, that he was going to heal, he pleaded with teary eyes. That same night the moans started, the cold sweat and the torment. Up till the eighteenth day they moved him farther and farther away with each night. Eventually, he ended up in the school nurse’s office. The next morning, when they carried him out of there headless, we all knew. We knew that since that night nobody will leave the office alive. But that’s the way it had to be done. The rapture of the spinal cord was the only salvation and the only remedy there was for our epidemic.

Day thirty first. The group had expanded to thirty four people. Shroomz was the one keeping up with the refugee list, he also took responsibility for food rations and water supply. The rest of the class trusted him the least out of the entire group. Back in the normal days he would bear the role of a class accountant, a common thing in Poland. He collected the money for school trips and minor class events, oftentimes cheating and spending it on his own whims. Now he had the opportunity to feel important, since Bielecki’s death he was in charge of nearly everything from a comfortable pedestal, without getting his hands dirty once. They called him Shroomz for an obvious reason. He used to bring hallucinogens to those huge, crazy teen parties the students used to throw. Most of them liked this type of shallow entertainment, I never did. But I didn’t blame them.

Zuza had gathered a group of new friends. We used to be close, up till the day the world stopped. One thing I can give her, she had the ability to turn the worst situation around to her own advantage. Her new friends were most importantly useful. They carried her things, arranged bigger food rations, stood by her side in internal group conflicts. Honestly, I never wished her any harm.

Szymo got that chance of feeling important as well, considering the biopolitical climate. He was wide as a doorway and built like a brick house, with his voice low and stentorian. He failed a year a few times, eventually they kicked him out. Yet, in these times that provided a rather positive outlook on survival, at least up to a point. There was no reason to believe he had lived through the initial wave, then he appeared on the horizon, bringing with him the final pack of eight people.

This was the end. There was nobody left.

Everyone who could have come, came before the thirty eighth day. After that none more came. We knew there had to be someone else, that one day we would have to fight for shelter or resources, but we didn’t really think about it at the time.

Months went by.

Nobody ever came.

I remember the night Lis mentioned the late Bielecki. “You’re all so naive” he spoke. “You’re vastly overestimating your chances, the resources are running out. What would Bielecki say if he saw you now?”

Then there was silence. Szymo stood up, rising over everyone like a tower. Lis glanced at him judgingly, continuing “I’m not ashamed of my opinion. Nor am I afraid. I don’t care if you beat me up to a pulp.”

I knew perfectly well what he really wanted to say. School kids frenzied in their self-proclaimed, totalitarian regime were blinded by their own pride. I myself have had enough, but was too afraid to stand up to a group carried on the backs of a bunch of thugs.

That night I sneaked out of the canteen-makeshift-nightshelter praying not to be spotted. I counted every step between the sleeping bags scared out of my mind. Zuza had stopped letting people out a while before, the only exception being the resource expeditions that only former students could make, and not all of them may I add. The families were kept in the dark and convinced it was all for their good and safety. In reality, it was all about control.

I escaped in the early morning hours, not looking back. I ran in a random direction until my legs refused to carry me any longer. I ran as tears soaked my cheeks and I wailed, I shrieked and I wept, I wept until I could no longer. I didn’t care that noise attracted the dead. At that moment the only thing that mattered was my freedom.

When I fell over onto the ground among brutalist, grey blocks, I realised I unconsciously drifted towards my past home. The school was around five kilometres away, but with rushing adrenaline that distance felt like nothing. My weeping attracted a creature, not at all a corpse. From amidst the bare walls and sparse greenery came my little Łezka. She recognised my voice, undoubtedly. I remember when we used to let her out for a night sometimes, and so we did in the eve of the world’s end, that time she did not show up in the morning. She had known before any human could. She was a loner most of her life, the past couple of years, however, she started following me like a loyal dog. Despite her years, she fought fiercely and till her last breath. Somehow, she survived all those months.

I decided it was a good idea to check out our old flat. I wasn’t hoping to find my parents alive, nor any food scraps. I took only some dry and shelf stable stuff, a medium pot and a sleeping bag. When I exited, Łezka was waiting in the exact spot I left her.

Łezka was leading me out of town. She was leading me into the woods and I trusted her completely. It was the middle of summer, according to our closest calculations around the beginning of August. I was sure that the next couple of weeks were going to be easy, even sleeping under the stars. We were surrounded by the forest and coming close to the city’s border.

I hadn’t left the school building in months. The outside world seemed so unreal, emerged from a dream and coated in lies that we were fed for weeks. The expedition team was telling us horrible tales about the hoards of dead, extreme conditions and countless dangers. All of that was just an illusion created solely to keep us in line. As I walked, I heard nothing but silence. The emptiness was nearly painful. The quiet and only the music of cricket violas. When I stopped for a little moment, Łezka would cry after me from the front, afraid to lose me. The bodies were nowhere to be found.

The bodies started emerging as we entered the countryside. They weren’t those moving, half-living creatures ready to attack. They were merely scraps of bone and rotten meat that barely held up. The view was horrid, yet not as repulsive as the repugnant stench. The houses were insufferable to stay in even for a moment. That was the exact moment it came to me, I knew it for certain. I was alone. What was more, I’ve managed to figure out that the dead stopped being dangerous in a very specific moment, the moment when their brains turned from a human organ to formless brown goo.

And it hit right then and there. The questions about my own form and existence. I exist, I’ve been crammed into that vulnerable physical form, but what really defines me? What really is life and human existence? Surely not that fleshy ragdoll which carries all the life’s juices. Am I just a pile of memories, experiences? Or sights? Or tastes? Or am I a hypercorporeal helmsman exceeding all of humanity’s knowledge? Do I really cease to exist irrevocably in the second my brain stem stops to conduct? If so, what are those corpses?

What is life if not a chain of events that matters only as much as a speck of dust in the wind that carries the existence of all?

What is death if not just another transition of the eternal, immortal energy of the universe?

And we slept in the bushes, together with Łezka, no sleeping bag or bedding. This was the end, there was nobody left to bite. In the morning, we woke up still smelling the air carried by the wind from the city full of rotting corpses. And we set out on the trail again.

The woods were murmuring with bird songs and distant howls. It seemed as if nature sighed with relief after the fall of humanity. The critters weren’t bothering us, and we weren’t bothering them. And the animals all sounded and looked beautiful. The rupture of the spinal cord was indeed the only salvation and the only remedy for our epidemic. The epidemic, as I had realised, wasn’t death, nor were the diseases that carried it. It was humanity itself. The real epidemic was the life, and that was effectively eradicated by the rupture of the spinal cord right below the occipital bone. Humanity was the disease of this world, and the Earth was trying to find a cure for centuries, in vain. In vain up to a point, because this time it was successful.

As we walked, we’ve seen houses after houses, all empty. Those that were ransacked were easy to identify by their open doors and broken windows. Sometimes we’d stumble upon those that were untouched, typically those hidden or difficult to reach. Those truly pictured the dreadful nature of lost life. Life torn apart like a ribbon snipped by the scissors of fate.

You would enter those by breaking the window. It was necessary to find a heavy rock, then bang on the window as close to the corner as possible, sometimes more than once. Then you’d take an old blanket and break the bits and pieces further, pushing them inside. Modern windows weren’t as easy to break as they used to be.

And you would finally enter the house, and see all the fallen trinkets, drawers left open in hurry with traces of clothes still in them, open cupboards. But you’d also see scorched logs in the fireplace, unwashed pots on the stove and books still on the tables.

Then again, the same emptiness. You’d like to believe that in the ashes of civilization there are some wandering spirits left. The truth is that behind the gate of apocalypse there is nothing but vacuum and blackest void, ice cold to the touch.

Autumn came. I had no idea how many days really went by since the escape, nor what month it really was. Łezka stayed with me loyally and we went from building to building looking for shelf stable food. Survival was easy, most shops were left stocked up at least halfway, which let me deduct that barely anyone, if anyone at all, survived.

Loneliness. At first it was a blessing.

After a couple of weeks it irritated the nape like the moist, cool air of a fall evening.

Loneliness like a fake friend – takes time to see its true face.

Not that I missed the vile scum of former friends. Maybe somewhat. In the face of deaf, distressing silence even they seemed worthy of a chance.

Łezka tried to comfort me, jostling my thigh with her tiny head and licking my hands. She did more for me than any human could, but I still felt so... Empty.

I felt like a traitor, not appreciating my best and only friend only because she was a cat. Is company of those my kind really that important?

Loneliness tastes wholely different when you know you can stray off your beaten path or turn back and meet a lone hermit or a homeless person looking for shelter, and you will always find a sparkle of life. All of them were dead. None of the roadside ecosystem survived, against the dead we needed palisades.

Loneliness was like a drug. It lulled with gentle serenity in opioids’ image, at first it flooded you with euphoric bliss. I danced intoxicated with happiness through forests and meadows, enjoying my freedom to the fullest. I cried of joy freed from the chains of human regime, from the steel bars of self-proclaimed government of influence-hungry, barely grown-up kids. Yet, it’s easy to choke on the bitter medicine of loneliness. I didn’t see the bigger picture at that time, I didn’t see that the entirety of the situation was indeed caused by nothing less than the loneliness all along. So I’m choking, now I’m choking on the bittersweet milk infused with the sleepy narcotic which is the distant vision of death. Now that it’s too late to turn back.

Isn’t this what people are typically so afraid of? To die alone? Isn’t this quite indisputably the best alternative? When all you’ve loved is gone, death seems like so much less of a burden.

I was religious once. Now that I pass countless churches and chapels, seeing the piles upon piles of dead believers, or rather whatever’s left of them, I mock them in silence. Once I entered a church, once at the beginning of my travels. I saw rows of decaying precants, like meat puppets in the illusory theatre of faith, with blackened meat peeling off of their bones. It didn’t surprise me to see the preacher in the back room, barricaded with thick tomes and candelabras. Lies, all this. Lies. It’s true that faith itself won’t feed your children, but at this point it’s all about the illusion of it, about the institution. There were times when people killed en masse fell victim to this obnoxious farce. Men hanged, women drowned. In the name of what?

Our world has turned into dust, and we watched it crumble. Should we have fallen with it? Wasn’t it our inglorious fate to die while we still could keep our dignity?

What is dignity if not a straw puppet sewn from false constructs of society?

Loneliness has torn the cloak of dignity off all my former friends, but I didn’t realise, up to the point when it was too late, how much it did the same with me. It tore to the bone.

All civilisations fall, sooner or later. They fall typically not long after their golden years. But there’s always someone left to tell the tale. Cities rise from ashes, nations from genocides and epidemics. Was this our definitive end?

Autumn has reached the point when all the leaves turned regal shades of oranges and reds. From there it was only supposed to get worse. I was enjoying the luminous wonder of dying greenery while I still could. The temperature was dropping at an hourly rate. I was circling about amongst the falling leaves, I laughed and I cried. I lamented, drowning in pools of moist, fiery red leaves, until I had no tears left to cry.

I was asking myself time and time again. What about them? What about the group from Juliusz Słowacki high school? I never hoped they would survive any longer than I will, at the time I escaped their closest surroundings were already depleted of resources.

One sentence kept echoing in my head, a sentence whispered by Lis during the night of my escape. “Run, run while you can – never look back.” Run and free yourself, at least you, at least for a second.

Water.

Flowing water.

I started hearing streams of water on the sixth day after the last leaves had fallen.

We were in the middle of the woods. I had no clue of our location, nor our next direction. We still had a stash of rice and something like fourteen packs of beef jerky we picked up at the American market. We were ready for the journey. We were aiming to reach the next big city for the past couple of days, but it quickly turned out that the horizon seems to fall a lot closer than we could have guessed. I still didn’t accept the fact that we were lost.

The murmur of the stream seemed so close. Too close to miss that opportunity.

It started snowing. I didn’t even realise how low the temperatures had dropped. But my jacket was warm, Łezka had her winter coat and we were safe. We spent the nights together, with her tucked into my sleeping bag. We kept each other warm.

Every morning I woke up to the sound of the stream. We pushed forward relentlessly, we pushed in the direction of the water. The rumble of the stream seemed to form bizarre intervals, a music undeserved by human ear.

It seemed to had been calling my name.

Water.

Flowing water.

Voices?

I was thinking a lot about my parents who stopped picking up the phone when the world ended. After all those months a spark ignited in me, maybe they survived somehow. But I wasn’t grieving. I was no longer grieving anything.

All had wilted. And so did hope. Our world had turned into dust.

All life halted. Piercing, dreadful screams of citizens being torn to pieces had fallen silent. It was almost poetic. Like a politician, like a beggar, all devoured by the cruelty of fate.

And people say that hope dies last. There was nothing left, not even people, cities stood in ruins. And all had died, so did the hope, but it would seem that it had died before everything else.

Was the flowing stream my personal hope? Was that the reason why I kept pushing forward? I had given up everything, there was nothing left, and still, I heard the voice pulling me with it, farther and farther into the unknown.

Somehow, the chill of air moisture and the cold leaking through my boots couldn’t compare to the cold of nothingness. Łezka was getting cold, so I carried her inside my oversized coat. Thanks to her I could feel the cold only in my extremities, subtle fluxes of numbness easily combatted by a few energetic movements.

Water.

Flowing water.

A voice...? That of Lis? A voice calling my name.

And there is nothing left, only a silent, ice cold and blackest void. And the dust on the streets turned to mud, and the snow mixed with the mud leaving a grey slush.

We stopped for a bit, just to rest. Never directly under a tree, that’s what they taught us during school workshops with search and rescue officers, so that you won’t fall into a tunnel of loose snow. I comforted myself time and time again that we will eventually emerge from the woods and the city will be right below us, but the trees only seem to grow thicker. My hands stiffen even in my fur mittens, my legs slowly refuse carrying me any longer.

And I can still hear the rumble of water. Or maybe... Maybe it’s the sound of our crumbling world.

From afar I can hear Lis talking to me. “Are you awake? Look at me. Say something” he calls. But I can no longer move.

~

Photo by Marek Szturc on Unsplash

author: carnivalgore @ Tumblr

mozguanihilacja @ WordPress Mouldy Oranges

(CC) BY-NC-ND 3.0 © When sharing, copy this tag.  

original language: Polish

[lacroxton]

Automatic Autonomic Automated Vending Machine

One of my favorite fics I wrote and also the first translation I tried. Inspired by Cyberpunk 2077, Death Stranding and Atomic Heart, it's a story about freedom, promises and the post apocalypse Terra with Vending Machine Exusiai & Messenger Texas.

Warning: Blood and Gore

//

Once there was a flood; A surge that gave birth to all life. Once there was a flood; A surge that selected our civilization to survive. And then there was another flood.

The flood that left nothing behind.

Later that night, Texas opened her eyes and saw two men staring at her bed, clutching a hoe and a harpoon respectively. The harpoon's tines touched both sides of her neck, and the soon-to-be murderer was tense and shaky. Texas wasn't sure whether the corners of his compressed lips were laced with excitement because the moonlight was too faint to cast a shadow.  

She and Exusiai originally came to this church to escape the sandstorm. The journey to Laterano passes through vast wastelands—places that had never been favoured by Mother Nature, and would never be transformed into mobile cities. The whole world had forgotten them, but God still allowed them to survive, so the people were left with nothing but faith. They gathered together, lingering in groups of three or five, praying. No one knew what they were praying for, but they were confident that a miracle would happen one day.

It was at this time Texas and Exusiai pushed the door in. As luck would have it, this small self-rescue community had just vacated a few beds. Last week, a man had died of a hyena's sharp teeth; a mother and her daughter had died from picking poisonous sandfruits. If the food in the warehouse didn't replenish soon, everyone here would starve to death. Exusiai hence made a proposal: to exchange three nights of safe and sound sleep with hot, yummy meals.

At first, people questioned whether this was some kind of originium arts or tricks unleashed by Texas. They had never seen anyone travel with a vending machine, let alone a talking, enthusiastic, joyful vending machine. The flashing pixels would form an image of a redhead Sankta on the machine's square screen, with up to 24 combinations of facial expressions and an excellent sense of humour beyond the human level. Of course, these extra "add-ons" were shenanigans Exusiai came up with just to sound a little bit cooler. Based on her polymeric converting system, her most crucial core function was actually INSTANT COOKING : you can put any raw materials into the ingredient slot, select the recipe and wait for a few seconds; gourmet foods full of umami will instantly drop out and ready to serve. Wilted rice cobs become hearty rice balls, and expired tuna cans become creamy bowls of tuna soup. If you put in a few shrivelled berries, even the melt-in-your-mouth desserts will no longer be a luxury. Exusiai fulfilled everybody's wishes with a big smile: the first day, and the second day, until eventually, no one questioned her or their own stomach. They praised: these are the best food we have ever eaten in our lives; these are the evidence that God has come to save us.

And that was also why they would never allow the precious happy hour to come to an end. Selfishness let greed swell and fester in their hearts, finally, on the last night, they decided to take possession of Exusiai for themselves and leave Texas to Death.

Luckily, Texas had been acquainted with Death for so many years. The harpoon that choked her could've bounced off the bed, projected back the way it came, and quickly pierced the murderer's heart whenever she wanted. The guy holding a hoe beside him was even skinnier, and wielding an unfamiliar weapon in panic could only backfire. Inertia would cause that weak body to trip over the bricks behind him, inadvertently knocking over a bright oil lamp on the way, until drowning the entire church into a roaring fire.

But before all this could happen, Exusiai's voice drilled into Texas' ears. Texas tilted her head and saw the screen of Exusiai still showing a smiling face; her voice still sounded warm and joyful. She asked those two guys, and everyone in the room who pretended to be asleep: Even if you've taken me for yourselves, how do you know they won't eradicate you the same way they eradicate Texas? How can you be so sure that the fairness everyone promises will indeed be fair?

......We can get through anything as long as the Lord stays with us! Nobody could tell who shouted first in the darkness.

Is that so? Another voice came up, however, retorted, you don't think putting on this face will help you cover the fact that YOU are the thief who steals from the warehouse every chance you get, do you?

As it turns out, people's beliefs are often more vulnerable to suspicion than they could ever imagine, just as fragile as their relationships with each other.

Like something important had suddenly dawned on him, the harpoon was removed from Texas' neck and then dragged slowly toward the tall man guarding the warehouse. The hoe guy also clenched his teeth, turned to aim at the old man lying under the window who always got pardoned from labour duties due to health conditions. Their movements ceased to tremble, so the stone effigies around the church were soon stained with blood. In the midst of yelling, cursing, and killing each other, no one bothered to care that this was a place blessed by God anymore, leaving only dead bodies and pieces of flesh twisted ugly on the floor.

Then, Exusiai selected a few freshly slaughtered tenderloin, had Texas put them in her ingredient slot, removed the bones, and grilled them on both sides to make black pepper patties: crispy outside, juicy inside. Her body wasn't equipped with a gustatory system, therefore couldn't taste anything, but she hoped Texas would like it.

Such a shame it ended so soon. Exusiai's vocal compartment created a series of chewing noises. I was kinda looking forward to watching Texas fight over me.

There was no need for that. Texas divided the patties into equally small pieces with her originium sword, then sealed and packed them into a leather pouch—which would be her sole food supply for the next two days. If you're willing to go with them, she said, I won't interfere much.

What if I'm NOT willing?

The pixels that make up Exusiai's pupils had narrowed, so that her eyes could scan every frame of Texas' movements, watching her light a cigarette by the remaining flame of the oil lamp.

The cigarette seemed to have damped too badly. Texas lowered her eyebrows in silence for a long time before finally exhaling the first puff of mist.

She thought for a moment and said to Exusiai, then I will guarantee your freedom.

*

For a long time, Texas couldn't be sure whether adding the word "freedom" to her vocabulary would be a change for the better. But, she must admit that ever since she met Exusiai, "freedom" had always been intertwining with her life.

When she thought back to that day, Texas' memory was already a little fuzzy. She hadn't eaten a full meal for probably five or six days straight, so hungry that she couldn't even spell out a word, and every breath of air she took only made her stomach emptier. Her car crashed far away, and her package was destroyed in a cave even further. At the end of the day, only half piece of hardtack was left in her pocket. But that was the last straw Texas could grasp. She couldn't eat it yet, not in such a rush. She just needed to find a roof in the ruins of this nameless city to rest for a while; so that when she woke up, the illusion sleep brings to her brain would allow her to hold on for another day.

Texas leaned against a broken wall covered in mud and dust. She knew no one would come to save her. No one would rescue a messenger who failed her mission. Not before The Silence , and sure not for fifty years after it. The only hope was the golden sunset shining on her cheeks; Texas exhaustedly shut her eyelids, wishing it would bring her a sweet dream.

Then it brought back a terrible chunk of brownie. And a very talkative vending machine.

Exusiai had so many things to say, as if she was trying to list out all the details that did and did not happen to her life in a single sentence. She said she hadn't met a living human for fifty years—spent thirty years drifting in the sea, and twenty years drying out on the land after the flood receded. The good thing for her was that Sankta's ancestors, Aggeloi, were a kind of inorganic swarming construct floating in space, which led the modern technology of Laterano to be waterproof, and not even have to rely on electricity. By solely absorbing cosmic radiation, Laterano machines could function perfectly under almost every circumstance; some newer models could also disassemble, reorganize, polymerize, and activate any substance on the molecular level. 

By conducting hundreds of millions of calculations for armageddon, Sankta's God, the supercomputer under The Basilica, had ultimately decided that the Digital Life Project was the best option with higher success rates. Even if their paradise got annihilated by the Seaborns, and their primary network connection got cut forcibly—as long as a certain number of angels' consciousness was successfully uploaded, one day, the Sanktas would return to their homeland and continue the Laterano civilization. 

Exusiai was one of them.

Her consciousness was uploaded to a vending machine, which had no mobility whatsoever, nothing but to lie on her back in the ocean currents, looking up at the sky. Therefore, Exusiai had only been to places where the wind took her. The seawater licked her metal surface and plated it white with infinite waves of salt. Time has never been slower than the years stuck between gears. The wait was too long for the Sanktas to maintain their sober soul; so far, Exusiai had received 1099 neural signals from the other machines shutting themselves down—signals of solid, mutual emotions constructed by the shared memories of Sankta, which is also the confirmation of the very faith of being alive.

Every time these signals dissipated, it felt like some dull, gloomy, lifeless light spots distantly fell across the horizon. But Exusiai was looking up at the sky still. Waiting, expecting, humming while counting the seconds, and fifty years passed just like that.

Until Texas' elbow accidentally touched her button.

Exusiai said she had nothing else to give Texas as a courtesy for their first meeting, and her ingredients, the residue of fruits and dirt dropped inside her slot during all these years, were barely enough to make a brownie. It's probably gonna taste bad as hell, Exusiai added, but at least you wouldn't die from eating that.

Texas wolfed it down almost immediately. She was so, so hungry that her tastebuds no longer distinguish between good and bad, mistaking the sweetness of blood in her saliva for a chocolate flavour. She even ripped off a couple pieces of skin on her mouth as she rolled down the grassy crumbs with her teeth.

Then she licked the corners of her dry, cracked lips and asked Exusiai why would you save me, using a voice as hoarse as broken bellows.

Simple. Said Exusiai, scrutinizing the employee name tag on Texas' chest. The plastic seal was severely scratched, and so did Texas' entire body, as it was tattered and torn, revealing scabbed wounds on her shoulders and tail. I need a messenger to get me to Laterano.

But verbal promise never equals trustworthiness, Exusiai. Texas could feel the thirst now; taking carbohydrates all of a sudden with a flimsy stomach wall apparently triggered some acid reflux up to her throat. For example, I might promise you first, then drop you in the middle of nowhere halfway through.

It's your freedom to do what you want, Texas. Just like it's my freedom to trust a starving ghost lying next to Death. Exusiai didn't tell Texas what she really trusted was a pair of eyes that couldn't lie.

Then what? Texas asked. Those eyes lit up for a rare second. After I get you to Laterano?

Then a REAL piece of strawberry shortcake, of course. Said Exusiai. But if I'm in a good mood, I might also be merciful and share half of it with you.

*

The Lupo without a home and the Sankta without a human body had been on a long journey together ever since.

The vending machine's weight was lighter than expected. Texas quickly scavenged some iron parts and fabrics from the wreckage of the surrounding buildings; Exusiai's polymeric converting system then polished them into a brand new cart with four wheels and two strong straps. Using the rest of the materials, she even tailored a new set of well-fitting clothes for Texas. It was still a long, long way from Laterano, so they spent the daytime walking in sunlight and nighttime under the tarp by a campfire. When Texas fell asleep, Exusiai would dim her screen and lay on the ground, counting the stars.

Exusiai also cooked many, many meals for Texas. From burger and soda combo to fettuccine alfredo, from apple cheese tart to creamy mushroom soup, the chef's recommendation never repeats itself. Although the truth was, these were the foods that Exusiai wanted to eat the most, and yet she couldn't, so sending Texas to collect different ingredients and cook them was the only effective placebo for her cravings. After Texas finished a dish, Exusiai would also force her to comment on it, as if she were some kind of a regular cast on a cooking show.

Texas remembered she had watched something just like this on an old VCR when she used to eat earthworm burritos and cricket jerky back at the shelters in Columbia. That show must be about 60 to 70 years old, even older than The Silence , and the person in front of the camera with a microphone, known as the host, would use a crazy amount of fancy words to describe whatever dish served to her. In the same way that "a steak without wine isn't a good steak," all of the diners captured on screen must also demonstrate an exaggerated nodding, smiling face as if the deliciousness has blown their mind away. Nobody ever found out if those foods were indeed that delicious.

However, Exusiai's 24 pixel combinations didn't allow for such precise facial expressions. Her screen would only display a progress bar below her complacent grin—accompanied by a short piece of electric punk music that runs way off-key at the end of the bar. She was clearly neither a good host nor a good singer.

Texas, on the other hand, was neither a critic nor a liar. So she simply rated every single dish Exusiai cooked her as "tasty".

Time flew by, and they met many other people along the way, leaving new stories with new encounters. Although the flood had receded for twenty years, it was still hard for people's hearts to sprout again from the barrenness. At first, they were tormented by the never-ending hunger and fear. Then, they spent countless days and nights tearing down the fortress besieged. Finally, they returned to the surface, only to find out they must work even harder to keep themselves alive. Everything else was torturous, only the stories were glamorous, so people immediately embraced a new faith. These stories then spread further and further through the winds of the wilderness.

When the neural signal of the last Sankta's death had reached Exusiai, people started praising again: a newborn God had come to this world. God is among the machinery, with a grey wolf guarding her side. Wherever they go, there will be no worries or troubles; Wherever they stay, that place shall be the home of all joy.

People voluntarily elected the talking, enthusiastic, joyful vending machine to wield the sceptre of salvation for all mankind. 

The only remaining Sankta therefore walked on earth, stretched her wings and halo, as she had become the living Laterano.

Sadly, the results of being at the center of attention were often mixed between good and bad, Texas was well aware of that. As many people accept their existence, there will only be more people coming after them, and that's how every story ends. Whenever God seems to tilt the scale to one side, those who desire to be favoured but have not been granted will automatically gather on the other side. The center of the scale is engraved with war. No one ever realized that wars have always arisen from people themselves, and have nothing to do with God, nor with Exusiai.

But Texas was not the type to guess at people's hearts. Whatever side people showed her, she would believe it until they betrayed her. That's why Texas was always covered in blood. Mostly from other people, occasionally from her own, with the crimson slicing her forehead open, drenching her hair and burying her heavy eyelids. Exusiai stood just behind her, acting as a solid wall, letting crimson handprints blend into her crimson metal. That wall was uncomfortable to lean on, and it was even colder to the touch than stone bricks, but the key selling point was that the wall could tell a lot of corny jokes. Exusiai's excellent sense of humour put Texas at ease.

While waiting for Exusiai to prepare dinner, Texas unprecedentedly had a sweet dream.

The dream was of a certain cafe recommended by another cooking show. Texas had never been to a cafe, only seen it on videotape, so the whole place was covered with an old film-like filter. But Texas did drink coffee. She remembered the coffee at the shelter as a liquid very bitter, very sour, and very astringent with no aroma at all. Not sure why it was so popular other than it keeps people awake. Thinking that maybe real coffee wasn't like this, Texas ordered another cup of brew in her dream, but it still tasted the same. She frowned, and her tail froze briefly, only to be watched by her tablemate, stifling a laugh while letting out a long gulp of air.

Texas lifted her head up. The girl on the other side of the table looked like a Sankta, with a halo, wings, striking red hair, a cheeky face and beautiful eyes. Texas didn't think she had ever met this girl before. But the subconscious reaction of the brain soon let Lupo know that the angel in front of her was indeed Exusiai. Perhaps it was because she had a delicate piece of strawberry shortcake in her hand.

Then, Exusiai took Texas's coffee cup, tore open a few small paper sacks and plastic wrappings, poured sugar and milk into it, tasted it first, and stirred it evenly with a wooden stick. This time, Texas couldn't taste the bitterness anymore. It wasn't sour, wasn't astringent, and the coffee became nutty and sweet for the first time. A sweetness that Texas could understand.

Humans are supposed to eat together. Using a mysterious tone, Exusiai in the dream scooped off the corner tip of the cake and handed it to Texas. With a voice no longer being mechanically compressed, every expression and movement of hers was so smooth. Curious about this Exusiai's touch, Texas then reached one hand out to her and realized that Exusiai's skin was much softer than her own.

If there's no one joining the table, Exusiai stopped for a while, even the best food could be unappetizing.

Texas had to admit that Exusiai was right. She realized with hindsight that her tastes had sweetened over the time being with Exusiai—she even seemed to have become a little bit like Exusiai, with a pleasant glimmer of expectation for tomorrow.

She hoped, when they arrived at Laterano, that half piece of strawberry shortcake would be just as good as the one in her dream.

*

Texas woke up, only to find herself lingering in that same dream once again. The light of dusk stung her eyes. She tried to stand up, but the sharp pain and exhaustion coming from all parts of her body kept tugging her down, making her realize that struggling was nothing more than a futile waste of time.

So she had to strain to roll her eyeballs and hold open her blood-slicked vision, looking around.

She was surrounded by broken statues and marble columns. Collapsed church steeples in her far distance; scarred stained glass windows and stone arches in her near distance. The building's unusual solid structure caused one-third of it to survive the devastating crash from The Silence , whereas the other ruined two-thirds had the setting sun spilling in, wrapped around by gravel.

Texas leaned against a pure, white forest. Her memories were finally starting to flow again, which was a good thing, but what wasn't so good was the large amount of viscous blood gushing out along with it. She looked down, and the bleeding holes in her body then followed suit, loosened and gurgled like a dying crimson brook, one bubble after another. Texas's clothes were tattered and torn again. Only this time, the murderers were more skillful than ever. They had waited with more cunning and purpose, laying an early ambush around Laterano, armed at military grade enough to suggest that the still-functioning secret government had sent them on this mission. Texas couldn't quite understand why a force of this size had still yet to be used on rebuilding mobile cities.

And of course, none of that mattered anymore. The crushed arm, the thigh impaled from the crook of the knee, the ripped-open liver and intestines brushed by the warm wind, none of those things mattered anymore. Texas moved her tongue laboriously, letting the blood slide across her tastebuds with her weak breath. What mattered was that she couldn't taste anything any longer.

She lost her mobility, lost her sense of taste, lying on her back, looking up at the sky, and became just as wretched as Exusiai. Texas apologized for the half piece of cake. She poked out a few fingers, broken but barely retaining the sensation, and started touching the ground, searching for the metallic surface that made her feel at peace. Her colour had long been redder than the paint on the vending machine. But Exusiai didn't say a word. She stood quietly beside Texas; as if she was just a solid wall.

Their story was never supposed to end like this.

The Sankta had sung all the songs she could, told all the corny jokes she had, and made all the food she was able to, but the Lupo right in front of her wasn't getting any better because of it. Even though Exusiai's screen clearly possessed 24 different combinations of expressions—no matter how often she switched these pixel arrangements, none of them could accurately convey the absurdly huge sense of powerlessness that had descended upon her. She judged that her internal programming had made an unfixable error, or how else would she have only learned by now, that waiting for someone to die had turned out to be so hard.

Let's just......go with the joyful face then. Texas said softly, sounding like a dimming bonfire.

Then the joy returned to Exusiai's screen. She saw the corners of Texas' mouth lift gently upward as well—Texas looked so pretty when she smiled. Exusiai thought to herself, that if her happiness could make Texas happy too, she wouldn't mind being happy forever. She just felt confused at the same time. If Texas actually died, but there was no empathy link between Lupo and Sankta, hence no light spot belonging to Texas falling across the horizon—then how exactly should Exusiai mourn her?

But Texas had made her choice long ago.

She held onto the vending machine's shell, fingers sluggishly climbing upwards, bit by bit until she reached Exusiai's ingredient slot. Having the ability to polymerize and reorganize any substance meant that, even without the supercomputer's core connected, Exusiai could recreate her original body anytime, free of mechanical constraints, if she just used a living human of comparable mass as blueprints and raw materials. Texas had known that from the beginning. She also knew that the fact Exusiai had never brought this up, was because they promised to go to Laterano together. For the cake, apparently.

A pair of eyes that couldn't lie and a mouth telling only the truth. The same goes for both Exusiai and Texas. So, Texas chose to honour the other promise she made to the Sankta.

......Eat me up, Exusiai. One of Texas' arms stuck into the vending machine, and the other encircled the shell. She finally managed to straighten her neck, then pressed her groggy head against the conversion button, shivering, face turning sideways. As the soft Lupo ears snugly against Exusiai's hot metal surface, all she could hear was the creaking sound of mechanical parts and the off-key music singing "now processing" to the air.

I WILL GUARANTEE YOUR FREEDOM.

The human in the story closed her eyes in relief and chose to give God a hug.

Exusiai's gears mashed through Texas' young body at full speed. Hair, flesh, organs, and all different kinds of bones. In the iteration of death and rebirth, the piercing roar flew over Texas's lightly scratched ulna, half-healed ribs, worn-out cartilages and spiderweb-cracked femur......But without any exception, every bone of her was holy white, the same colour as those sun-bathed stone tiles on the dome of the Memorial Hall. They were reduced to pieces in unison with a short notification tone, becoming sustenance for Exusiai, light and airy, just like the last bit of frosting sprinkled on a dessert.

As the remnants of the secret operation squad scoured the ruins, the bloodied Lupo with two originium swords had already disappeared. Instead, a true Sankta with wings and halo pointed a pitch-black rifle at their nose.

Sankta's hair was striking red.

Sankta's eyes were beautifully shined.

Yet in this golden sunset, no one could truly see Sankta's face.

Exusiai could never figure out, why they had such a look of fear on their faces when she simply just returned all the arrows, bullets and originium arts back to where they belonged?

Unfortunately, the only Texas who knew the answer to that question could no longer answer her. It was as if Texas had never been born on this earth—and no one, no one except Exusiai, knew about her name, her past, or her future. The last thing left to prove that she had existed, was the tattered and torn clothes on Exusiai. The gift that Texas had worn for a long, long time, and now it had finally been gifted back to the owner.

The sunset had come to an end.

In the long night, Exusiai tucked her hands into her pockets, dragging her narrow shadow forward, alone.

Ahead of her, was The Basilica of Laterano that buried the supercomputer's core; And behind her, was nothing but a silent, barren, white and lonely land.

Strawberry shortcake didn't seem so delicious all of a sudden, Exusiai said to herself, thoughts interrupted by a small, firm chunk hidden deep in her pockets.

—Exusiai found the half piece of hardtack in Texas' jacket.

Doing her best to mimic the movements of Texas, Exusiai peeled off the outer wrapping and took a bite, chewing very, very slowly. Tens of thousands of taste signals on her tongue fed back to her brain, that it was "salty with a hint of sweetness". Perhaps sesame was also on the ingredient list, but time and the poor assembly line had far grounded away its aroma. It tasted hard and certainly dry, with crumbs flying everywhere in her mouth. Definitely didn't look good enough for an appealing advertisement.

But the flavour was so familiar. Exusiai thought, fingers rubbing against the fabric.

Till she eventually realized it was the flavour of being alive.

It was the flavour of Texas.

Exusiai then shed her first tear, declaring that hardtack was the most delicious food on earth.

END.

Lacroxton