#report in crops burning case

[beerbhadrasingh]

Grievance Inquiry Regarding Tehsildar District Mirzapur

Grievance Status for registration number : GOVUP/E/2024/0090596Grievance Concerns ToName Of ComplainantDayanand SinghDate of Receipt11/12/2024Received By Ministry/DepartmentUttar PradeshGrievance DescriptionToDistrict MagistrateDistrict-Mirzapur, Uttar PradeshSubject- The matter concerns the dereliction of duty by sub divisional magistrate Sadar in presenting the report before the most respected…

[7s3ven]

Police au! Simon Riley x morgue worker! Reader

Police officer! Simon Riley who needs the state of a dead body to write in his report. He’s used to seeing the usual morgue worker, a tall man with shortly cropped hair and a scar jutting over his lip. What he isn’t used to seeing is you, a woman much shorter than him, with blue gloves on and poking a body like you’re bored.

He faintly remembers being told there would be a new worker in the morgue but he always assumed it would be another man. He isn’t frowning upon it, though, he respects women in male dominated fields. Even if said field involves looking at dead bodies all day.

“Hey, Officer Riley, right?” You notice him first out of the corner of your eye. You smile, “This your guy?”

“Yeah. Found him on the ground. Was already dead by then. Think he jumped.” Simon replies in a thick British accent as he slowly takes a step forward.

“Okay, well, he’s an interesting case. He’s got acid burns on the sides of his arms. They can’t be older than a week. There’s really not much to take from it… considering his body is all over the place from the impact. He was stabbed pretty brutally so my guess is he was dead before hitting the ground. So, we can rule out suicide. I’d say it was homicide and someone tossed the body over the edge of a building. Doesn’t explain the acid burns, though.”

“Torture perhaps?” Simon suggests.

“Possible. It’s been hard to ID him because his fingerprints were burned off and his face isn’t in the best shape. Might take a while, that alright with you?

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll come back after my shift…” He trailed off, realizing he had yet to know your name.

“Y/N.” You clarify, “Y/N L/N. I know you guys do the last name thing around here but you know, usually handsome cops call me by my first name.”

Simon suppressed a grin but you wouldn’t be able to see it behind his mask anyway. “Right. I’ll be back, Y/N. How long do you usually take to ID guys like this?”

You shrug. “A few hours at most. I’m very good at my job, Officer Riley. You can expect an update in two hours.”

“You seem very confident.” Simon raises an eyebrow, “What if you don’t find anything new in two hours?”

“That’s not possible. I succeed where most people fail.”

Simon simply hummed, digging around in his pocket until he pulled out a tab of thick paper. “Here’s my card. When you have an update, give me a call.”

“Giving me your number already, Officer?” You take the card, flashing him a teasing smile as you hold it up.

“Usually I find a body and carve out their heart as a romantic gesture but we’re expecting a shortage of bodies today. So my number will have to suffice.” Most people wouldn’t get his joke due to his serious tone but you laughed, slipping his card into your pocket.

“Okay, Officer. I hope you know I’m counting on that heart.”

“Can’t promise that but I can make it up by buying you a drink.”

“I like expensive wine.”

“All women with taste do. I’ll pick you up after my shift.”

And that’s exactly how Simon Riley walked out of the morgue with a date.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In the misty forests of British Columbia, the fuzzy leaves and pointed husks of beaked hazelnuts (Corylus cornuta) can cover the floors of entire valleys. This wild plant, whose seedlings proliferate after a fire, served as a vital food source of many of the region’s Indigenous people, who tended it with prescribed burns. Despite this, the Western ideology that dominates Canadian laws has often considered Indigenous people’s impact on some of this land to be trivial, and so discounts their land rights. Now, a genetic analysis of these hazelnuts published today in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences suggests Indigenous people of British Columbia actively cultivated this crop, deliberately transporting beaked hazelnuts across nearly 800 kilometers to cultivate the nutritious and reliable food source in new regions. The trees’ modern diversity and widespread coverage is a result of these ancient efforts, the researchers report. The findings could bolster First Nations tribes’ legal claims to their traditional lands. The research “provides just a really solid case study in how nondomesticated plants … are manipulated and used in many of the same ways that domesticated plants are,” says environmental archaeologist John Marston of Boston University, who was not involved with the study. “We just don’t have a lot of good examples of that going back into deep time.” Oral histories and traditions surrounding the beaked hazelnuts abound in the Kalapuya, Skokomish, Nlaka’pamux, and Gitxsan communities of British Columbia. Chelsey Geralda Armstrong of Simon Fraser University and colleagues wondered whether the plants’ genes echoed those stories. “We wanted to see if there was a genetic signature of that on the landscape,” she says. “We found that there absolutely is.”

18 November 2024

[seat-safety-switch]

"Get in the fucking car, loser. My name is Detective Tina Clownhater, I came from Upper Precinct, and we're going to the fucking circus. One of the clowns was found dead in among about 72 others stuffed into a tiny car, and we think it's Japanese."

"The car?"

"The clown."

I'd heard of Detective Clownhater before. Read some of her reports when they came around the inter-office mail. Circus division. She also did carnivals, which people think is the same thing, but really it isn't. As we rode in silence to the Carny District, I decided I wasn't going to like her. Mostly, it was because she still clung to an outmoded, indulgent, and inefficient mode of transportation known as the 2003 detective-issue Crown Victoria. My own City II Turbo would have been a much more enjoyable ride, but I didn't want to press the issue. Chief was already getting on my case about racking up the mileage per diem anyway.

Maybe I should introduce myself, too. My name is Archibald Shitpope, and I'm a detective for the city police. Every detective here specializes in something – they figured it was more efficient than having us all fight over the same books in detective school – and for me, my passion carried me to Japanese-made economy cars. You'd be surprised how often they crop up in my cases. This was going to be a bit outside of my remit, being a Japanese-made economy clown, but I'm a professional. I'd do the job.

I regretted that promise as soon as we stepped onto the crime scene. Besides the copious amount of blood and viscera thrown about the scene ("explosive decompression," explained Todd the CSI, in between Instagram updates of the most grotesque parts,) the clowns had been stuffed into a Fiat. An Italian-made shitbox. It's amazing they weren't burned alive. From what we could tell from interviews, the clown used to be Takenobu Unchipiero, a famous clown actor in his home country. Top of the industry, I was assured. After a series of gambling scandals, he was forced to retreat to North America, where our standards for clowns are much lower.

I was about to ask Detective Clownhater to buy some business-class tickets to Tokyo so we could "chase up some leads" – I wanted to buy an S660 while the auction market was still soft – but the amount of boiling rage behind her eyes indicated to me that she had already assumed I was going to do that. Instead, I returned to my work of checking the crime scene and interviewing witnesses, only intermittently pausing to take a look at the latest wheels posted to Up Garage's terrible website.

That's when Todd cracked it for us. While mopping up what was left of poor Takenobu, an artificial heart fell out. I couldn't help but notice its unique design: a triangular pump that spun eccentrically in a housing. A rotary engine, in other words. No normal person would have such a heart. Mr. Unchipiero was up to his neck in debt with the Wankel Mafia.

[anotheroceanid]

Peek on Chapter 8 of WTHB YAAAAyyy + map update (I hope I picked the right one because I saved many wip versions, if that’s the case shame on me, I’m sleepy)

Chris Rodriguez, son of Hermes, reporting from the Great City of Perses.

‘Here in the Great City, coastal fogs have offered limited relief from rising temperatures, yet brackish water contamination remains a pressing issue. Desalination efforts, led by Lady Rhode and Lord Triton, are underway. Pray for them and pay your sacrifices. By midweek, dust storms are expected to intensify—residents are advised to seal shelters and stay indoors. For undetermined time, the gates of Perses will remain closed. Water and food distribution points are operational in the gates of the Great City. Stricter border controls are now in effect, with increased penalties for smuggling. Queen Annabeth of Perses and Queen Clarisse of Perses remind the civilians that the ruins of pre-collapse cities are unstable and dangerous. Scavenging is strictly prohibited for civilians. Report suspicious activity immediately.’

Butch Walker, son of Iris, reporting from the City of Loukas.

‘People of Loukas, the wildfire risk remains critical due to prolonged drought. Avoid the western forests—fire containment efforts are ongoing. Dew collection and mountain streams are essential water sources. Temples in the City of Loukas will distribute water this week. Travel in groups and stick to marked roads. Herbal remedies are available at the Temple of Apollo, and quarantine facilities remain operational. Irrigation repairs in the foothills are underway, and workers are needed and extra supplies will be offered to volunteers—report to the Temple of Hephaestus. A caravan was ambushed near the Loukas border. Bandits are active in the area. Dangerous groups are active in rural areas, with kidnappings reported. Avoid unregulated trade and remote locations. Civilians are advised to avoid the region unless absolutely necessary.’ 

Valentina Díaz, daughter of Aphrodite, reporting from the City of Apollonia.

‘Extreme heat and humidity will continue, especially near the coastal areas of Apollonia. Saltwater intrusion has rendered many freshwater sources unusable. Residents are urged to prioritize hydration and avoid prolonged exposure during peak daylight hours. A new strain of blight is affecting crops. Infected fields must be burned—report outbreaks to local enforcers. Food shipments have been delayed due to cult interference. Ration carefully until the next distribution of food. In regard to prior conflicts in the countryside, Queen Katie of Apollonia has banned unlicensed religious gatherings and announced a rural curfew to combat cult activity. Violators will be detained. Apollonia’s military is recruiting for border patrols against illegal groups and monster suppression units. Enlistment offers steady rations, shelter, and protection for families.’

Alice Miyazawa, daughter of Hermes, reporting from the City of Hephaestia.

‘Severe dust storms are expected to continue in West Hephaestia for the entire week. Sandstorms have damaged critical infrastructure—repairs are delayed. In East Hephaestia, military rations are prioritized due to food shortages. Civilian trade is permitted at regulated markets. Water theft is punishable by law. The eastern border with the Lost Lands is off-limits—toxic flora and monster activity make it a no-go zone. The Niobrara River remains a hazardous water source due to increased activity of animals affected by Dionysus’ Delight. Infected deer have been sighted near the Niobrara River—do not approach or consume them. People who disappeared near the Lost Lands will not be searched for. Repeating: Do not eat infected animals and do not cross the borders with the Lost Lands, or you’ll be as good as dead. Queen Miranda of Hephaestia has announced a draft for border patrols. Conscription notices will be issued this week by Connor Stoll.’

‘Sherman Yang, son of Ares, reporting from the City of Silenus.’

‘Rolling dust storms dominate the region, exacerbating water scarcity. The Red River is unstable, with monster activity reported along its banks. A fungal infection has been reported—symptoms include skin lesions and respiratory distress. Isolate and report cases immediately. The borders of the City of Silenus will remain closed for newcomers until further notice. Queen Piper of Silenus has declared martial law in the eastern territories due to increased monster activity; it's expected to last until the Summer Solstice. A reminder that the Wild Territory must be respected, and crimes committed against the Nature Spirits are beyond our jurisdiction.’

General Updates, reported by Chris Rodriguez of Perses.

‘Markets in larger settlements remain operational in the Eastern Territory. Food, ammunition, and essential supplies are available. Celestial bronze and Imperial gold distribution is strictly controlled by the government. Unauthorized possession or sale is punishable by law. Do not engage with any black-market activity. Report them to local enforcers immediately, especially if they’re using humans as currency.’

‘Travel in groups at all times. Women and children are vulnerable and must not travel alone. Night travel is discouraged, you never know how long it could last. All individuals must carry weapons for self-defense. Once again, Celestial bronze and Imperial gold weapons must be registered in one of the Five Cities. Failure to comply will result in confiscation and penalties. Activities of the Greek Railroads will be postponed due to the weather. Those affected can present their tickets in the nearer station and your travel will be rescheduled or reimbursed.’

‘Water is your most critical resource. Boil all water twice before consumption to eliminate contaminants. Avoid stagnant sources at all costs, specially from pre-collapse urban areas. You can collect dew using cloth—wring it into a container for drinking. If no other options are available, dig shallow pits in dry riverbeds to access groundwater. Line these pits with stones to filter out sediment.’

‘Your shelter must be secure. Seal all entry points with packed earth and cloth to keep out dust and debris, but also unwanted visitors, human or not. Stay indoors during storms. If you find yourself without permanent shelter, construct temporary structures in shaded areas using branches and leaves. Around settlements, clear dry vegetation to create firebreaks and reduce the risk of wildfires. As a last resource, caves can offer shelter in emergencies, but be mindful of wildlife, air quality, and dampness. Ensure it’s safe, check for water, and stay warm. Do not go too deep within  a cave.’

‘Health is fragile in the conditions we’re living through. Use damp cloths to cool down during peak heat, and seek shade whenever possible. Avoid foraging in lowlands—toxic plants are widespread and deadly. If you must test unfamiliar flora, apply it to your skin first. Store all food in sealed containers to protect it from rodents and insects. If someone falls ill, isolate them immediately and report their symptoms to quarantine authorities.’

‘Security is non-negotiable. Ruins are structural hazards and infested with criminals—avoid them entirely. Always carry weapons and establish watch rotations in your settlements. Cults and human trafficking are a growing threat. At all costs, do not travel alone, especially after dark. Refuse food, water, or gifts from strangers—these are often used to gain trust. Avoid remote areas and unmarked roads, as criminals frequently set ambushes in these locations. Keep your children under your watch at all times.’

‘Spread the news in the countryside. Protect your families. Stay safe. I hope to talk to you next week.’

PRESENT TIME

OLD CHICAGO, WEST HEPHAESTIA TERRITORY

Before the TV went black, the symbol of the Talaria showed up, before they went back to the torturing screeching sound before it was turned off. About one thing, Medea was absolutely right: the news channel was depressing. Good thing it only aired once every sunday—those were horrid fifteen minutes.

‘What a waste of the little electricity we still have…’ Percy heard her hostess mutter.

[darkmaga-returns]

Secondary school pupils are being taught that Joan of Arc was non-binary.

The anachronism is contained in the Who We Are anthology which is published by Collins for use in English lessons aimed at 11-14 year olds. The relevant part reads: “Joan of Arc (1412-31) is today considered by some to have been non-binary.”

The comment written about the medieval French heroine has been branded an ‘insult’ to strong women throughout history.

The Telegraph reports: Lesson plans produced for English language students aged between 11 and 14 include the claim about the medieval figure, who is the patron saint of France and fought against the English during the Hundred Years’ War.

In the Who We Are anthology published by Collins, which is made up of “representative and inclusive contemporary texts”, a lesson plan includes a biography that reads: “Joan of Arc (1412-31) is today considered by some to have been non-binary.”

The knight cropped her hair in the male fashion and wore men’s clothes, which formed part of the heresy case against her for which she was burned at the stake in 1431.

But she never claimed not to be female and also did not adopt the non-binary gender identity, which only emerged in the late 20th century.

Robert Tombs, professor emeritus of French history at the University of Cambridge, branded the claim “insulting”.

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 23 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 22

Masterlist of my other works.

Read on AO3

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“My prince, we were not expecting you this evening.”

Aemond walks with his usual determined stride to his place at the head of the table. A servant hurries to pull out his chair as he places the marble sphere in its place, “When have I ever failed to attend a council meeting?”

“Well, never, my prince,” Lord Hayford agrees, “But I thought, given the special circumstances, you would take a couple of days off to enjoy your recent wedding.”

“It is what most lords do,” the grand maester agrees.

“Mmm,” Aemond purses his lips, “Most lords do not have a realm to rule.”

There is a moment of awkward silence until the men agree with him, nodding vehemently, “Let us begin.”

“Yes, well…” Lannister clears his throat, “The Citadel sent a white raven that arrived this morning, officially announcing the beginning of winter.”

“It is believed to be a short one, though considerably colder than the last one we experienced.”

“Are the crops already being managed?”

“Yes, Prince, we have set aside an adequate amount to be stored in case of food shortages.”

“Good, what else?”

“News has arrived from Oldtown reporting that some nobles were surprised by outlaws on the kingsroad as well.”

“That is nothing new.”

“No, Prince, but it does not usually go beyond the typical thefts of belongings and jewelry. It seems that this time the bandits were more daring beating up servants and lords who accompanied the traveling parties”

“Mmm,” Aemond drums his fingers on the table, “What of Lady Tyrell? Has she done nothing about it?”

“We have received no word from House Tyrell in that regard, Prince.”

“Then write to Lady Tyrell, ordering her to investigate who is responsible and to bring justice as soon as possible. What of the city?”

“The people remain in good spirits,” the maester replies, “The food from the banquet was distributed, as Lady Rhaena suggested, and of course the common people flocked to benefit from your wife’s charity.”

At the mention of Rhaena, his mind involuntarily conjures up the vision of the girl sleeping peacefully in his bed, her platinum curls covering part of her face, her chest rising and falling. He had wanted to touch her again this morning, feel the softness of her skin on his, kiss her again… but he hadn’t dared.

“My prince?”

Lannister’s expectant look brings him out of his thoughts.

“What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you wanted to hear a more detailed report of the wedding costs to the Crown.”

Aemond nods and Lord Tyland begins to read the specifics from a thick parchment.

For a few minutes, the prince tries to concentrate on listening to the Master of Coin, only eventually his thoughts drift back to his wife.

Or more specifically, to the memory of their wedding night.

To that very different side that Rhaena had shown, that side where she was not the bold and confident young woman who liked to exasperate him, but rather that innocent, insecure young woman… the one who had been embarrassed by the reactions of her own body.

It had been an unexpected aphrodisiac to find her so naive, so submissive, so… surprised with what he had produced in her. And they were just beginning. There were so many other things he could do, that he could show her, so much to experience…

Aemond closes his eye for a moment and takes a deep breath to calm the wave of excitement he feels. The desire to run out of this cursed room, climb the Tower of the Hand and make Rhaena his again had been consuming him since morning. He had tried to push it away by training harder than necessary and for much longer with Cole, but it was not enough.

And he did not like that.

He did not like Rhaena being on his mind longer than necessary, although he attributed it to the novelty of what they had shared. Surely it was just that. Probably, as the days passed, he would no longer feel the same intensity of desire for her.

“In conclusion?” he asks, interrupting Lannister

“It was a modest celebration and, although I still need to calculate the amount of gold the tournament left for the city, it seems to me that the Crown did not suffer too much with the wedding, my prince.”

“Well, then,” he stands up, “If that is all,” he says before leaving the room.

***

“The Dowager Queen awaits you in your drawing room, princess”

Rhaena looks up from the handkerchief she is embroidering – Vhagar in green threads – her eyes meeting those of her maid.

“Is Queen Alicent here?”

“Yes, princess.”

She does not expect the woman’s visit, although she receives the news with enthusiasm. She knows that it is customary for newly married women to remain a few days adjusting to their new life and not being disturbed, so she is surprised that Alicent Hightower, always a follower of customs, has come to her.

Rhaena stands, adjusts the skirts of her dress and walks to the hall that has been assigned to her as part of her private chambers.

The place, large, airy, although austerely decorated, is comfortable and has a nice view of the sea. Queen Alicent, sitting on one of the sofas, waits for her with her eyes closed and her hands clasped together, as if she were praying.

“Queen Alicent,” she greets with a smile and a nod

“Rhaena,” the woman immediately stands up and walks over to her, looking her up and down, as if examining her with a critical eye, “I am sorry to interrupt you, I know it is not appropriate, but I thought it might be good for you to have someone to… talk to.”

There is a moment of silence in which she does not know what to answer, but finally she nods and looks at her maid, “Please, Nelly, bring tea and cakes for us.”

The maid goes out to get the food, and Rhaena sits next to Alicent, who continues to watch her.

“Are you feeling well?” The woman asks, frowning.

“I am fine, Your Grace.”

“The wedding night can be a… different experience.”

“It was.”

“My son, the Prince Aemond… was… was he…?”

The Dowager Queen doesn’t know how to continue, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“The prince was patient and attentive with me, Your Grace.”

Alicent is clearly relieved and pleased with her answer, because she sighs and offers her a small smile, “I am glad to hear that. I will ask him to refrain from calling you to his chambers for a few days, until you can feel more… comfortable with the changes you experienced.”

The maid arrives at that moment and serves them tea and sweets. Rhaena quickly takes her cup and takes a few sips of the hot infusion, trying to disguise her blushing expression, “Of course, that would be… very kind of you, Your Grace.”

“I know you probably need some time to yourself,” Alicent continues, “But there is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

The girl raises her face again, intrigued, “I am listening.”

“Now that you have married my son,” she says, “It is time to put aside my responsibilities completely, and I would like you to be the one to take them on.”

Rhaena’s eyes widen, surprised by the queen dowager’s request.

“You showed a caring spirit while tending to the people, and charitable works are something I used to do frequently before…” Alicent looks away, “The people deserve that their rulers look after them. I think you are the right person to take up the Crown’s activities in that regard.”

“Shouldn’t Queen Ellyn be in charge of such matters?”

“She should,” Alicent nods, “I tried to get her to do so, shortly after she married the king, but she did not take much interest in these causes. And now… she needs to continue healing as well.”

“But she was present at the wedding yesterday and seemed fine.”

“Which was a surprise,” the queen dowager admits, “Still, I insist that you be the one to take over from me.”

Rhaena’s eyes meet Alicent Hightower’s, and to her surprise, she finds them tired. Only, she thinks, it is not a physical tiredness, but rather one that seems to spring from her soul.

“You honor me with your proposal, Queen Alicent, and I gladly accept.”

The Dowager Queen sighs again and places her hand on Rhaena’s, “Good. Thank you, Rhaena.”

Squeezing her hand gently in a farewell gesture, the woman stands up and leaves the room.

Rhaena finishes eating her pastries before returning to her room to continue with the embroidering. Once the handkerchief is ready, she decides to write a letter to Lady Jeyne Arryn and another to Baela, letting her know of her displeasure at not having confided in her on the subject of her betrothal to Alyn. After sealing them, she hands them to one of the maids to take to a maester, ordering them to be sent as soon as possible.

Morning lets out a growl and a flare of dragonfire, drawing her attention. The princess follows the direction of her dragon’s gaze, finding two of her maids there, terrified, not wanting to approach.

“Princess Rhaena, we… we…”

None of them can speak, their eyes fixed on Morning, who flies up to land on Rhaena’s shoulders.

“Do you need anything?”

“We brought… dinner for your dragon, ma’am,” one of them finally explains.

As it’s clear that none of them will come near, and that Morning hasn’t gotten used to them yet, Rhaena orders them to leave the food on one of the small tables and leave.

“They are just a couple of scared little girls,” Rhaena sighs as she goes to the tray of raw meat, taking a piece in her hand, “You shouldn’t be so angry with them.”

Morning ignores her words, flying off her shoulders and roasting the meat before attacking it with bites. Rhaena watches the scene enthralled, stroking her pink scales as she returns to her favorite spot by the fireplace.

“I am sure we will get used to this place soon enough, too,” she says, though she is not sure if she is trying to convince the dragon or herself.

Though she’s only been in the Tower for a few hours, the place is too lonely for her liking. The guards and servants do not speak to her except when necessary, and since she cannot openly invite visitors, she has done nothing but try to entertain herself all day.

And think about Aemond.

Rhaena looks away from Morning and watches the sun set outside the window. Night will soon fall and she cannot help but wonder if Aemond has returned to the Tower yet. Will the prince seek her out? Will he ask her to join him in his private chambers? Will they share another night together? Does she even wish for that to happen?

Yes.

The absolute certainty of her answer embarrasses her, but she cannot help but want to see him. To be in the same room as him. To hear him say her name.

Remember your promise, Rhaena, she tells herself, thinking of her sister and her warnings.

But her resolve is shaky when she hears voices and the sound of doors opening and closing somewhere.

Without thinking too much, she takes the handkerchief she has embroidered, and decides to leave her room, moving through the halls until she reaches what she assumes is Aemond's office. Since it is not guarded, she simply opens the door and enters a small private room that she recognizes as the one she had visited the time Aemond had summoned her to announce that they would participate together in the Mother's Festival.

 “¿Rhaena?”

The prince’s voice from the other end takes her by surprise.

“Cousin!” she replies, hand on chest, “I am sorry, I did not…”

“Were you looking for me?”

“No. I mean, yes, it’s just…”

She stops talking as the prince walks up to her, staring at her so intently that she has to look away, suddenly aware of everything that happened the night before. A blush floods her cheeks as she internally curses herself for coming to him. How has she not thought about how embarrassing it would be to face him after sleeping together?

“Dinner is ready, my prince,” a servant interrupts, freeing her from further conversation.

Aemond does not respond, his eyes still fixed on Rhaena, who is clearly uncomfortable and nervous, by the way her feet are swinging back and forth.

“Set a plate for my wife,” he finally orders, enjoying the startled expression on Rhaena’s face and wide eyes as she raises her face again, clearly surprised by the invitation.

The prince walks over to the table and waits for Rhaena, who takes a few seconds to react and walk, to sit down before taking her place as well.

The servant pours wine for them both, and his wife drinks generously from her goblet. Aemond begins to eat in silence, watching her out of the corner of his eye and waiting for her to calm down. He knows her well enough to know that Rhaena won’t be able to hold out for much longer before breaking the stillness of the moment.

“Were you meeting with the council?”

Aemond suppresses a smile and pretends to cut a piece of boar, “Yes.”

“Was it an… interesting meeting?”

“Mmm.”

His answer is short and doesn’t give rise to further conversation, so Rhaena looks at him expectantly, clearly wanting more details but not daring to press for them.

Aemond briefly considers exasperating her with more silence, but when his eyes meet Rhaena’s violet ones, finding them filled with genuine anticipation for a response from him, he sighs and puts aside his initial resolve, “Winter has officially begun and we must take steps to ensure we have provisions in case it extends longer than expected.”

“Oh,” Rhaena shifts in her seat, nodding in delight, “My cousin Alyn will do something similar. He mentioned that he would be traveling to the Free Cities to stock up on necessities.”

“I did not know he had business there,” he frowns.

“I assume he trades with them,” the girl shrugs and continues, “It makes sense to manage the resources now.”

“I know,” he nods, “We will store everything close to the capital, for when the snow falls, the kingsroad will be nearly impossible to traverse, and supplies will not arrive frequently. The city will certainly need extra food and we will need to ration it.”

“Yes, you are right,” Rhaena takes another drink from her goblet, and clears her throat, “And since you mention the city, there is something I wanted to consult with you about.”

Aemond nods, staring at her and letting her know he has her attention. Rhaena sighs and speaks, “Your mother came to see me this afternoon.”

The prince frowns. His mother had also approached him on his way out of the council meeting to ask him not to call Rhaena to his chambers until the discomfort of the first night had passed.

“She told me she plans to retire from social life and wanted me to take over her duties.”

Aemond raises his eyebrows. While he is not surprised that his mother has delegated the few tasks that kept her busy to Rhaena, he imagined that Alicent would wait a little longer before making official her release from her obligations to the Crown.

“And what did you say?”

“Well… I accepted, of course, it is an honor but…” she shrugs and frowns, confused, “I just don’t know if I should have. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for Queen Ellyn to take her place? I do not want to cause any misunderstandings between the royal family."

Aemond snorts, "Ellyn Baratheon only has a head for parties and spending the crown's money. I do not think she is worried about you taking over my mother’s duties. She will certainly be relieved by the news.”

“You think so?” Rhaena still looks unsure, “It is probably wise to talk to her first before making a decision.”

“If it’s going to make you feel better, then do it,” Aemond brings the last bite of his dinner to his mouth, “But you shouldn’t waste the opportunity my mother is offering you. Weren’t you looking for more responsibility?”

“Yes, of course,” she nods.

“Besides, you are much more suited to this than our queen,” he comments without thinking much about his words, “You proved your efficiency before the wedding and the common people appreciate you.”

A genuine, pleased smile spreads across Rhaena’s face. A smile that makes his heart skip a beat, sending a warm feeling through his body.

“Thank you, Aemond,” his wife replies, lowering her gaze for a moment before facing him again, “I think I will take you at your word and move forward with this new position.”

The excitement is palpable in her voice and Aemond, still wanting to keep that smile on her face, continues speaking, “Lord Lannister said that the entire town came out to share the food after the banquet, your idea was very well received by the people of the city.”

“Really?” Rhaena jumps up in her chair, “Oh, I would have loved to see it myself. I know I still have to stay here for a few days, so I will use this time to think about…”

“You don’t need to be locked up here in the Tower,” he interrupts her, “If I am back to my duties, you can do so too. Feel free to continue your routine as normal as before.”

Rhaena feels her heart beat wildly with relief and joy at hearing his words. Restraining the sudden, crazy urge to leave her chair and hug Aemond, she simply settles for smiling and continuing to chat about insignificant details of her new quarters, too nervous to stop talking. When the servants clear their plates a while later, Aemond stands and she follows suit.

“I suppose I should be going,” she says, fiddling with the rings on her hands.

“It is late,” the prince nods, his good eye fixed on her.

Rhaena nods as well and bows, ready to leave the room. It is then that she remembers her initial intention of handing him the handkerchief.

“By the way,” she says, removing the item from the pocket of the skirt of her dress, “I wanted to give you this. I finished embroidering it a little while ago, and thought you might like to have it.”

Aemond reaches out to take the soft fabric from his cousin. Examining it, he finds the embroidery of a green dragon in flight.

“It is Vhagar.”

The prince nods, his thumb running over the fine detail created by his cousin, feeling once again overcome by that unusual warmth that rises in his chest. Aemond clears his throat, aware that he should thank her for the detail, but other words come out of his mouth.

“My mother said I should give you space after our wedding night.”

Rhaena parts her lips, surely surprised by his comment, “Yes, she uh… it was very thoughtful of her to think of that.”

Aemond watches her expression, believing – or perhaps imagining – the disappointment in her voice at the dowager queen’s recommendation.

“Mmm,” he looks back down at the embroidered image of Vhagar and then back at his cousin, “Are you feeling too sore?”

Rhaena bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, “No, not really.”

“Good.”

In one deft move he grabs her wrist, pulling her closer to his body and bringing their lips together.

Rhaena immediately melts into his kiss, closing her eyes and marveling at the sweet scent of wine on the prince’s breath. When Aemond’s tongue tentatively brushes her lips, she gasps and grants him the access he desires, allowing him to explore her mouth freely.

Aemond breaks contact after a few seconds, though his face remains very close to Rhaena's, their breathing still labored. When she opens her eyes, she meets her cousin's lustful gaze and swallows, though she instinctively presses herself even closer to his body. Aemond shudders and sighs before interlacing their hands and leading her to his room.

When the door closes behind them, Aemond kisses her again. Only this time his lips move down her jaw to her neck. Rhaena tilts her face so he can freely access her skin, gasping when her cousin's teeth nibble at the sensitive area. His name escapes her lips and suddenly Aemond is behind her, still exploring her skin exposed by the dress while his hands loosen the ribbons holding the garment together.

“Aemond…”

She is not sure what she is going to say, but her protests are silenced by another of his kisses as the heavy dress falls to her feet, leaving her in only her white undergown.

Feeling exposed once again, her hands settle on the prince’s chest, wanting to remove the black leather jacket he is wearing, but not daring to. Aemond, understanding what she is up to, helps her do so.

Rhaena steps away from the prince for a few seconds and looks at his bare chest, his thin but strong arms, his muscles marked on his abdomen. She hadn't been able to appreciate them the night before and now she is dying to touch them, but once again, she doesn't dare to do so.

Aemond pulls her back against his body and kisses her while forcing her back until they fall on the bed. Instead of placing himself on top of her, the prince kneels beside her and his hands hold her calves, moving his hands up her thighs, separating them.

Rhaena sighs and clings to the sheets when suddenly she feels the prince's lips on the inside of her thighs, kissing her a few times before his caresses rise until they reach the place that cries out for his attention.

Moaning at the intense sensation of Aemond’s tongue dancing at the center of her womanhood, she tries to simply relax and lose herself in his touch, in the climax building within her, in how good it feels when she opens her eyes and sees her husband’s head between her legs.

“Aemond!”

Her voice is broken and that's all she can say before she loses herself in pleasure again.

Aemond doesn't let her recover, but instead kisses his way up her body until he's positioned and buried inside her.

Rhaena closes her eyes and bites her lips to contain the uncomfortable gasp she feels at the still new sensation of invasion and being stretched.

Aemond takes one of her knees and bends it, changing the angle and reaching deeper inside her, managing to touch a place inside her that makes the pleasure start to rise again.

The prince thrusts into her harder and harder, and Rhaena tries to move with him, her hands wanting to explore his body, but content to place them on his shoulders as their mouths meet again.

It isn't long before she once again reaches that peak state of pleasure, moaning into Aemond's mouth, who seems to absorb her sounds of pleasure. A few seconds later, the prince clings tightly to her body as he spills inside her as well.

Once again there is a moment of awkwardness, of uncertainty as he pulls away from her body. Rhaena sits up in bed and hugs her knees. Aemond reaches out his hand to her and helps her up. A lump forms in her throat when she thinks he is going to ask her to leave, but the prince merely pulls the covers off the bed and blows out the candles that are still lit.

Hesitating for a moment, but finally gathering courage, she climbs back into bed and covers herself with the sheets. Aemond mimics her action and, feeling brave again, Rhaena reaches for his hand. The prince is soon lacing their fingers together and caressing the inside of her palm until, suddenly exhausted, Rhaena succumbs to sleep.

He, however, cannot sleep.

Turning to his side and taking advantage of the moonlight, he watches Rhaena sleep peacefully.

Part of him, one he is struggling to ignore, wants to come closer to the girl and hold her, breathe in her rose-like scent and bury his nose in her curls.

He does none of that.

He doesn't have to do any of that. He doesn't even have to want to do it.

Rhaena is his wife, yes, but nothing more. Their union is political and there must be no feelings between them other than respect. It is convenient to have her around, to make her the mother of the future heirs, and to use her political power. But to expect something more? To seek something more?

No.

That should be out of the question.

Rhaena Targaryen was only a means to an end and that was the way it had to stay. Allowing himself to have feelings for her is dangerous. It is unpredictable and it's backfired on him in the past. And he wasn't about to make a fool of himself again.

This is the last time, he tells himself. You won't call her to your chambers again until it's absolutely necessary.

So, summoning every ounce of willpower he has, he stands, dresses and finds another room to spend the night in.

@user05152535456 @pugetprincess @draftswriting @hopefulnovelwritingland @maymunahar @niocel @goldenjoyboyy @gracelessbeach @jenmakeusin10 @dagma18 @atargcvnt @iidontgiveafuckuniverse @ammo23 @qyburnsghost @ithoughtulikedme @avidreader73 @feyresqueen @zeroinetoheroine @dragontwinsfireandblood

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[rjzimmerman]

Yesterday, I posted a summary of the study and report described in this Grist article. We get more details (if we're interested) here. Additionally, to me, the recommendations to proceed more holistically with the numerous global issues dealing with biodiversity and the climate are critically important. I've been repeating this mantra for several years, and will continue to do so. Deal with the environment = solve the climate crisis.

Excerpt from this story from Grist:

As global temperatures rise from the burning of fossil fuels, researchers and policymakers have proposed solutions like installing renewable energy, replacing gasoline-powered cars with electric ones, and developing technology to suck carbon out of the air. But these policies often address climate change in isolation — without regard for other pressing issues like a decline in biodiversity, the contamination of freshwater sources, and the pollution of agricultural soils. 

A new report released Tuesday by the United Nations’ expert panel on biodiversity makes the case for a different approach based on addressing the “nexus” between two or more out of five essential issue areas: climate change, biodiversity, food, human health, and water. Such an approach is not only more likely to help the world meet various U.N. targets on biodiversity, sustainable development, and climate mitigation; it’s also more cost-effective.

“We have to move decisions and actions beyond single-issue silos,” said Paula Harrison, a professor of land and water modeling at the U.K. Centre for Ecology and Hydrology and a co-chair of the report, in a statement. Other scientific reports have studied the interlinkages between two or three of these issues, but she told reporters on Tuesday that this latest report is the “most ambitious” to date.

The new report was the result of three years of work of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services, or IPBES, an expert body that’s analogous to the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, which periodically assesses the state of the science on global warming.

The report centers on biodiversity — that’s the IPBES’s remit, after all — describing how the variety of life on Earth is “essential to our very existence.” But it goes out of its way to show how rapidly accelerating biodiversity loss is both contributing to and being exacerbated by other crises. Climate change, for instance, is making some habitats inhospitable to their erstwhile animal populations, while the loss of those populations can have impacts on freshwater availability and carbon storage. The five interlinking issues were selected by representatives of the 147 IPBES’s member countries.

Meanwhile, solutions that focus on just one issue may have detrimental effects on other elements. Pete Smith, a professor of soils and global change at the University of Aberdeen in the United Kingdom, gave the example of bioenergy with carbon capture and storage, or BECCS, a climate solution in which crops are grown to draw CO2 out of the air and then burned to generate energy. The resulting greenhouse gas emissions are captured and stored in rock formations, with the aim of removing them from the carbon cycle permanently.

The problem, Smith said, is that to implement this process on a large scale would require vast tracts of land that might otherwise have been used to grow food crops — so BECCS can unintentionally harm food security. Devoting land to single-variety crops can also use up lots of water and jeopardize biodiversity.

[aei-ro]

Hey guys :)

Just a post to say I have updated a good few chapters on Keep the Body. Gonna be honest I think it is a load better than Anatomy of a Duel (so much better that I’ve taken a lot of the original elements of KtB and am writing an actual book lol) but maybe not as popular because of the harrianthe being the only ship in this one. (And maybe the fact that aoad is already like novel length).

I still love this toxic mess with my whole heart.

First chapter under the cut so you can try before you buy go to Ao3

She hadn’t meant to kill him that way.

The scalpel was in her coat. The ligature was in her bag. The syringe was already prepped, taped to the inside of her wrist like a secret. But something had broken—something in him, or something in her—and now his blood was soaking into the manicured grass, thick as syrup, almost black in the moonlight.

Ianthe slid into the stream with the kind of grace she reserved for autopsy tables and church pews. Her hands found his jaw with terrible tenderness. She didn’t like how his eyes had stayed open. She didn’t like how his mouth had fallen slack, like it was still waiting for an answer.

“Shh,” she whispered, though he hadn’t asked a question.

The branch was still wedged through his ribs. Bark scraped bone. The current lapped at his ankles. She held his head underwater, soft as a lover, until the bubbles stopped. Then longer. Then longer still.

When she let go, something in the air shifted.

His chest shouldn’t have moved. His skin shouldn’t have bloomed. But there it was: a livid flush rising across his breastbone, like capillaries bursting in a posthumous blush. Veins threaded with something silver. His blood swam dark and sluggish into the stream, and the stream swirled back.

Ianthe stared. She knelt there far too long. She touched the bruising with bare fingers and tasted copper on the back of her tongue.

When she finally stood, her knees ached. Her hands shook. She was grinning.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus moved like a shadow someone had sharpened into a person. All black—shirt, coat, slacks, boots. Her hair was cropped down so close it made the angles of her face look even starker, and her eyes, always a little too deep-set, burned with the kind of concentration that made people forget how young she was.

No one stopped her. No one smiled. The smart ones didn’t even make eye contact.

Sublevel One was colder than the upper floors. Not temperature—tone. Everyone stationed here dealt in the dead: bone analysis, dental records, genetic forensics. You either had the stomach for it or you didn’t, and Harrow had never once flinched.

Her office was halfway down the corridor, tucked between a case review room and an evidence cataloging chamber. The door had her name etched on a cheap brass plaque, but most people just called it the crypt.

Inside, it was dim. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, flickering in one corner like they were afraid of her too. Shelves sagged under the weight of reference tomes and annotated casefiles. There were bones on every flat surface: a mandible with the teeth still intact, half a pelvis in a shallow tray, vertebrae stacked like towers mid-collapse.

Her desk was a chaos of scanned reports, microscopy printouts, and folders marked DO NOT DESTROY in three different pens.

Harrow set her bag down and stood there for a long moment, breathing in the quiet. There was a comfort to the clutter. A stillness. She could pretend this place had always belonged to her—that she hadn’t inherited it by outlasting someone else.

She didn’t know about the body yet. The new one.

The one waiting on Sublevel Two, fresh from a park in the Third, tagged for analysis. The one that would arrive on her table by tomorrow at the latest.

For now, the bones she had were silent. And she liked it that way.

Ianthe Tridentarius looked like the ghost of a girl who’d died beautifully. Not quite sick, but styled that way—skin pale with undertones of something terminal, like her blood had learned to keep secrets. Her cheekbones were carved high and cruel, her mouth was always a little too amused, and even in the shapeless sheath of her lab coat, she moved like someone who expected to be watched.

The gloves fit like skin. The mask hung loose around her neck. Her hair, twisted up in something that may have once been intentional, left a few pale strands to ghost around her face like static.

She was brilliant, of course. Devastatingly so. The kind of brilliant that made supervisors look the other way and internal affairs forget her name.

She stood now over the fresh arrival—tagged male, early thirties, found face-down in the streambed of a public park in the Third. D.O.A., trauma unknown, death certificate unsigned.

The corpse was already half-open.

Babs leaned in beside her, peering with his usual mix of admiration and vague queasiness. Naberius Tern was a vision: tall, golden, all charm and zero tact, the kind of man who thought a good hair day made him immortal.

“Heart’s weird,” he said, because subtlety had never been his strong suit. “Looks like it… what, seized mid-beat? That’s not standard, right?”

“No,” Ianthe murmured. She didn’t look at him. “It isn’t.”

She prodded the tissue with the tip of her tool, eyes hungry behind the glass. The organ was stiff—tight in a way it shouldn’t be, post-mortem. And there was something else. Something faint and glimmering beneath the surface of the skin. The capillaries hadn’t ruptured—they had twisted.

“Could be district contamination,” Babs offered, in that blithe way that made her want to lobotomize him just a little. “The Third’s water’s full of runoff, right?”

“Yes, darling,” she drawled. “So is your mouth.”

He grinned. “And yet here you are, still letting me breathe your air.”

“Momentary lapse.”

She reached for the bone saw, slow and reverent. Her hands did not shake.

The heart had spoken. She intended to listen.

The ribcage peeled back with a sound like unwrapping a gift. Wet, sticky, intimate. Ianthe moved slowly, reverently—one hand guiding the retractor, the other steadying the tissue with a precision that bordered on tenderness.

The heart sat nestled in its cradle of bone and tension, marbled with lividity, the muscle puckered tight in a way she’d never seen before. Too rigid. Too perfect.

“Wait,” she murmured, frowning. She leaned in, magnifiers adjusting with a click. Her fingers paused at the apex, then slipped gently beneath the muscle.

Something sharp caught her glove.

She held her breath and pressed again—carefully now, precisely—and lifted a sliver of dark, water-slicked wood from where it had embedded into the anterior wall of the heart.

It hadn’t splintered. It had grown in.

Around the fragment, the flesh had hardened—not scarred, not rejected, but adopted. Calcification spiderwebbed from the puncture, delicate and crystalline. Beneath the halogen lights, it shimmered faintly gold.

Not normal. Not remotely.

Behind her, Babs said, “What the hell is that?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even blink.

The gold veining didn’t look vascular. It didn’t trace natural lines. It spiraled outward like a glyph—no, like a reaction. Like the body had tried to encase the foreign thing, not to destroy it, but to preserve it.

“Babs,” she said, still not turning. Her voice was low. Careful. “Label this a cardiovascular anomaly. Send a sample upstairs for comparative analysis.”

He hesitated. “To Harrow?”

A pause. Then, softly:

“Yes.”

It was a test. A message in a bottle. A beginning.

Ianthe slid the shard into a dish like it was something holy, and smiled without showing her teeth.

She hadn’t thought much of Harrowhark Nonagesimus at first.

Another twenty-something prodigy in a precinct full of them—sharp, severe, maybe a little too morbid to be well-adjusted. The kind of girl they all were, once. Ianthe had clocked her as soon as she’d arrived: all-black wardrobe, no small talk, the posture of someone who had something to prove and no interest in proving it to you.

But then she’d watched her work.

Not just work—watch. The way Harrow looked at the dead wasn’t professional, and it wasn’t prurient. It was reverent. Hungry, even. She looked at bones the way saints looked at relics. She catalogued fractures like they were scripture. Ianthe had stood behind the glass wall once, unseen, watching as Harrow turned a half-skeleton over in gloved hands like she might kiss it.

That was when the feeling started.

Not attraction. Not really. Not then.

It was recognition.

Because that skeleton—Harrow’s long-running side project, her unsolved darling—was one of Ianthe’s. One of her first. A crude piece, by her current standards, but still hers. The cuts had been too deep, too curious. She hadn’t known then what she was making, only that it felt like the closest thing to prayer she’d ever touched.

And Harrow had noticed.

She’d studied those cuts obsessively. Had notes. Diagrams. Questions. The bones had been scored in angles that should’ve been unreachable. A blade too thin, too clever. The marrow exposed in elegant, impossible slivers.

To most, it would’ve looked like savagery.

To Harrow—it looked like meaning.

And Ianthe fell. Not all at once. Not even in a way she understood. It was slow. Rot-soft. Sweet. It happened every time she passed Harrow’s office and saw her hunched in thought. Every time she glimpsed the girl’s pale hands sifting through boxes of bones like she was asking them to speak. Every time Harrow tilted her head at the skeleton and whispered, what happened to you?

I happened to you, Ianthe thought. And you loved it.

She started sending more bodies upstairs.

Not many. Not often. Just enough.

She wanted to see how long it would take Harrow to find the patterns.

She wanted to see if she could.

And more than anything, she wanted to know what it would feel like to be seen—not the mask, not the lab coat, not the precision, but the art beneath the blood. The shape of her real self.

The more Harrow studied her work, the harder she fell.

The sample arrived in a plain gray tray with a single tag attached. Harrowhark Nonagesimus didn’t even glance up when the courier set it on her desk—her hands were deep in documentation, her desk a graveyard of open folders and scattered bones. She didn’t look up—until she saw the name on the slip.

Unidentified Male. Third District. CV Anomaly. Attn: Nonagesimus.

That got her attention.

She peeled the tray open like she was uncovering a relic.

Inside, nestled in a shallow petri dish, was a fragment of something that should have been wood—but wasn’t. The splinter was thin, almost surgical, slick with dried blood and ringed in a crown of calcification. Gold shimmered faintly along the edges, spiderwebbing out like veins in marble.

Harrow stared. Once. Twice. She read the intake notes attached. Her fingers tightened on the clipboard.

Calcification intruding on heart tissue.

No prior cardiac history.

Organic fragment—origin unknown.

Anomalous visual properties.

She didn’t write anything down. She didn’t take her coffee. She didn’t so much as lock her office.

She threw on her lab coat—black, fitted, no name on the breast—and left at a near-run.

No elevator. No time.

She took the stairs two at a time, the sound of her boots echoing sharp off the concrete. Sublevel Two was colder. Brighter. She didn’t mind.

Something was happening down here, and it had chosen her to see it.

Ianthe heard the footsteps before she saw her. Sharp, certain, descending fast—no pause at the elevator. No hesitation.

She smiled.

“Harrow,” she murmured, voice like a prayer she didn’t believe in. Then louder, without turning, “Babs. Out.”

Naberius Tern looked up from the computer monitor he was barely pretending to engage with. “Out? What, now?”

She rose from her lean over the body in a slow, fluid motion—catlike, regal, terrible. Even under the lab coat, she moved like someone who belonged to no one and nothing.

And still, she towered.

A head taller than him, at least, with eyes like frostbite and posture like a guillotine mid-swing. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“Out,” she said again, with the same finality as a scalpel through soft tissue.

Babs stared. “You’re not even—what is this, some weird rival necro thing? Is she—”

Ianthe didn’t answer. She just looked at him. One slow blink. That peculiar silence of someone thinking very dark thoughts and deciding not to act on them.

He rolled his eyes, too pretty to know better, and threw his gloves in the bin with theatrical disdain. “Fine. Keep your little bone date. I’m going to the break room before the coffee dies.”

He left, muttering. The door hissed shut behind him.

Ianthe turned back to the table. Back to the corpse. Back to the thing she had made—accidentally, yes, but made all the same.

Then she waited.

The door slid open without ceremony.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus stepped through, lab coat stark against her skin, black boots clicking sharp on the tile. Her expression didn’t shift. Not at the smell. Not at the light. Not even at Ianthe.

But Ianthe saw it anyway.

She saw it in the way Harrow’s eyes locked on the body without hesitation. Not revulsion. Not concern. Curiosity. She didn’t blink as she approached the table—just moved closer, slow and direct, until she stood over the open chest cavity.

And then she looked.

Not at the face. Not at the blood. Straight at the heart. The calcification. The faint shimmer curling around where the splinter had been.

The silence stretched.

Ianthe didn’t speak. She wanted to see it—that moment. The precise second Harrow saw what she saw.

There.

A breath—not held, but slightly altered. A minute narrowing of her gaze. The kind of reverence people reserved for holy things.

And there it was again. That flicker.

Not excitement.

Recognition.

Ianthe felt it like a shiver in her ribs. Felt her own pulse kick. This wasn’t an ordinary case, and Harrowhark Nonagesimus knew it.

“I want the full body file,” Harrow said softly, her voice smooth as sealed glass. “And the rest of the tissue samples.”

Ianthe tilted her head. “Of course you do.”

Harrow’s eyes flicked toward her then—brief, sharp, not unfriendly. Just measuring.

But Ianthe was already smiling.

She’d seen enough.

Harrow didn’t wait for permission. She was already pulling on gloves, already reaching for the retractor with the calm of someone whose hands never shook, not even for the dead.

She peeled back the rib cage farther, inspecting the angles with a quiet precision that left no space for commentary.

Ianthe didn’t offer any. She leaned back against the counter and watched.

The calcification glittered faintly under the overhead lights. Gold and bone. Tissue and something else.

“This isn’t post-traumatic,” Harrow said at last, almost absently. “It’s not healing. There’s no collagen buildup. No fibrosis. No inflammatory response.”

She touched the edge of the hardened spiral, careful, reverent. “It’s not rejection. It’s incorporation.”

She stepped back just slightly, tilting her head.

“Bone doesn’t form in soft tissue without intent,” she said. “Not like this. Not here.”

Ianthe felt it like a breath caught at the edge of her teeth. A low hum under her skin.

“I can isolate osseous fragments,” Harrow continued. “Run them against known pathologies. Maybe late-stage myositis ossificans—but it’s not acting like it. And the shimmer—”

She trailed off. Looked again. She didn’t say it, but Ianthe saw the glint of hunger behind her eyes.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Harrow murmured. “It shouldn’t be here.”

And that was it. That was the moment.

The anthropologist. The pathologist. Fields that touched, yes, always—they passed case files back and forth, borrowed tissue, consulted when necessary. But they didn’t mix.

Not like this.

Not bone inside heart. Not shimmer threaded through sinew. Not whatever this was becoming, curling at the edge of science like a question that refused to die.

Ianthe felt something tighten behind her ribs—something like triumph. Something like longing.

Just like me, she thought. Just like us.

A body becoming more than it should be.

Beautiful.

[sah-crescentmoon]

I haven't properly introduced her yet, but this is Iseul. A rabbit OC. With this image, it related more to her backstory. But, currently she is a rabbit drill sergeant (so she has a different outfit). She's friends with Dalbit (his name may change). And she is sure that he is willing to betray Flower Hill. Why she hasn't reported him is something she isn't sure on.

Short story about her backstory under the cut. CW: death (not graphic, but I still want to give a CW in case someone doesn't want to read it).

The Sky Lied:

Her eyes burned immediately as she opened the door. It took a while before Iseul could open her eyes. Once her eyes adjusted, Iseul quickly took note of the clear blue sky and the shining sun. It's been a while since the sky was clear after thunderstorms rocked the region. It seemed like today, the sky was promising a good day.

"Ah, the sun has finally shown itself, hasn't it?" Danbi, Iseul's older sister, said. Iseul turned to see that Danbi was looking at her. Iseul nodded. Danbi chuckled as she placed a satgat on her head. "Can you please check on the crops? I'm going to check up on our neighbors."

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Iseul said. Danbi tilted her head. As if she expected Iseul to say something else. Iseul sighed. "Please come back soon. I heard the battlefield has been getting closer." Danbi sighed herself. She hugged her little sister. Iseul didn't like hugs much, but she knew her sister did. So, she gave her a hug back.

"Iseul, I promise to be back soon, ok? The battlefields are still many miles away from us. So, let's focus on what's happening now," Danbi softly said as she patted her head. Iseul nodded. Danbi has never lied to her. She has never broken a promise. Everything should be fine. Danbi soon left the farm, leaving Iseul with the crops and her thoughts.

The rain had flooded the crops, and Iseul groaned. The canal her parents made wasn't deep enough to prevent the flooding of the crops this time. Iseul will need to find a way to divert the canal to push the water further away from the crops. For now, she needed to check on the crops.

"Damn," she whispered. All the crops that grew underground were flooded. They aren't salvageable at all. She would need to remove them. The other crops, like lettuce and cabbages, were also covered in flood waters. She'd need to get rid of them too. Luckily, the tomatoes and cucumbers were above flood waters. So they can be left alone. Iseul wanted to go ahead and remove all the flooded crops, but she also wanted her sister to return. She was more of an expert on these sorts of things. For now, Iseul headed back to the house. Leaving the scorching sun and clear blue sky behind.

"Iseul!" Iseul blinked. Who was calling her? She yawned. But her eyes snapped open as she was being shaken by someone. Iseul quickly took note of her sister's presence. Her eyes were wide as plates, and she was breathing heavily. "Get up! You need to hide!" Before Iseul could ask what in the world was happening, Danbi pulled her to the floor and got her on her feet. "Get in and don't say anything!"

"W-What? What's going on? Eonni?" Iseul asked. Danbi, with tears in her eyes, hugged her tightly. Iseul was shocked. Danbi hasn't hugged her this tightly since the death of her parents. Something was terribly wrong. She hugged her sister back without thinking of her dislike of it. "Eonni?!" Danbi covered her mouth and shushed her.

"No matter what. Stay hidden. Don't you dare come out or make a sound," she said. She pushed Iseul behind the false wall and closed it. Iseul tried to open it, but Danbi must have put something in the way so it couldn't be opened. She wanted to scream for her dear sister. But loud sounds erupted. She could hear screaming from an unknown man and her sister. Soon, loud popping sounds, then silence. Iseul covered her mouth in shock. Was it the enemies? She could hear the place being ransacked. Iseul silently cried as there was nothing she could do about it. Danbi, my sister. Please come back. I'm scared. I need you.

It must have been hours that Iseul remained hidden. Finally, the place was silent. Iseul bodyslammed the door multiple times until it finally opened. She gasped as she noticed her room was a mess! All her clothes were thrown, and her pictures as well. She gathered all the intact family pictures. She placed them in her pocket. She will never let them go. Iseul looked at the open door. She needed to find her sister, but she also needed to find that strange smell that flooded her sense of smell, too. It was a horrible smell.

Danbi's room was empty. And Iseul knew she would never go into her parents' room as they both told each other that the room should be preserved. Time to check the living room. Iseul gasped as she noticed her sister on the ground and a pool of red around her. She ran to her and kneeled down. "Eonni! Danbi! W-Wake up!" Danbi's eyes turned to look at her. "I-I'll get help! Just please stay awake!"

"I-Iseul. No. I-I won't survive. Lis-Listen to me," Danbi said. Iseul wanted to yell at her! She was going to live! She was going to live! She can't die now! Her eyes were watery. Danbi gave a small smile. "I hope I was... a good sister... I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. I love you so much." Tears fell from both sisters' eyes as they cried.

"O-Of course you are a good sister! You've always been a good sister ever since Mom and Dad adopted me! You've never been a bad sister! I-I love you too," Iseul cried out. She leaned down and gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. Danbi did the same. By the time Iseul lifted her head, her sister's eyes were blank, and the tears stopped. Iseul checked her pulse... Nothing. Iseul couldn't stop crying. She was never an emotional person, but she cried so much. Iseul finally took notice of the setting sun. She should bury her sister.

After collecting what she needed from the house and for the burial, she finally took her sister's body outside. She dug a hole that was quite deep. She grabbed her sister's body and gently placed it into the hole. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I c-can't even give you a proper burial," Iseul whispered. She hopped out of the hole and covered it. She stayed until the moon rose. She stared at the moon and the clear starry sky. It seemed like the sky was promising a good night like it did this morning. So, then, why?

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

Note: Iseul and Danbi both promised that if the war got too close then they would flee to Flower Hill since they lived of the outskirts of the country. So after the burial, Iseul fled to Flower Hill. She carried anything she could that reminded her of her family. She didn't even care to bring extra clothes or money. None of that mattered. Flower Hill citizens later on helped her out with necessities.

I also tried to draw her in a more traditional Korean farmer's outfit. But, finding images were hard and I think I made the vest too high. So, it looks like a regular outfit.

[maria-crossover]

† The Believer †

General information | Prime Asset backstory | Trials | Dialogues

「 Prime Asset backstory」

Even if she has a complete history with crimes, somewhat questionable, committed at a young age there is no denying that a part of the subject's biography is missing. Especially the Walrider.

She was originally born in Jujuy, Argentina, but her family moved to California, USA, along with the girl's aunt and uncle with the decision to make a better life and pursue field work. Maria has been a fan of God for as long as she can remember, a believer in religion. She and her family have always been believers, praying for good progress and better crops in the fields or better livestock.

It is said that she has ended up with a disability due to a riding accident, leaving cracks and a bad development for her own physique that affects the mobility of her left leg in the femur. Despite the treatment with antibiotics, an alternative for the family in terms of economics, she has experienced moments of emotional decline due to her situation and living day by day in this condition. In spite of being humble and with a clearly poor economy, she made the greatest effort to study. Because of her disability she wasn't fit to work in the fields and was forced to study with her uncles and aunts at home, thanks to their professions as teachers and professors.

When she was eight years old, the girl's life took an unexpected turn after an incident that harmed her and her family. During a short walk with her aunt and uncle, running a couple of errands, they lost sight of Maria and could't find her anywhere in the village, the only thing they found was a cane with which she helped herself to get around.

According to the latest reports of the Carmichael case, being a kidnapping, she has suffered years of psychological and emotional torture. The girl returned after six years, without the help of the cane and walking normally. Something that frightened the family is that she still looked just as young, but the only difference was her hair, height and the facial features that didn't change completely and walking like a normal human was a miracle. From the medical reports, she showed that still the bones in her leg and in her femur remained the same, but somehow she walked well. However, her development has been affected by poor nutrition, clearly malnourished and dehydration. Although it will take time for Martina to adjust to her old lifestyle after living day after day, it can be seen that she is not at all affected by the trauma she experienced during her childhood, which is quite frightening and worrying.

She had confessed what her life was like being with her kidnappers, hearing screams of pain from other victims being tortured physically, psychologically and sexually. She has never been hurt or raped, fortunately, as far as she remembers it is because she was too small to be used as a weapon. Weapon, that is what worried the officers who interviewed her after her reappearance.

The girl gave the address where she was being kept under the shadows, out of her freedom and the other people who couldn't escape. The authorities without waiting went to raid the place, what they found was an abandoned textile factory. In the subsoil of the place, they found bodies of men and women. In addition to artifacts, machines they used to experiment with people to try to make a weapon. The kidnappers identified themselves as foreigners, Russians and Germans. At least five doctors, fifteen armed men and seven men in charge of the abduction of many test subjects. After forensic studies, the victims are not correctly determined how they were massacred. They found fractures and lower limb parts separated from their bodies, leaving many theories about the massacre. One person couldn't have killed thirty-five people, but what hasn't been determined is the gunpowder and ashes, which put in theory an attempt to erase evidence by burning the place.

The case had been dropped, Martina being the only survivor of the kidnapping and the inhuman torture she must have gone through. However, Carmichael's case is taken up again after a year, following a serious accident in the home and leaving the village traumatized.

Martina's parents and uncles died in a fire, the house burned down and they lost most of their home and orphaned the girl and her one-year-old sister, Anna. The origin of the fire hasn't been determined, but what is suspected was the child's attitude. Since the accident she had been playing with the baby, ignoring the screams and cries of her family dying in the flames. But she wasn't identified as a suspect, as her manner was possibly fear and trying to block him from remembering the trauma of her abduction, distracting Anna from the accident. It was a miracle that she and the baby survived that fire with ease, but after an interview with the girl, she left many questions for the investigators. About the angel who called himself "Manny," who saw him from the first months of her abduction. However, they put the questions aside, being nothing more than beliefs or possibly imagination of the girl.

The girls were sent to an orphanage, unable to contact other relatives. But after a few months, Anna was adopted by a family, separating Maria from her. She was discouraged ever since but never lost faith. But everything changes when the caregivers, nuns and priests end up committing suicide little by little, leaving the children behind. Some of these victims had confessed to sins not worthy of forgiveness, such as physically and sexually abusing minors. But the most suspicious was the confession of one of the deceased nuns, who had seen the devil handling a puppet of flesh and bones, with that innocent smile and with those eyes that look into the window of the darkest soul, feeding on our sins, fears and weaknesses.

Martina had been sent from orphanage to orphanage. With the same results, people who have taken their own lives or died under the flames of a fire, except for one man who only returned her for an unexplained reason. The case comes to a conclusion, leaving the girl as the prime suspect in all these events, since the incident with the Carmichael family. She was caught, trying to effortlessly hang a priest and ending up killing the man by simply breaking his neck. And in response to her attempt to be arrested, she ended up killing the officers. But it has not been determined how she killed them, although forensics determined that they had found gunpowder and ashes, the same material that was found in the massacre of the subject's kidnappers.

Many neighbors said they had seen the devil, disguised as the girl since the day he returned to the village. From the time he detached himself from Maria's body, being a kind of humanoid with no facial features and composed of only dark shadows. Being one of the most rare and tetric cases of the village, something supernatural. Although Mrtina had slipped away from the authorities, changing her identity, she didn't stop to move on until she was twenty-five years old, reassembling her life in another country. In Cuba she had inherited fields from her grandparents, having the opportunity to farm, but at the same time working in a fish market and keeping both businesses in balance for her own economy.

Clyde Perry went to investigate more about Maria Carmichael, being one of the people who had attracted a lot of attention. At first it was very difficult to communicate with her, as she was very distant and reclusive but also did not answer to Martina's name. Finally, after buying fish and asking a few casual questions, she invited him to talk in a more private place like her ranch, which Perry accepted with some trepidation but willing to take advantage of the opportunity.

From the moment the two met, casually sipping tea and mate, Maria confesses that she knows he has been following her and investigating her, being an interesting and peculiar person. But not only that, she flatters the investigator a lot because of her appearance, especially her eyes, which makes him a little nervous. But after her questions and teasing, Maria shows the darkest side a human being could have seen. Confessing how she hurt the adults when she was a child, the doctors, her kidnappers, the nuns and the priests, enjoying every cry of pain and begging for mercy as if God would be judging each of them for their actions, the sins they committed. Feeling pleasure and satisfaction as she took justice into her own hands with her angel.

She had removed her glasses, revealing one of her eyes completely dark as the devil, hungry for blood and fear of her next victim. Then, the man could see some sort of humanoid detach itself from her body and show itself to him. Its dark form, with no facial features and swarms of ashes scattered on its body and the woman's, seeing the fear and before the investigator's eyes. And the moment the humanoid tries to do something to Perry, Maria stops him with just one command and calling him "Manny".

The Walrider follows her command, returning to the woman's body and making her move normally again. He apologizes to the man, nothing more and nothing less, leaving him with a warning not to bother her again and letting him go unharmed, but wishing him to revisit her for being the only man to have caught her attention. Terrified, Clyde Perry leaves the shack with one hand in his pocket hiding his gun, unsure if the thing was going to come after him.

As Perry writes, he confesses to having nightmares and bizarre dreams. After going to treatment for a while, they discovered that he had some sort of nanomachines and ashes in his ears, which explains his bad dreams and possibly a way for Manny to manipulate the victims' minds to ground them, and corner each of them into thoughts of taking their own lives. Although Clyde didn't get to that stage, but he did get to have different dreams than the believer's victims, for example the vision of her walking out of the house naked only to come back full of mud and blood. Which leaves the man traumatized, being one of the few common things he has seen. After the investigator's treatment, Maria was later captured and sent to the Sinyala facility. However, she allowed herself to be captured while controlling Manny inside so as not to harm yet another person, at least she was given time to give away her sheep to some of her neighbors and the head of the fish market without giving any information about the situation. Since then, she meets Dr. Easterman at some point, placing an ounce of his trust and loyalty in him. However, the Walrider thinks otherwise and remains attached to her in every interview, treatment and activity.

[allisgood2112]

The Mystery of Liquid Fire: a Short Story by Robert Gryziec

Rental cars were never comfortable Maxwell thought, despite being afforded a top-of-the-line vehicle, just one of the many perks of being an FBI field agent. He had been dispatched to investigate a series of nationwide disappearances of homeless individuals. The case files were sparse, but at first the shelters collective data merely indicated attendance being slightly less than normal, yet the numbers began increasing. No bodies had been reported as unclaimed or otherwise in city morgues. The case file remained active and open on the desk of Maxwell Cosh. His research had been arduous to say the least, but led him to the town of Centralia, Pennsylvania.

Centralia had received national attention in the 1960s when it became known to the public that an underground mine fire raged, and the once thriving anthracite coal town, housing over 1000 people, became a ghost town almost overnight. Attempts to eradicate the fire had been unsuccessful, and the federal government stepped in, buying out the residents and relocating them, as the fire had been estimated to continue burning for at least 200 years to come. Although the town itself had been demolished almost entirely by the government, the popular videogame and film franchise "Silent Hill" was loosely based on the mine fires of Centralia. A handful of residents refused to leave their home town however, and lived on the outskirts of what could easily be mistaken from the air as a glorified parking lot. Highway 61, a major United States thoroughfare had to be diverted, with the original existing portion being closed off and deemed a safety hazard, due to an increasing amount of large fissures cropping up along the road, now known as graffiti highway, Centralia now being somewhat of an abandoned mystery, and attracting thrill seekers and vandals alike.

It was already nightfall by the time Maxwell reached the area. He secured a standard issue firearm, and bundled his overcoat, it being February, as well as one of the coldest years on record. Maxwell made his way from the warmth of his car to the towns main street. An eerie mist, amplified by the combination of the heated ground and the freezing temperatures in the air, made it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of him, not that there was much to worry about in an abandoned town to begin life, but Maxwell knew that there was something going on here. Every scrap of evidence, every clue he had followed pointed to Centralia.

Maxwell held his flashlight firmly, taking great care with each step, as the wind swirled the crisp air around him. Out of the corner of his eye, on a side street, he saw frantically moving lights. Switching off his flashlight, Maxwell crouched down, shrouded temporarily in the mist, and utilizing the ever present warm below the surface to bring complete feeling back to is freezing cold hands. Someone was running toward him, and being chased, Maxwell thought, removing his gun from its holster, and pointing up, flashlight ready in his other hand, when the runner nearly collided with him. She was visibly distraught, appeared frail and her clothes were all but rags. "Please save me!" Maxwell fired the gun upward, in hopes of fighting off the girls pursuers. He watched as the lights, obviously being cast from flashlight's like his own scattered. "We can't stay here. I know someplace we can hide. Come on!" "Wait! What's going on here?" The girl put her hands up in a frantic motion, replying "they won't give up until they have me again. They will be back in greater numbers and well fortified. We have to take shelter!" Maxwell nodded sliding his arm with the flashlight within her grasp, and allowing her to lead the way.

The girl had led Maxwell across what must have been people's yards years ago, until reaching a small alcove in one of the hillsides. It was warm, which Maxwell considered a plus, and he studied the girl, with her pale complexion,

"I need to know who you are, how you wound up here, and what's going on?" Maxwell stated. "My name is Diane Brooke. I was living on the streets of Scranton Pennsylvania, after losing my job, and then my apartment after not being well to pay the rent. I was heading for a shelter, when these men grabbed me, stuck me with a needle, and I woke up underground here. There is a cult, they are sacrificing people like myself to the mine fire! They're insane!" Maxwell felt something prick his side, his vision began to blur and he struggled to maintain his posture. "You okay?" Questioned the girl frantically, as Maxwell lost consciousness.

Maxwell began regaining his bearings, to the sound of chanting. Opening his eyes was a chore, however he managed to do so, and his vision gradually began to clear. He was tied to a chair at one of the lower tiers of what appeared to be an empathy and are carved into the ground itself. Maxwell wasted no time in attempting to free his hands, as everyone remained fixated on the spectacle of what was occurring. In the very center of the cathedral like sanctuary, an open pit glowed bright red a person was suspended naked above the fire, chains stretched to either side of the sacrificial hall. Clear tubes emanated from the individual, and led to empty containers surrounding the center. A woman spoke, strong in tone, with a regal quality. "May the fire rage on, and endow the chosen ones with its glory!" At that, blue white lightning shot upward, striking a helpless man dangling above. His body took on a different form, flesh becoming energy, and flowing through the tubes until they were filled to capacity, and the man was no more. Maxwell called out "what in the hell!" The woman shot a glance towards him, and he realized that it was a girl he had saved, Diane Brooke. She spoke with the human sarcasm of a superior, "You're the most disgraceful disappointment! I was going to spare you, but I think the fire is calling for you." "But, I saved you!" The woman laughed, "so you thought. My followers watched your every move from your arrival until your capture. The damsel in distress works every time!" She stated, chuckling, and motioning to individuals on either side of him to bring him forward. She lifted one of the glowing blue containers, disconnecting it from the tube, and ingested the liquid. Blue lightning shot forth in all directions, striking some onlookers dead on the spot, and some others into a blissful state of ecstasy.

Maxwell successfully freed himself from his bonds, but not unnoticed. The woman now glowingly with blue energy, Diane Brooks, reached out pointing in his direction, without hesitation however, Maxwell fled, up the carved stone stairs from the sounds of pursuers nearby, as the pulsating energy crackles gradually grew distant. He felt almost naked without his gun and had to guess at which direction the car was. Even if he was able to make it out of the town itself, he felt that the people chasing him would stop. "Was it a ploy?" He thought, pondering the chance encounter with Diane, "it had to be. She was obviously in charge, and perhaps even had people watching the roads for new victims!"

Maxwell stumbled, but only paused long enough to judge his direction. It was difficult in the bitter cold of the night above, contrasted with the heavy warm ground temperature, which created the mist, which in some areas was more prominent than others. Maxwell could hear footsteps running nearby, and a surge of blue white energy pulsed through the murk, making him lightheaded. On a main street however, Maxwell retraced his path back to the car as rapidly as he could. Another surge of energy came without warning, knocking him down. Dusting himself off, he got to his feet, the pursuers now even closer. Maxwell slammed into the car, but fought against any pain,, grabbing the door handle, and flinging himself inside, pulling it shut, and turning the key which he had left in the ignition, something he had grown accustomed to in fieldwork in general.

Maxwell drove, shocked by the events he had observed, and been part of. Unsure of how far this strange cult's influence may have reached, he decided to drive as opposed to fly, as the safety of the car and his control over it gave him the certainty that he would reach headquarters, and report what he had experienced to his superiors.

Night became day, the highway empty of traffic, allowing Maxwell to drive faster than he normally would have, yet there were occasional and unpredictable pulses of energy that seemed to briefly alter his strong innings for a few seconds at a time, unnerving him, but Maxwell knew that he was growing increasingly sleep deprived, thus he kept his mind firmly focused. "I'm going to finish what I started. I'm going to file my report, and follow-up on what occurred!"

Maxwell , he had rushed into the office of his superior, director Ethan Drake. The director listened intently to each and every detail, and instructed Maxwell to file his formal written report after he got some sleep. Director Drake had almost sounded dismissive, despite Maxwell maintaining a professional composer while delivering his oral report. Rather than take the chance of forgetting any details, Maxwell had drafted the written account of his unearthly experience, submitted it to clerical, and punched out, returning home to sleep. Nightmares plagued him of Centralia, Diane Brooks, and the strange ritual he had observed. He eventually decided to shower and make coffee, after an hour or two of actual sleep. Upon returning to work, at the FBI headquarters, still in any disoriented state from what he had endured, Maxwell sat at his desk dumbfounded. In checking his inner office mail, his report was there, with a letter attached from director Drake, instructing him to close the case file. Maxwell struggled with the words to close a case that he felt warranted not only further investigation, but a significant degree of scrutiny. "If they are not going to follow up on this, I will myself!" He thought before closing the file on record.

There was a knock at the door, "right on time." Thought director Ethan Drake, as the door opened, and a petite, yet attractive woman walked in a briefcase in one hand. She closed the door, and stood motionless. "The room is clear of any listening or visual observation devices. I check thoroughly daily, one can never be too safe!" The woman visibly relaxed, replying "good, it would be a shame if we were discovered. Our fellow operatives have gone undetected for at least a century without question, so I would rather not be exposed. Which reminds me, how are you going to deal with your agent who became a bit too nosy?" The woman sat in a chair in front of Ethan's desk, placing the briefcase in plain view, as she opened it. She removed two vials of glowing blue liquid, handing one to Ethan, as she drank from her own. "I dismissed what he had said, despite the truth, however sleep deprivation has been known to adversely affect humans." The woman nodded, her eyes glowing with blue white light after ingesting the liquid. Ethan's eyes did the same as he drank. "Your agent will obey orders then?" "Yes, I believe so. If he doesn't, we deal with him, like the others." The woman raised her vial "cheers then, yes?" Ethan motioned in agreement, raising his vile, as they both drank the last of the liquid. "We were lucky that such a rich deposit of material became available here, wouldn't you say Ethan?" "Agreed! Out of the numerous mine fires worldwide, this one is by far the most precious, and life sustaining for our kind! I would return to your sanctuary in Centralia my dear Cassiopeia, sorry, Diane? Correct?" The woman chuckled, as she replied, "yes, but mind yourself, we wouldn't want your true name being known now would we?" The End

[pokemonlunarregion]

Ponyta and Rapidash, top normal bottom shiny.

How to evolve: Ponyta to Rapidash level up to level 40.

Region: A region of eternal night as scientists created plants that could grow in moonlight, though there is some places that try to create artificial lights for the plants that couldn't grow in the moonlight. The moon still changing to different fullness percents with times there is no moon visible.

Region name: Lunar region.

Type: Fire dark.

Ability: Ponyta: Blaze. Rapidash: Flame body.

Description: These pokemon when bonded with remain loyal and will even come over to greet their trainer if they hear said trainer in the area. Some have suggested farmers use them though farmers refuse with worry that these pokemon will set their land or crops on fire. If any are found on countryside it is a trainer with a home there that usually builds this pokemon its own home like a stable. It enjoys eating grass which promotes healthy growing since it especially enjoys to eat the dead or dying grass. So some trainers will let these pokemon graze along their front lawns to make it more green and vibrant. Despite farmers superstitions that these pokemon will set their land on fire there has been no reports that this pokemon has set anything on fire by just walking or running around. It's flame also helps its riders see in the dark as it tends to illuminate the area like a normal fire would. If it dislikes or hates someone then if that person tries to pet it then this pokemon will move its head so that person will burn their hand. It has only been recorded if someone it dislikes tries to touch it.

Ponyta is popular among countryside young girls and it is said that if the trainer is the girl's father then the ponyta will care for the girl as deeply as it does its trainer. There was even a case when one realized its trainers daughter was missing so it escaped its stable to search for her while the parents kept looking. It did find the little girl and lowered itself allowing the scared girl to climb on before returning to its trainer. It was awarded a medal as a hero and was put in a book about Pokemon heroes. When its trainer passed away it lived with his daughter until it passed away of old age. This pokemon is sometimes brought to child events as it is very forgiving to children compared to adults. There has never been a recorded case of one disliking and burning a child on purpose. At these events this pokemon will usually be allowed to be petted, sometimes ridden by children, and used when talking about caring for pokemon. While it is a part of these there are also other pokemon that are used for these showings to children on care for pokemon. Truly depending on what trainer is doing the presentation. In the wild if the herd leader is gone outside of banishment from a rival beating it then the strongest Ponyta will work itself up till it evolves to take the leaders place. It is believed that there is a secret though not easily seen extra hierarchy with wild herds able to tell each others levels thus the highest level is seen as the strongest.

Rapidash is often called the pokemon unicorn as it is the inspiration for the creature in fantasy depictions. Though not all of its influence has been positive as it originally inspired more demonic representations scaring people. It is pretty friendly though is usually said to be too big to use in programs for children. If it feels threatened it will use its horn to defend itself with before using any of its attacks against the threat. In wild herds it is usually the leader of herds of Ponyta with it challenging any Ponyta that evolve. These fights are headbutts to use their horns until one is knocked down or backs down. The one that wins is the leader of the herd and loser is banished from the herd. If the leader is no longer with the herd for any reason outside of being banished from a rival fight, an example is being captured by a trainer, then the strongest Ponyta in the herd will work its way to evolve to take the leadership place. It is a very fast pokemon when running on land and one mail company uses this pokemon to carry the delivery people to deliver mail quickly, this company tends to have a rival with the only other mail company in the region who does on foot mail delivery; some people like the speedy delivery while others prefer the foot delivery with worry that the mail will get lost by flying out the bag at top speeds. This pokemon has also been used in a few races against other fast pokemon with some actually winning big championships. Some dislike the pokemon races claiming that pokemon are not as well taken care of as they should be in order to focus more on winning a race.

Lore:

Ponyta was first discovered by a backpacker who got lost in a forest only to follow a light out of the forest where a Ponyta turned to him. It was caught and brought back to a city shown off by the man fascinating others until the man and the Ponyta were taken by scientists curious about this pokemon. With some scientists worried it may be a demonic pokemon. It saw its trainer hurt so it used its fire powers to help it and its trianer escape. The two never seen again. After that people began finding some herds after exploring though not before rumors and stories of it being a demonic pokemon went around. Many people calmed down after more was learned about the pokemon with most stories of it being demonic only now existing in memories told by the elderly. Due to its founding story some even used it as a pokemon to ride in search and rescue missions in the dark. Also due to how the Ponyta freed itself and its founding trainer farmers began to believe that it would burn down their farm, hence all refuse to use it. A belief that didn't die out with time to the dismay of some who are the trainers of this pokemon.

Rapidash when it had its first reported sightings was by travelers who would spot them in the night usually in the middle of nowhere. These people spun this pokemon into stories of being a demonic unicorn that is the one that carries riders that are of darkness from demonic places. Scaring a lot of people for a rather long time. Until the herds were discovered and more was learned about it. Though some stories about it being the demonic pokemon that has riders that are of demonic nature can still be found in modern day. Luckily as time went on people began making stories and art of it being a magical unicorn which appeals to girls and sometimes women as well. It has become seen in a better light over the years despite its scary first appearances.

Design inspiration: Unicorns, Helluva boss horses especially Strikers horse, horses being ridden by demonic figures, and Aqasha from JYC on youtube.

Lunar region is a region that I have thought about making. I will be making more Pokémon and variants for this region.

[nursingwriter]

Complexity There are some jobs were what comes across and what happens every day is rather simple and basic. By extension, how one reacts to those things as they happen is going to be fairly straightforward. However, paradigms and jobs where complexity is the coin of the realm are entirely different. There is the absolutely right and justification to consider whether there are (or should be) absolute rules and guidelines when it comes to such situations or if leaders should be adjusting their rules and guidelines as they go along based on what comes up. This report shall explore the latter subject and what answers that might exist when it comes to the same. While having firm best practices and guidelines is a good thing in most cases, doing so when there are complex situations and potential outcomes is not the easiest thing to do. Analysis As indicated by the parameters to this assignment, there are a few considerations and dimensions that will color and shape the analysis that is under way. There are also some prominent and astute authors that will be perceived and have their contributions to the subject be made part of the analysis. Just one of those authors is Wheatley. As noted by the assignment, Wheatley's main objective was to make the topic in question "accessible." Beyond that, thre is the work of Burnes. That author made it a point to look at chaos and complexity in general and make sense of the overall subject being covered in this report. Finally, Plsek and Wilson examined this situation while looking at the healthcare sphere in particular. Given the contributions of those authors and the feelings the author, it is expected as part of this brief report that an assessment and overall viewpoint on the subject emerge. In coming to a personal conclusion, the author of this report looked at a few things. One of those things was a string of emails and forms relating to hiring a person at the Department of State within the United States government. As one might expect, the government is usually about procedure and following a certain process (Walters, 2016). Also looked at regarding this subject was a snippet that makes reference to the dashboard mentioned in this assignment. While the items and objectives mentioned on the spreadsheet seem good enough, the amount of specificity and drilling down is just not really there (Gray, 2016). With the above in mind and with the proper attention paid to the other sources mentioned in this report, the author of this report would come to the following conclusions when it comes to complexity. Of course, neither extreme is going to be acceptable when it comes to sticking to tried and true guidelines versus keeping things flexible. The medical field in general has evidence-based practice as its cornerstone and not having go-to and established ways to do things when certain situations arise is actually probably dangerous. Even so, there are always going to be exceptions and outliers. Some of those outliers might be one-offs and others might be more likely to crop up even during normal circumstances. For example, flu-like symptoms is going to mean one thing in normal and general circumstances. However, it will mean something entirely different when Ebola is raging like wildfire. Other disorders and diseases such as Zika can lead to an evolution of tactics and methods. Conclusion Even with all of that, there will be things and ways of doing the same that should generally be handled the same way so as to standardize and automate what is normally done. Even with that, there needs to be certain triggers and context that lead to an alternate or blended approach. Beyond that, there should be some people who are empowered from an authority and knowledge standpoint to make those decisions while others should defer to the same barring extreme circumstances. References Gray. (2016). Leadership Actions to Reach Goals. Presentation. Walters, W. (2016). Supervisory, Emergency Management Specialist. https://www.paperdue.com/customer/paper/medical-field-and-analysis-2162480#:~:text=Logout-,MedicalFieldandAnalysis,-Length2pages Read the full article

[archivist-crow]

Mercy Lea Brown (1871-1892)

Most famous alleged vampire of America.

The Mercy Brown vampire case of Rhode Island, which dates to the late 19th century, is the most famous of the vampire episodes. In the late 1800s, the George Brown family of Exeter, Rhode Island, was stricken with tuberculosis. Brown's wife, Mary, died, followed by their daughter, Olive. Four daughters and a son remained. Four years later, Edwin, the son, became ill with consumption. He and his bride left for Colorado, where Edwin sought treatment at mineral springs. During his absence, and about two years after Edwin had shown the first signs of lung trouble, daughter Mercy became sick and died on January 18, 1892. She was 19 years old. Edwin then returned to the home of his father-in-law, Willis Himes, where his condition worsened and he became critically ill.

It is possible that Brown was aware of the Sarah Tillinghast vampire case of 1796. According to an article in the Providence Journal on March 19, 1892, he was besieged by people who "expressed implicit faith in the old theory that by some unexplained and unreasonable way in some part of the deceased relative's body live flesh and blood might be found…

"These friends and neighbors told Brown that the only way to save Edwin was to dig up the bodies of his wife and two daughters to determine if any of them still had hearts full of blood, and to burn the heart and feed Edwin the ashes.”

An article in the same newspaper on March 21, 1892, explained in detail the definition of vampires and the vampire cult, attributing its origins to the Slavic people of Russia, Poland, Bohemia, and other parts of Europe. The article went on:

How the tradition got to Rhode Island and planted itself firmly here, cannot be said. It was in existence in Connecticut and Maine 50 and 100 years ago, and the people of the South County say they got it from their ancestors, as far back in some cases as the beginning of the eighteenth century. The idea never seems to have been accepted in the northern part of the state, but every five or ten years it has cropped up in Coventry, West Greenwich, Exeter, Hopkinton, Richmond and the neighboring towns.

Brown himself had "no confidence in the old-time theory," but also received little help from the medical community. He finally acquiesced to pressure and agreed to dig up the bodies of Mary, Olive, and Mercy, in order to try to save his son.

The medical examiner, Dr. Harola Metcall—who also did not believe in vampires—was on hand at Chestnut Hill Cemetery during the exhumations. The corpses of Mary and Olive were well decomposed. Mary was partially mummified and had no blood in her heart. Olive was only a skeleton with a thick growth of hair remaining. But the body of Mercy was judged by some to be in exceptionally good condition; however Metcalf said her state was natural and not exceptional. Witnesses who had been at her wake swore that her body had shifted in the coffin.

Brown instructed Dr. Metcalf to remove Mercy's heart and liver. Witnesses were astonished when clotted and decomposed blood dripped from the organs, which they took to be a sure sign of vampirism, even though Metcalf assured them it was not an unusual occurrence for a nine-week-old corpse. Brown took the organs to a rock and burned them. The ashes were saved. Dr. Metcalf told Edwin to take the ashes and mix a tiny amount in medicine he'd prescribed, and drink the mixture. Edwin allegedly followed the instructions, but died soon thereafter.

Over the years, the story has grown and become embellished. It has been claimed that six or seven girls in the Brown family died before Mercy was exhumed, and they all bore "the mark of the vampire" on their throats when they died (the vampire biting victims on the throat was popularized in fiction).

Mercy's grave continues to attract visitors. People report seeing a blue light or a glowing ball of light hovering over the grave, and other visitors claim they can hear a girls voice whisper, "Please help me, let me out." It may be imagination, or the sighing of the wind—or perhaps the spirit of Mercy Brown still lies restless in her grave.

Text from The Encyclopedia of Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Monsters (Checkmark Books, 2005) by Rosemary Guiley

[lkinvnp]

Primary Literature Reflection:

Rapid ‘Ōhi’a Death in Hawaii, Cannon et al. 2022

‘Ōhi’a Trees, known by their scientific name as Metrosideros Polymorpha, are the most prominent tree in the forests of Hawai’i. With five acknowledged species- the most prominent being the aforementioned-adapted to unique varieties of island habitats, These trees constitutes the majority of Hawaiian forests, both native and planted, 80% and 50% respectively, according to the US Department of Agriculture Forest Service. Constituting so much also makes them integral to the Hawaiian ecosystem. First, these trees are responsible for protecting the islands’ upper watershed. On an island surrounded by salt water, sources of freshwater are few and far between, and therefore exceedingly crucial. Secondly, these largely monolithic canopies that ‘Ōhi’a trees create are not only a piece of the ecosystem, but provide provide habitats to a host of endemic species, including other plants and animals, such as ’21 species of endemic forest birds, 12 of which are endangered’ (Hawai’i Department of Land and Natural Resources, 2015). Additionally, they serve large cultural significance to the indigenous people of the Hawaiian Islands. ‘Ōhi’a trees, in traditional folklore, were the physical embodiment the Hawaiian God, Kū, and the entire plant was used in varying practices. The wood has been used for architecture which can still be found on the islands, or carved into deity statues called ki’i. The trees red, yellow, and orange flowers were, and still are, used by hula dancers to make leis- traditional flower garlands. From ecological to ritual, there is no doubt that ‘Ōhi’a trees are integral on the islands. Which is why in 2012, when a new threat started killing these crucial trees at alarming rates, it had to be studied. 

While ‘Ōhi’a trees have had other widespread causes of death, pathogenic causes such as fungi, as well as native pests like the dubiously named, ‘Ōhi’a Borer (Plagithmysus Cerambycidae). Causes of death also include large scale cullings going back over a century, documented in 1909, the 1950s, and 1980s. Therefore, the death of these sacred trees didn’t quickly turn heads, but as the loss became unprecedented, and the deaths were even quicker the phenomenon Rapid ‘Ōhi’a Death (ROD) was coined. First seen on the active volcano, Kīlauea, symptoms documented included ‘rapid, synchronized death of leaves on individual branches that quickly spread to the entire canonpy’ (pg. 270) and dark staining of xylem tissue when examined under a microscope. The University of Hawai’i Agricultural Diagnostic Center in Hilo was the fist to isolate Ceratocystis, a fungus that had previously know as the cause of black rot in sweet potato crops, taro, and Syngonium. However, this particular strain hadn’t been known to infect ‘Ōhi’a in such a drastic way. This finding was later backed when other ‘Ōhi’a seedlings were found with the same fungi. Further molecular genetic research has determined two novel, or new, strains of Ceratocystis were recognized and given Hawaiian-language influenced names such as Ceratocystis Lukuohia, meaning destroyer of ‘Ōhi’a, and C. Huliohia (disruptor of ‘Ōhi’a), and believed to have jumped and or mutated from existing strains. First localized on the island of Hawai’i in 2010 on the windward side of the island, spread in 2013, by 2016 had significantly spread to the west side of the island, and 2017 showed a spread North, which instead of indicating of creeping spread is better characterized by massive jumps following events like Tropical Storm Iselle.  Other islands have shown isolated incidents of Ceratocystis. The Island of Maui has a singular incident in a lone tree that was identified, cut down, and burns to prevent further spread which is probably why no other cases have been reported on this island. Other spread factors have been thought to be caused by the frass (excrement and or chewed up fragments of wood) of ambrosia beetles that have burrowed in ‘Ōhi’a trees via aerial dispersement of mydospores which are ‘believed to be the spore types dispersed in the ambrosia beetle grass, which is light and readily dispersed in the wind’ (M. Hughes., University of Hawai’i at Mānoa, written communication, 2020, pg. 275). This makes wind a large danger to ‘Ōhi’a trees, and it’s a common cause of damage to trees on the island, and once a tree sustains damage it becomes a more likely victim of ROD. Additional risk factors are where the tree is located, trees in cool and dry locations are at the lowest risk, whereas location in hot and wet locations (growing ground for fungus) are better candidates for ROD. 

The largest component of containing ROD, and protecting ‘Ōhi’a, is monitoring the spread of the Ceratocystis deaths on the islands. Monitoring includes both the areas of infected flora but also monitoring areas where control measures have been taken, to deduce the most effective methods. Aerial surveys are helpful, as the dead canopies stick out amongst lush forests. These Aerial surveys are conducted at least twice a year across all forests in the state. Once monitored, management can begin. As shown in the flow chart on page 281, management has a routine. First, a tree is sampled. If ROD is detected, two things are considered: amount of other affected trees and if tree felling would help or hurt the area. If the tree is an isolated infection and can be cut down without releasing more spores or hurting other trees, it is felled and covered to the prevent spread. If the tree was part of a larger infection quora, if it can’t be cut without wounding other trees, or has a high risk factor of releasing high amounts of spores, the tree and surrounding area will be monitored further. Additionally, experimentally, insecticides to cut the beetle population have been tried, with no yielded results yet. On the economic side, the HI department of Agriculture mandated a quarantine on ‘Ōhi’a wood product made from wood on the Hawai’i island. Dehumidification Kiln treated wood with a successful rate of killing spores.  Even movement of soil for commercial use, by animals, or foot traffic, poses significant risk for transporting spores, so the Island has put strict bio-sanitation rules in place as seen in other island communities such as New Zealand. 

In conclusion, ‘Ōhi’a trees are an endemic and integral part of the Hawaiian ecosystem. ROD poses large risks to both the habitat of other flora and fauna, but also locals and tourists alike if the watershed is compromised. The swift and total work of the Department of Agriculture, Forest Services, and conservation attempts have discovered, monitored, and worked towards preventing further spread with wide and varied methods. At the time of writing, the two strains had been confirmed in three islands, all of which adapted stringent strategies to contain it.