#time passed drastically in-between of this creation

[vasiliquemort]

Experimental, learning peace of latest evening's expressions - a gentle drop, and ode, and thought of young and so demure to ways unspeakable<з

[zunibugsiren]

Unnatural Chapter 2

There was heavy arm weighing my waist down. 

As I came to, I became vaguely aware of a swath of warmth on my back, puffs of breath hitting the back of my neck. 

I stiffened.

There was a vague pang between my legs, and as I attempted not to panic, yesterday’s events suddenly rushed through my mind. The email, talking to Lani, the job search, Mr. Ri—

My eyes widened, and as stealthily and slowly as I could, I turned to face the man. 

My eyes met blue-grey eyes.

I screamed and jumped.

His arms moved much too fast, holding me down to the bed.

His deep voice reached my ears, “Please calm down. Take deep breaths.”

The hand clutched to my chest was soon joined by his. Our hands were slowing down as my chest stopped heaving.

I felt his eyes linger on my heaving breasts. 

I’ve completely lost it.

“I’m crazy, I’ve lost it.”

“You are not crazy.”

As if I couldn’t hear him, I continued.

“They’re going to put me back, I’ll be locked up for good.”

“Nobody is going to touch you.”

I looked into his eyes, held his gaze and in a rush and blurted out the truth.

“I was locked into mental health asylum for six months. Strange things happen around me. I ca—I can’t have people too close to me, they’ll know. I’m not well.”

His eyes brows furrowed in confusion.

“You don’t remember all of yesterday.” He looked deep in thought. “Human biology hasn’t been completely figured out, I don’t know how to remove the block,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?!”

Oh god he’s crazy too! 

I started struggling and before I know it he lowered his head onto mind forcing eye contact.

His eyes switched from a grey-blue to pure white. 

I felt myself calm.

Unbeknownst to me, my eyes started glimmering white as well. A moment of silence passed as the entire night came to me.

The spark. The lust. His eyes. The lightning. The loss of virginity.

My eyes started flickering between oak brown and white.

I pulled my head back, gasping as if I had ran for my life, and asked softly, “What are you?”

“I come descend from a line of  individuals considered your progenitors.”

He gently pulled me up from the bed placing me in seated position.

“Eons ago scientists from my world made the decision to plant seeds on this planet. Our population was drastically dwindling. We could not understand why our women were not getting pregnant. Time was running out, we had to consider all possible options. One of them was to manipulate the genes of a low level civilization.”

He sounded he crazy.

His lips lifted a little, as if he heard something funny.

“I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Freshly bonded pairs share telepathic connection.”

“Oh fuck no!”

I jumped from the bed and he followed suit. I haphazardly put on my dress from yesterday, glaring at him as he put on his black dress pants and button up.  I started my way to the kitchen him on my ankles.  

I felt clausterphobic. I opened up the windows and  started to pace back and forth on the wooden floors.

“It’s temporary. If you want a permanent telepathic bond, there is a more complex process.”

I started talking hysterically. 

“If all you say is true, why are you here? Why are you in New York city? Working as—I don’t even know what you do?! Shouldn’t you be underground somewhere conducting your experiments?”

“We have multiple underground facilities, mainly on the African continent. What you call the “black race” was our creation. Other races are claimed by others.”

“Enough!”

I stopped pacing. 

“You need to leave.”

I pointed him to the door. 

“Please.”

I turned to the kitchen, trying to turn on the lights. I flipped the switch up and down and nothing.

I frantically tried every switch in the kitchen.

No electricity.

There was a moment of silence before I heard his footsteps behind me move towards the door. 

I heard the door open, before closing softly.

He came back to where I was standing in the kitchen. 

He projected images into my mind. His home world, a planetary explosion, an evacuation, his landing on Earth,, him getting accustomed to Earth. 

These images rushed into my mind. Oh my god.

His meeting with me. The electricity. The spark that ignited inside me. The barely controlled lust. His need to complete the bond.

I felt everything. I saw everything.

He gently eased out of my mind.

I looked up at him speechless.

He spoke passionately. “I do not want to overwhelm you, but understand everything I say to you is true.”

He grasped my shoulders gently, looking into my eyes intently.

He whispered intensely, “What we shared last night was the culmination of millennia of work of our ancestors. You have absolutely no idea how special you are. Your 'quirks'? The aches, the insomnia, the telepathic abilities, the electricity? Recessive DNA activating. You're not crazy, it's your DNA. And it is only the beginning.”

I felt my heart jump in fear. 

He softened his eyes, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.”

He kept eye contact as he lowered his lips onto mine.

He gave me a gentle kiss and eased my lips open.

His right hand reached up gently massaging the front with his thumb and back with his other fingers.

His tongue played with mine before sucking it.

He eased out of my mouth. 

“When you are ready to talk, call me.”

He tapped the side of his head.

He walked to the door and closed it with finality.

I was speechless.

[eldritch-spouse]

sorry if this has been asked before, but what is it that makes demons different from other monsters?

in your universe, monsters are a result of copulation between the siadar and their creations - humans. angels aren’t actually monsters, as they were also directly created by the siadar, yet demons are also different from other monsters and have a very strong dislike towards angels.

i remember you saying something about a rebel siadar who made his own creations (not krulu) and i think that was related to peridition and its icons? i think?

[Correct, I'm going to try to condense things here.]

Hell, briefly

Long ago, when siadar were still around to oversee and manage Earth, the planet only had two annexes (dimensions, if you will) orbiting it.

Eden (Heaven) - Where celestials (angels) reside, where they conduct operations away from lessers (mainly humanity at this point), and where several casts of siadar are often found maintaining and modifying these routines.

Limbo - Where Dorem resides, where the treatment of souls that have passed on is executed and where "undead cases" were resolved.

Siadar society is notorious for being overly complex and oftentimes in constant conflict. This is a species that has lived on for longer than any human can try to quantify, and the intricacies of their own evolution has brought them to a predatorial position over many cosmos of the universe. Siadar don't always see eye to eye, the much needed yet still suffocating legislation imbued in their modus operandi being a prime source of disagreements.

There once was a Creator, a Father of renowned prowess on Earth, someone who had differing views than those of other siadar overseeing the planet. When communication failed to aid him, when it seemed as if he was being set aside for wanting to go against established plans- He diverged.

Unstoppable and swift, this siadar set to work on creating the third annex to orbit Earth, Perdition (Hell). It was different than the Hell you know today, having a much more cohesive structure and a homogeneous biome. When this siadar retreated from his brethren, he brought a group of celestials that continued to worship him through such a drastic change. These angels all willingly underwent radical transformations to become the first demons, who were utilized to lay waste to the surface (Earth), a symbol of His eternal scorn. These beings were incredibly powerful, their heinous deeds helping create the fear and hatred towards Hell that now exists.

Ever since then, a seemingly perpetual war erupted between siadar, Eden and Perdition- Wherein this defecting higher came to be known as The Betrayer, the creator and first Lord-King of Perdition. Although there never was a "Satan", the figures and concept of a supreme evil throughout history are oftentimes meant to represent him.

In a gross summary of history, Perdition and Eden warred, oftentimes even on the surface, until The Betrayer fell. Though just because their leader had fallen, didn't mean that Hell itself could be destroyed. Measures had been taken to ensure no such thing could take place. Some time after the defeat, siadar retreat from Earth entirely.

With The Betrayer seemingly dead, there's no core force holding Perdition together, the annex becomes unstable. His forces turn on each other for the chance of ultimate dominion over Hell, creating what Hudd refers to as the "Fragmentation Wars"- Wherein the annex's own instability, paired with the constant environmental impact of ceaseless war caused the annex itself to fracture into several Rings, which eventually create the structure of modern Hell.

Groups of demons retreat into different Rings, somewhat isolating themselves, creating their own cultures. Much like a stem cell that eventually becomes a very specific cell with a particular function, these demons acquired their own specialized natures known as "types" or "sins". *

* This specialization process was helped by the rank of the angels picked by Betrayer. A seraphim he picked later helped form concubi; A dominion helped create wrathful folk; Etc...

The demons of modern times differ very greatly from the ancient demons mentioned in history. Through their mingling and copulation with surfacers and monsters, they have become less "pure", losing the vast majority of the borderline angelic features their predecessors had. In turn, they have acquired a startling level of diversity.

In the end, demons differ from monsters because they continue to be creations, like angels. They were made from angels, they are twisted angels.

[lunyzare]

Do you think things would’ve been different if izuna had lived? How so?

This was in my drafts for far longer than it should have been, and I am not even sure if anon is still around following or not, but I am posting this anyway.

Interesting question. Realistically? There would be no Konoha village, because Izuna clearly disagreed with its creation (I firmly believe his reasons were justified, at least from the perspective of his clan), and Madara, from the little bit we've seen listened to Izuna's words and followed his lead/wishes.

The clans would keep fighting until one of them (or both of them) wouldn't be able to, but I am inclined to believe the Uchiha clan would end up as the inferior one (this was implied in canon in Hashirama's flashback too, although that was after Izuna's passing, so I am unsure if Izuna's death didn't also play a role). However, several points in the manga imply the Uchihas had it rough: The Uchihas are shown wearing very little armor, if any at all, while all Senju wear armor.

We also have Hashirama's first words to Madara after Izuna is injured "You cannot win against me", which clearly show the imbalance between the clans, not just between the two characters. And as I already mentioned above, the Uchiha clan, after Izuna's death, also started to fall apart, members of the clan were clearly shown with their hands above their heads, as they surrended to the Senju (all of this, by the way, shows that the existence of peaceful village where both clans would be on equal ground was doomed even before the village itself was created).

Another reason why it would be the Uchiha clan losing is because Hashirama's power was demolishing any potential enemy it came across. BUT, Hashirama's great power itself isn't the problem, the problem is that, while Hashirama's (and Tobirama's) power has no draw backs, Madara's and Izuna's do – if Madara and Izuna keep using their Mangekyo, they will eventually face the blindness.

What would therefore invetibly happen, is that Madara and Izuna would have either gone blind, or they would have to stop using their Mangekyo abbilties altogether. I am saying this again: I firmly believe both Madara and Izuna suffered from the side effects of using Mangekyo, although perhaps – due to Madara constantly fighting Hashirama (and therefore relying on his Mangekyo far more) – Madara could have suffered more severely.

Now, both scenarios are bad for the Uchiha clan. The first one is most likely obvious: if both clan heads are blind, then the Uchihas lose their leadership (and with it, the two most powerful Uchihas at the time). However the second option – not using Mangekyo Sharingan – is also quite terrible, because it weakens the clan drastically as well; the Senju (along with Tobirama's creative new Jutsus and Hashirama's immense powers) would be growing in power each fight, whereas the Uchiha clan would become stagnant at best, would have eventually lost at worst.

[ozzyd27]

Flesh Statement

*Hiii!!! My name is Ozzy! Just binged all of TMA and TMP, and thought I'd do a series of short statements regarding the powers. This is my Flesh statement!*

Ozzy Statements Episode 1: Skin Snake

Statement of Andrew Pale regarding the creation of the urban legend now known as the Skin Snake. Original statement given as a part of a letter to an anonymous individual whilst the subject was in prison, original statement given April 2nd 2023. Recorded by Ozzy, The Archivist.

Statement Begins

I've always had a habit of picking my skin, even biting it sometimes. I remember once when I was a child, maybe 6 or 7, I had stepped on something sharp and it pierced a layer of skin right on my heel. It didn't bleed, perhaps that would have persuaded me, but no. Instead I peeled back that little crater of broken skin in uneven strips, each one giving little pangs of satisfaction. I struggled to walk for a bit after that, but that didn't stop the habit from passing to my fingers. Idle, addictive, automatic, my fingers were never smooth, all fingerprints eventually worn down over years of constant picking, right to the edge of where I could. Right up to where it would bleed. It hurt a lot sometimes, my fingers became sweaty with no rivulets to hold the sweat, and that feeling of judgement from others was almost unbearable. I could have started wearing gloves, I could have done *something* but I didn't, because I didn't want to. It was just... so... satisfying.

Then one day, it started. I was picking at the crevice in between my nail and skin on my thumb, a lovely layer peeling away, nice and thick. Usually the thick ones went deep too soon, drew blood, but not this time. I curved the strip of off-white translucency down my thumb, passing over my knuckle. My habit had been idle until then, but I suddenly focused. I'd never gone that far down before. The flesh beneath my knuckle was an even brighter red than the rest of the exposed layer, but it had yet to bleed. With a hesitant mania I continued, a morbid fascination of sorts to see how far this strip would go. So I kept pulling. Further it ventured down my thumb and down my hand, until I stopped, snapping out of my curiosity with resounding shame. This was ridiculous, what would people think? An uneven fingertip they could forgive, but a stripe of self destructive crimson? The thought of their pity and judgement made me shudder. I ripped off the long unspooled thread of skin that had accumulated, in a vain attempt to prevent further growth of the red stripe.

I went to work as normal that day, simply hiding it with a long sleeved t-shirt, but it could never be that simple. Multiple times in the day I caught myself picking again at it, and by the end of the day my chair was mottled with flakes. Usually the skin has resistance to it, and so idle picking didn't do drastic damage, but now my skin practically begged to be rid of me. A simple nail under it for encouragement, and a patch as big as I desired would acquiesce and unlatch itself. My heart raced looking at my patchy monstrosity as I went home, practically my whole hand was a bare blushy mess, with loose skin and ragged tears making their way up to my elbow, as if I were wearing a long blood-red glove with a torn and frayed end.

I awoke in the middle of the night to overwhelming pain all over my body, and a piercing cold I had never felt before. I attempted to turn the light on but found I couldn't move my hands, in fact they were moving on their own. They were picking, picking all over my body, flaying strip after strip from me, skin covering the bed like hair from a malting dog. It wasn't just the arm now, it was all of me. No skin remained. All over my body, that beet red layer was visible, except only for the parts where my hands had dug deeper, clawing away further into my flesh. And yet still, it did not bleed. At one spot, on my left toe I swore I could feel bone. I don't remember any more of that night, I just remember skin, gore, viscera under my fingernails.

The next morning, I awoke as normal. Skin fully regrown, nothing left except one oh so tempting little dangly bit at the edge of my nail. Oh so tempting. And over that day I found myself flaying myself once more, and again the next day, and again the next I never left the house, instead I laid in bed, just bathing in the pure satisfaction of peeling each layer, piece by piece, until I was exhausted and could sleep, unburdened by the sack of meat which I awoke in each morning.

I became a sort of story I suppose, a tale passed by word of mouth. I think my work got concerned one day and checked in on me at my house, I didn't open the door, but they could see me on the windows. I never shut the blinds, privacy was a lesser satisfaction, one beneath me when I had such bliss already. And so they saw, not the worst of it, but enough to be disgusted. A couple of weeks passed and by that time the rumour had spread. The Skin Snake, they called me. They dared each other to look through my windows, and knock, and throw stones. It was a minor annoyance, but simple judgement could never disparage the ecstasy of my unravelings.

Sometimes I liked to indulge and have a bath, specifically in extra strong glycolic acid to make even the deepest layers of muscle and sinew slough from my bones. On this one night, a couple of months after my pleasures began, I had ordered a specific cocktail of chemicals to use in a bath. I was extra excited so when the door knocked I immediately opened it.

The kids and daredevils usually left me alone at night, too scared I suppose, so I just presumed they wouldn't be there. And the delivery drivers never stayed at the door long enough to get a good look at me. So, forgetting my... extenuating circumstances, I opened it, and the scream was deafening. It echoed in the chasm underneath my deepest flesh, embraced into the essence of my bones and soul. It was just some teenagers, and at that time of night skin was everywhere, peeled during the day. Now I'm here, in prison, they thought I murdered someone, there was so much muscle and skin and flesh in my room, under my bed, in cupboards, in the attic, the smell of rotting meat permeating my home. There was no talking my way out of that one. I pity all the others in here, I pity everyone. They don't know bliss like I do. But all this time craving, yearning in here has made me think though. Think, and desire. I'm starting to think maybe they did have the right idea. I'm starting to think maybe the terrified screams of my insolent tormentors might be the perfect seasoning for my... Satisfaction, as I claw at and rend their skin, shuddering with mania. And this time... I won't care if they bleed.

Statement ends

[tnbc-thoughtsandheadcanons]

Something that has always bothered me about The nightmare before Christmas sequels and the fandom is how Sallys abuse is never talked about or swept under the rug or down played as not that bad. The movie does a great way how showing how abusers can deceive peoplelike every thing is fine but nothing really is. The Dr only hurts Sally when no one is looking or when they are alone and unfortunately when Jack is around he puts on a act like he’s a good guy that would never hurt anyone so Jack is not suspicious Sally is in Danger. I understand this is a difficult subject but I believe one that should be talked about. Sallys story is one of hope that things can and will get better ❤️‍🩹 and that you are not tethered to your abuser. 

I believe I've talked about it before, how Sally's situation with the Doctor can be looked at through the lens of abuse, much like Lock, Shock, and Barrel with Oogie Boogie. Dr. Finkelstein is well-liked among his fans, who have arguments against the whole 'abuse' thing, but I think it's an interesting discussion worth having from its complexities. It doesn't get much focus in many Nightmare adaptations at all.

The Doctor is overprotective and overbearing - as his expectations for Sally are not to join in on the Halloween celebrations (which is Halloween Town's most beloved time + purpose), and from that we can surmise that he doesn't allow her much freedom outside of the tower. His punishment to her is locking her in her room with a gigantic piece of wood over the door, for how long is undetermined, but it leads to Sally's escape being something drastic like jumping out of a window.

He treats Sally's restless behavior as a "phase that will pass", with enough "patience". But, really, what is Sally's 'restless behavior' beyond just wanting to go outside and join in on the fun? To meet people, to make friends? Dr. Finkelstein, whether intentionally or not, is trying to cage Sally and enforce that her 'acceptable' behavior is to be content living and serving him, and not seeking a life outside of him and the tower.

There is some emotional manipulation you can see in the movie between the Doctor and Sally, and it comes across a little more clearly in Caroline Thompson's Draft:

And abusers can be good or even well-liked people. The Doctor and Jack clearly have a friendship, or they at least get along well, as Jack comes to him for some lab equipment and seeks his help with the skeletal reindeer, and the Doctor is kind and welcoming to him in return. It's not really clear whether or not Jack *knows* how Sally is being treated at home, in both recent Nightmare books it's addressed and received badly by Jack (who wants to fix the situation), but it could be very easily guessed he may not notice anything if Sally doesn't talk about it and the Doctor presents nothing as wrong. (The Doctor does pull Sally away during Halloween, trying to be quiet about taking her back, so he may not want to make a scene with her and have others know their situation.)

Sally taking the initiative to escape on her own, to use her wits and learn special concoctions to poison Dr. Finkelstein with (a little morally-gray though), and re-sewing her dismembered limbs on is empowering and teaches us that you can overcome your obstacles. What she and the Doctor have is definitely far from a healthy relationship, and something some abused people can relate to - Finkelstein's emotional manipulations and caging Sally inside as a servant, and her poisoning and escaping him in response to these things.

I am glad Sally ends up freeing herself in the end, and that she finds a life away from Finkelstein. I like seeing Nightmare fan-material addressing what Sally has gone through and how she learns to heal + grow from her time with the Doctor, and I also like seeing the same for him in return, to treat his newer creation better and learn from his mistakes and become a better person through it. I don't think he's necessarily a 'villain' in any sense, but a person whose intentions and actions are abusive, as they cause much more harm than good.

[rakubalka]

The Clover Kingdom is actually a military dictatorship with some pieces of meritocracy .

I mean the king is essentially a puppet head with the wizard king as the actual leader of the kingdom .

Also did anyone ever thought as to what being a magic knight means there ? Because the only thing I myself can think of is the military . And it actually makes a lot of sense .

Different branches of the military sure but military nonetheless .

Idk what each squad specializes in canon but I can answer in this au at least .

It consists of the following :

Golden Dawn - Special Operations or Backup . Technically are considered "light" backup , at least in comparison to the Bulls .

Black Bulls - Same as the Golden Dawn the difference is that they are more destructive and unpredictable and the "heavy" backup . Their smaller numbers are actually an advantage in the instance as it allows for faster and easier maneuvers .

Silver Eagles - Mainly deals with the noble population . They also act as the capital city guard but that's comes second . Are "technically" the king's guards as well but no one gives a fuck about him .

Crimson Lions - Essentially the Clover Kingdoms police force . They mainly coordinate with city guards as to what happens where and keeping record for criminals .

Blue Roses - Technically one of two patrolling squads even if their captain Charlotte is also running the Green Mantis.

Green Mantis - Same as the Blue Roses . The two squads qualifications for captain are normally and historically the hardest for there to find even 1 proper captain for the squads , this generation specifically is actually is one of the very rare instances of having two captains who pass with no problems , as this type of squads have to interact with the common people the most and with classism not being exactly unrare in the Clover Kingdom it unfortunately means a very small percentages of nobles can actually pass .

Coral Peacock - Jailers and working with the justice system in the Kingdom . But mainly cooperate with the Crimson Lions .

Purple Orcas - Economics and information gathering . The only reason the previous captain got the position was because of clever use of information and the fact that his squad is not combat focused .

Azure Deer - Mainly acts as archives keepers . Until Rill got the qualifications of captain both Julius and Mark had to act in the place of a proper captain as they were previously captains so they have the training .

If anyone is curious as to why I haven't put any of the other older squads that is because of the way the military of the Clover Kingdom works or more specifically has worked for roughly the past 500 years .

Before the solidification of the title of the wizard king the military was something we are more familiar with , consisting of multiple branches dealing with similar issues as the ones today . However around the time of the first few wizard kings the military structure of the military changed drastically . Partially to help in the creation of more candidates for wizard king and as a way to alleviate older nobles who need to take over their families as heads or to focus on their marriage . It also acted as a good way to get people who are too old to continue to be of actual use when their magic can barely keep them alive because of how old they are to stop hoarding positions of power .

As a result it allowed the current way of the Clover Kingdom to form .

The way being that of :

Getting young people with potential into the magic knight allowing for them to be nurtured and molded into either future house heads , captains or even a few lucky ones as wizard kings .

Allowing for there to almost always be at least one possible candidate for wizard king as their rein lasts between 10 to 30 years .

Allows for young talents to take the position of captain and establish their own squad and even power base . Squad can also be passed down if the captain either feels they have found a suitable replacement or successor or if the captain has committed a crime and the squad needs a new captain .

Also when a new wizard king is appointed new squads get formed or the squad gets reformed as in the case of the Deer .

Also being a squad captain does come with a lot of benefits one of them being a very strong political power base something that Charlotte is after . The fact that no one of the house of Kira has served in the magic knight for multiple generations is actually one of the reasons as to why despite being the royal family currently ruling they are considered nowhere as important as the other 3 royal families .

Also if someone thinks this is unrealistic as there are more people capable of running squad need I remind you that the VAST percentage of magic knight even today is nobles as Zara roughly 20 years ago became the FIRST magic knight of peasant origin , before him literally everyone was noble .

[letterboxd-in]

The Never-King // Chapter 1:

"Once Upon A Time"

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

this chapter is a letterbox archives original. do not repurpose.

this chapter of the never-king contains death, blood, slight mutilation, and violence. please proceed with caution if these topics are distressing.

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

This is the perfect story.

Once upon a time, there was a world in need of saving. And there was a hero ready to save it.

In a regular village, unremarkable in every aspect but one, the sun crested over the horizon. A perfect creation of pure light, shining on a perfect world. The mornings came early, but never too early, and the days were long, just as long as they needed to be.

But, there was an incomprehensible threat on the horizon. Something stalked the people’s world. It threatened every doctrine, every tradition, every ideal. The notion of something new, something radically different, something evil… Well, the townspeople were helpless. Thankfully, a hero was arriving. One mightier than king and country. But his morning began as any other before it, and all others after.

Verity was his name. He woke seamlessly, as if waking and sleeping were two sides of one coin that he could easily travel between. He woke alone, in a grand tower.

He lived in a tower, you see – the ultimatum of which pierced the very sky. Each brick was purposefully laid, one upon the other. The windows were explicitly carved. No glass separated the rigid precipice from the outside sky. The sky was perfectly blue every day.

Verity’s mentor was nowhere to be found. But that didn’t matter – this isn’t his story.

Verity wandered through the place, tracing his fingertips along the stone wall. He was, admittedly, a bit aimless before acting on his purpose – a little vague, perhaps. But nothing too important. There was not much to do except save the world. All for the better.

On one wall, a sword was propped up. Perfectly elegant on its stand, both a weapon and a tool. Peace and war melded together in one blade. A blade only fit for the finest warrior to wield. Taking it from its place, Verity also retrieved a file. Upon taking a seat, he scraped the edge of his sword along it, the silver glint of the blade scarring the light it reflected. His left arm glided along its edge, guiding the file as an archer does an arrow. As it became sharper and sharper, so did he. It was more than a weapon to him; it was an extension of his power. He held it like one holds their own arm.

It was his purpose. The sword was the path to it. The sun rose and rose, and once Verity was prepared, he set out on that path.

The dirt track out of the village was one unsullied by unworthy footsteps. The locals were unremarkable, but they weren’t stupid. Not every path is safe for the everyday person. And yet, Verity walked it with perfect, practised mastery. Though that was not the challenge he needed to face, we must document every planned step.

And the next. And the next. And the next.

And the path disappeared like that. As soon as it was in front of him, it had already passed. Destiny is impatient like that. Humble countryside gave way to darkness, rigidity, and evil. The sky fell dark, but the day was young. The flowers shrivelled up and died, but they seemed well cared for. And fast approaching was a lurking lair. Verity regarded it appropriately; with apprehension and a quiet hatred. It is that perspective that makes heroes.

The lair rolled like a bleeding lesion, spreading its woundedness across the plains. All that was grazed by its presence shunned the light. Weak little things, blades of grass, insects rummaging through the dirt. Drastically separated from something like Verity, grand even in the most dire circumstance.

Once his footfall was muffled by marble steps, it was as if the entire world fell silent. The door between Verity and his fated success towered over him. Beautiful ebony wood scarred by blades of warriors long dead.

At this door, Verity paused. Waiting for something to happen, maybe, forgetting that he was the one wholly in control.

Destiny awaits.

But Verity remained frozen. His sword limp at his side, grip faltering.

The story needs its conclusion. The happily ever after.

So open the door.

The door, laughingly inferior to him once he came to his senses, opened without a sound, and revealed a lair fit for a villain. There were no henchmen – maybe away, more likely sacrificed – only a gentle, chilling breeze that carried through the corridor, making the curtains hiss as they shifted. Each hallway coiled into itself, a snake refusing to shed its deceased hide. The scaly walls pulled tight, outlining a destined path. Verity pushed past the suffocating feeling of it all and continued forward. A whole life spent walking forward for one moment, eventually one forgets how to stop.

Yet Verity was not designed to stop. His footsteps, a gentle but steadfast tap, were all that filled the lair as he proceeded.

All the rooms to the side were empty, if he thought to check. Intuitively, instinctually, he knew that nothing of importance waited anywhere except forwards.

Forwards still. The lair stretched further. Verity continued. Stretching and stretching, contorting into something new – like it didn’t want to house this story’s hero. Verity continued, despite the pulling and shifting and stretching. It would stop eventually, of this he was well aware. His legs had walked for what seemed like days, but Verity felt nothing. There was no sturdier base upon which he could carry himself.

The snakeskin trail ran out soon enough. Verity blinked for the first time since he’d woken that morning, only then realising his vision had been clouded for quite some time.

“I’ve been expecting you,” a voice cut through the fog, “it’s been ever so long since I had company.”

Sitting on a throne, unassuming but ever so villainous, the final threat loitered. They were everything one would read about in fairy tales. A creature born of suffering, dedicated to it in absolution. And Entropy was their name.

Entropy was not a small beast. Far from it, the throne cowered as it stood next to them. Limbs wrapped around their throne, Entropy wore hollow eyes and sickly fair skin. Their lithe figure looked to be made of fortified glass, massive yet easy to manoeuvre, splintered exactly to allow for all the dexterity a beast such as themselves required. Reflected in that glassy frame was the face of every sorrow seen by all humanity.

Verity did not speak. He did not need to. The goal was clear, standing right in front of him. With a neck, ever so pristine, attached faintly to a head at the top, and shoulders at the bottom. A thin neck. A thin throat. One remarkably easy to slit.

”Just here to gawk?” scoffed Entropy. “Pity. Your head will look gorgeous mounted on my wall, boy.”

And taunting him, no less.

Entropy slithered away from their false throne, limbs cracking like splintered mirrors as they moved.

Verity had lopped the heads off snakes before. This, he presumed, would be no different.

Whilst Entropy snapped into action, Verity twisted. Both creatures were poised for such a battle, but one held themselves as a warrior – the other as a monster. And Entropy did not bear a blade. Whatever foul weapon they would have employed, they did not reveal fast enough.

Steel slit skin. Verity did not hesitate. A battlefield machine; or perhaps a toy soldier.

He stabbed and cut and sliced at the villain. Entropy did not cry in pain. Rather, they allowed themselves that one horrible thing. They allowed themselves to splinter.

But not to die. Not yet.

It isn’t the perfect story if there isn’t strife before the happily ever after.

Verity dodged each swipe with perfect precision. He was a raging thunder in the fight, relentless and lethal. And the sword? It moved exactly as it should.

First were thin slashes against Entropy’s limbs. To distract.

Then were intricate parries and blocks. To disarm.

It was all a puzzle, a puzzle Verity knew better than himself. And because of that, the fight was beautiful. The blood was the paint, the coarse ground the frame. Verity the artist, Entropy both muse and canvas.

Visceral wounds flooded both their visions. Verity was unharmed. It was his battle, as it is his story.

Entropy regressed when he swung against their face. Like one had thrown a rock at a mirror. Between the eyes. Above the nose. Shattering. The blood poured out in rivulets.

Perhaps Entropy wanted to say something then, to curse their destiny. Verity did not allow that. There was no break between slashes. Each strike was its own statement, carving out that dreaded canvas, leaving crimson gore in its wake. Flesh unwound itself. Seeing the wounds grow only motivated Verity more.

The fight did not last long. It couldn’t fill but one page in this tale.

And yet, when Verity plunged his sword into Entropy’s gut, the weight of lifetimes was washed away. The dual that coiled and spun, the dual that had enraptured him, the thrill of that was over. He held true as Entropy choked on their blood and bile.

“Is that all?” Said they with a broken voice.

Verity did not grace them with a reply. Entropy’s eyes fell, tracing along the floor.

“This will not go unpunished…” said they, “I won’t let it.”

Verity did not respond. He did not look away.

“If you will not perform penance upon yourself—”

With a snap, Entropy clutched his dominant arm, the one holding his sword.

“Then I shall do it for you.”

And for the first time since Verity began, he felt pain. Something tore apart at the seams, he did not dare to look. A deafening crack sent shockwaves up his body. Bone marrow trickled onto the ground. And the pain ran through him like a forest fire. It was undeniable, all-consuming, and for a moment, eternal.

Wait. That isn’t right. That isn’t the story.

And yet, the hero’s blood stained the floor as his arm was ripped off. Torn from the rest of him, it fell limp by his side, as did his sword, as did Entropy; their final act taken.

But this is the perfect story. I won’t have the hero stopped because of some spontaneous amputation.

Luckily, as if the threads of fate themselves had been rewound for this very moment, Verity remembered he had a roll of bandages in his pocket, and removed it.

“I don’t recall bringing this…” said he.

Isn’t it funny how the story weaves itself?

Without a single breath of confusion, Verity haphazardly unrolled the bandages and began patching himself up. The pain stung, that first sensation long gone and replaced with a dull, buzzing ache, painful all the same, but easier to ignore. Pain was young in the hero’s heart. It was new. And, with the reality of his injury becoming clear, Verity would do anything to avoid it.

With a dollmaker’s precision, Verity barred the bleeding. He did not utter a word, nor cry as he worked. In a way, it was like filing his blade. He pushed away the thought that claimed he’d never be able to wield it again, and treated his arm as he did his sword – taking the utmost care to curb all the damage done, ensuring it wouldn’t worsen or happen again. He focused his racing thoughts on the warmth of his blood; it reminded him he was alive and wholly human. Small chunks of flesh and shards of bone hung limp at the point of contact. He picked them off as if they were nothing.

Once the job had reached its conclusion, Verity sighed; it reminded him he was alive, still. The amateur tourniquet held tight. Tight enough, at least. It would do until Verity could finish this story and return to his mentor.

The lair wasn’t much of a sight with its leader dead. Though, it is wrong to call a tyrant a leader. So Verity walked to the next room, past another towering door. He stepped over Entropy’s body. It was nothing more than dust upon the wind.

One setback would not stop the story from ending. There is nothing without the story, which is why Verity shirked the pain and made his way through the lair, approaching its peak. There was seldom a need to consider the rest of the lair, for even as it pulled itself higher and higher, Verity knew what he sought was at the very top.

“Really?” Said he, a twinge of annoyance in his voice as he bore witness to the growing spire.

That is what the story demands, however, so our dutiful hero will certainly deliver.

And deliver he did. The lair, more of a tower now than anything else, fought to grow taller still. And yet, as it crawled and strained, doing all it could to stay out of his reach, Verity climbed nonetheless. Admittedly, it took far longer than it normally would have – the way the lair clawed its way to the heavens, a foolish attempt to save itself, time passed far quicker, and more time was spent. Yet Verity, ever the precious soldier, pursued the top like it was second nature.

There’s something so beautifully intimate about finishing your lot, isn’t there?

“Curse the gods,” said he, “when will this end?”

Once Verity reached the spire’s ultimatum – without a single drop of ingratitude, might I add – he pushed past the final doors, and laid eyes upon the damsel he was sent to rescue.

What a sight she was. Stained lips that would curl into the brightest, longest smile, if she let it be, a body small and thin enough it may snap in the breeze, brittle as it appeared. A stunning dress flowed off her frame, coated in warm, crimson red dye. No doubt Verity fell instantly in love.

“Um…” said he, under his breath, “alright. Let’s finish this, then.”

He beheld the damsel with nothing short of instant affection. He– well, no, not like that. Why did he–? Um… Verity, who was very much in love with the damsel before him, approached her. Her ears pricked hearing the footsteps, and she… flinched? No, that isn’t right. She made no indication of fear or trepidation, in fact, she remained perfectly in place. And Verity, too, he made no indication of noticing anything was amiss, because nothing was. He slipped the damsel’s bindings with the steel tongue of his sword. Her pink lips parted slightly, as if she was drawing her first breath in quite some time. First her wrists, then legs, then the mask covering her eyes. Verity moved with a slower precision than normal, taking time not to startle the damsel, as she shivered upon the blade’s touch. But that’s ridiculous. The damsel was perfectly fine. She knew very well that Verity was her hero, and he meant no harm.

“Stay away,” said she, once she was able to speak, “please. I don’t mean you harm.”

“Nor do I.” Said he.

The damsel’s voice quivered as she used it. She held each part of herself close, teeth bared.

“I won’t live through it again. I won’t.”

Verity paused. He knew not of what she was referring to but did not treat her any different. He lowered his sword.

“Then you won’t. I can ensure that.”

The damsel’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’m the hero.” Said he.

“They all say that.” Said she.

Verity fell quiet. That was entirely untrue – who else could claim they were the hero besides him? Who dressed themselves in false robes that he had lived to earn, and earned to live?

The grip around his blade tightened, though he did not raise it again. Holding it in his other hand was supremely foreign to him. A swelling, acidic feeling in his gut, and the echo of an aching pain in his heart told him this was all wrong. He swallowed all the discontent, meeting the damsel’s eye again.

“I would offer my hand, but…” he gestured to his wound, “I’m indisposed, I fear.”

She looked between him and the stump where his arm used to be, unimpressed.

“If you’re the hero, why are you wounded so?”

“I…”

“I expected a swift, unsullied victory, is all. And you seem rather…” said she, “sullied.”

Verity smiled. “No such thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, not I,” said he, giving a bow. Balance betrayed him, causing a slight wobble.

The damsel smirked, yet the expression swiftly faded as she recoiled into her usual demeanour. She drew her eyes up, to the corners of the tower she’d found herself imprisoned in. Within those walls, there were no windows, no colour, no furniture, no traces of significance to be found. And the damsel had been trapped there for… how long? The entirety of the story, as far as Verity knew. Bearing witness to this prison, a strange feeling overtook him. It was not sadness, or sympathy, but something that melded both together. It was not grief, as to grieve you must know loss – which Verity did not.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Said she, words softer than the silk she wore. “I miss it.”

“Miss what, my lady?”

“I’m no lady,” said she, her eyes unfocused and glancing between the lines in the bricks, “I miss the world. I still know it, perhaps.”

With that, perhaps against the judgement of a stoic hero, Verity’s heart softened. He sank to one knee, placing his sword between the two of them, head bowed. The subtle chill of the floor beneath didn’t bother him.

“Could I trouble you to carry my sword?” Said he, dressing himself with his most knightly voice. “I will lead you out of here with my free hand.”

The damsel did not reply for quite some time. Verity kept his eyes on the ground, sword just out of his line of sight. Once his piece was spoken, he let her make the final choice.

He did not raise his head until he heard the scrape of his blade against the rough floor, the metal whining as it was picked up.

“Fine,” said the damsel, trying to let the venom sneak back into her voice, yet she fell short.

She extended her free hand to Verity, who took it, giving her a gentle smile.

Alright. Seems we are back on track now. Yes, of course, this is the perfect story, so there should be no more–er, I mean, no detours. At all.

Leading the damsel out with the one hand he still had, Verity brought her through the spire, down staircase after staircase, falling closer to the earth with each passing step. And nothing was amiss.

However… soon Verity found himself unsure if the aching, the lurching sickness, all the strain he felt as they walked, was emotion or reaction. He held his tongue, ensuring he wouldn’t say anything to harm his image. To appear anything less than perfectly heroic would be a disgrace to the story.

“Are you alright?” Said the damsel.

“Hm?”

“Your bandages,” said she, “they’re slipping.”

“Are they now?” Said Verity, maintaining as much poise as he could with acid boiling in his throat. “Isn’t that fascinating.”

The damsel shifted awkwardly, deigning to forget her maiden’s personality.

“Won’t you rebind them?”

“Oh, this old thing? No, this shall suffice.”

Verity held his gaze forward. He did not turn his head, so he did not see the damsel’s consternation. The sky rolled above them, rivulets of pale blue. Verity began to look up, when the lair welcomed windows back into its design, however, he faltered as a bout of nausea choked him. Like a plague of locusts swarmed within, though he hid it well.

“You seem ill,” said the damsel.

“Impossible,” said Verity.

Each corridor became malformed in his vision. Even his hands grew difficult to hold. But nothing was wrong. Verity pushed through, ignoring everything but the directive. The story is so close to its conclusion. Once the damsel is free – properly free – the story shall end.

So Verity led on, doing his best to forget. Heroes don’t bleed, after all.

“You’re bloodied.”

“Is that so?” He hardly dignified it with a glance. “Well.”

“Well, what?”

Verity traced the wall of the manor with his eyes, as he so often did within his own home. Nonchalantly, he took all the pain in staggeringly aware strides.

“Well, I’m not concerned about that, my lady,” said he.

Bandages stained by carnage dripped crimson and peeled away. The damsel regarded it with nothing short of abject horror, her thoughts of her valiant saviour turning to concern.

“I’ve taken part in my fair share of duels.”

“Did those duels result in you losing an arm, or was that a condition of entry?”

A fuzzy, lightheaded adrenaline set in. The illusion of confidence festered beside it, mixing into a… unique thought pattern.

“Nonsense,” said he with a scoff, “is it… ah. Quite the long day it’s been.”

The damsel’s brow creased. “Pardon?”

“Normally I have more energy. Of course, battling the villain that stole you was draining, yes, but not to this degree. It’s… unlike what I expected.”

Her eyes settled on the reddened bandages.

“You’re bleeding. Quite a bit.”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself with that,” said he, before speaking thus, “is it winter already?”

“Spring,” corrected she.

Verity did not grace the damsel with a reply. Still being led to her freedom, she couldn’t help but notice all the injury, the imperfections, the flaws, within her saviour. It made him feel awfully… human.

“Your hand is colder than the sword.”

“Do you think that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He sighed then, failing to note how much effort it cost him to expel so much breath at once. Thankfully, the lair’s first set of doors crested into view soon after. Finally, no more setbacks. No more unscripted nonsense. The story can finally end as it should.

“Well, this is the exit,” said he, “and thank the gods for its fast approach. I’m terribly–dare I say it, terribly…”

“Terribly what?” Inquired she.

With great pause, Verity leaned against one wall, the cool stone grazing against his uninjured side. The damsel allowed her hand to slip from his, watching as he shifted.

“... Tired.”

The damsel moved to him, brushing her fingertips along his wounded arm, “are you—”

“Yes,” said he, “never better.”

He pushed her away, shielding the injury as he did. As if it were a strange, precious jewel that he refused to let anyone touch. The crimson trail continued with the same strength as before, but the hue… changed. It contorted into a much darker, ebony ink.

“You don’t seem to be so,” said she.

“Does it matter? We’ve made it. Now, if you’d be so kind, my lady, would you please open the doors? I would, you see, but… well…”

“Yes, you needn’t explain.”

The damsel did exactly as she was told, stepping away from Verity to face the doors of the lair, the doors that held the entire world behind them. Freedom absolute. She took a sharp breath, ready to accept her saving, her salvation.

Her hands reached the doors and pushed them open. The sun greeted them, a bright and joyful symbol.

And with that, we reach our happily ever aft–

Wait.

No. What’s happened now?

What is this? Blood? Upon the hero’s flesh? No, that isn’t right. I can feel what he is, and there’s… well, in his head there isn’t much emotion. Just a pervasive, draining lightness. And in his chest, in his heart, there is… defeatedness. The kind that could will an army to forfeit without so much as first blood. There is a growing sickness, but now? Snuffed out, a flame extinguished, and with it, everything else. Where did the purpose die? Surely it was not so, I can feel it well, he did not want that. He did not want it to end like this; he hardly saw the ending as it came.

No. This is not how the perfect story ends. It shall not – will not – end with the hero’s passing. There is no happily ever after to be had if there is no ‘ever after’ at all.

We… we will simply try again. Rewrite the pages, unspill the ink. This story was not spun in stone, so it is not set. Each mistake only exists so long as the words that spoke them are not spoken over. But I can interrupt the ever-marching chorus. It is my duty, as the narrator and storyteller.

Just once more. A second chance. Nothing will go wrong this time.

ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ ─── ⲥⲁⲥⲟⲉⲧⲏⲉ𝛓 𝛓ⲥꞅⲓⲃⲉⲛⲇⲓ

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[alicelufenia]

Book 3 finished, and oh my god there is so MUCH

Many thoughts below

So my thoughts from finishing book 2 that this 3rd part would mark the true "conclusion" to this"first" story in the series was right on the money. Even in keeping with the "Pattern of 3" that's so prominent in the setting, book 1 literally ends on a draw, book 2 sees one success after another, while book 3 is where our "heroine" (villain? protagonist?) truly fails, in some big ways. As with many tales of woe, it begins with the Fae.

I've already hinted at comparisons to the Fair Folk from the Exalted tabletop rpg in a previous post, but it needs to be said MAN these Fae are REALLY SIMILAR to Jenna Moran's Raksha huh. To the degree where I was looking side eyed at some parts. They're not literally the same as Exalted's Fair Folk tho. Yes they're elemental themed but not in the same ways (more based on seasons than classical elements), yes they are less people and more magic receptacles for stories, but it's not like Jenna invented that interpretation of the fae. More importantly, rather than being completely anathema to Creation, they are more "to the side of Creation" and bare some unspecified connection to the Gods, their dwelling of Arcadia being like a prototype version of Creation. Plus in this setting mortals are also ruled by stories, just in the form of fate, the Named, and their Roles, whereas Fae are beholden to stories, to the point where it can completely override their will (good point to keep in mind for later)

Another point before I get into it, this book was LONG, to the point where it felt like two books in one. It's twice as long as book 1, so there's some truth to that. Not a point against it, just that it pretty cleanly divides the story between the "Arcadia arc" and the "Diabolist arc".

To start, the entire dealing with Arcadia was a nice mix of action and intrigue, culminating in an incredible duel, and later a fantastic series of battles that, far from being a side quest, proved to be utterly integral to the main plot, and Catherine's development. Her mantle of Duchess of the Moonless Night, and later of pretty much all of the (former) Winter Court, proved to be a drastic change in her very being that shows no signs of being reversed, unlike her "undead gambit" she used in book 2. The time for flawless victories has passed; every point of progress in this book cost her more, and more.

By the very end of the book it is not even clear whether she is still Named, in the traditional sense, but rather she is definitely more Fae than mortal, possibly full Fae even. She's so changed that wards designed to keep out the Fae now work on her, and she can feel thresholds and boundaries as tangible things that are difficult to deal with, even in relationships (oh I'll get to her and Kilian, don't worry).

And the oaths! Oh friends who know me know I LOVE me a good binding oath that borders on pathological (why I like fucked up paladins so much) I adored the bond she made with Hakram so much in book 2 he catapulted to my second favorite character, now here she makes at least three or four extremely juicy oaths, one which nearly ends her, and the rest we'll have to see later. And now that she's part/mostly/fully fae, those oaths are ingrained in her that she doesn't think she could break them if she wanted to.

Which is so fascinating, because alongside all of that, we see the first long term consequences of her actions, and the eroding of her moral scruples, of the lines she's willing to cross. While I had my arguments against during book 2, I think we can safely say by now that Catherine Foundling is indeed Evil, and not just in the sense of Evil being a faction, but down to how she views the world and treats others. That's not to say she doesn't care for anyone, or that she's just as bad as other villains (the Diabolist arc will rid us of that illusion), but she's definitely not a good person. But damned if that isn't a hard pill to swallow.

She wants to be a good person of course—her entire motivation jumpstarted off picking what she saw as the path of least harm. And then just overnight Akua, now the Diabolist, commits mass genocide on an entire Callowan city, turning 100,000 innocent citizens into her undead army, using a secret super weapon stolen from the Tower, and her own ghoulish designs, purely out of spite towards Catherine swearing to make her suffer beyond death if she harms them.

The horror and totality of that loss only gets to really hit her at the end following Akua's death. While this proves Cat has moral lines she won't cross that separates her from Diabolist—who literally tried to "not so different” speech at her because the audacity of this bitch—she still acknowledges her responsibility in the massacre, Akua's appointment as Governess of Liesse being part of her bargaining to beat her at the end of book 2, with the assumption that she'd be swiftly removed and dealt with.

Instead Malicia, as we find out in the aftermath, allowed Diabolist to build up her power base, in a gambit that she'd produce a weapon dangerous enough to deter Procer and the Principate from launching the tenth Crusade. This shatters Cat's trust, in Malicia and Black, that they tacitly allowed this to happen, and she wonders if she really chose the path of least harm if she's on the side that just might let a Callowan city get effectively nuked every other year.

What was most surprising was that this marked a fallout between Black and Malicia. While the Empress wanted to keep the weapon, and agreed to make Catherine Queen of Callow as part of reparations, Black sees it as a magnet for the biggest and strongest Heroes to come out of the woodwork and destroy everything they built. And I can't help but feel he's right, but also when he destroys the array controlling the weapon, that does ensure the Crusade is coming, and there will still be Heroes with them regardless. After a breaking of bonds where Cat stabs him in the stomach rather than kill him like he expected (a scar to remember me by), she is crowned Queen and prepares for war. Her connection with the Tower now frayed to near breaking, but the sheer cult of personality she's built keeps everyone in the fold.

Speaking of, I finally want to talk about her break up with Kilian. I went into book 3 still worried about their future. No longer the doubt that she could be a spy, that plot point does get wrapped up and none of the spies are known characters. However, the tension reaches a breaking point for our favorite couple when Catherine leaves Kilian (one of her senior staff) out of her senior staff meeting where she declares she's doing a spot of treason. Which Kilian later guesses it's cause she didn't want to risk Kilian threatening to break up with her in the meeting and throw off her game convincing her senior staff not to mutiny. Which, ouch. She feels like Cat doesn't trust her, just like how she left out Commander Hune too whom she doesn't trust (double ouch). AND she went into Arcadia without Kilian, a quarter-fae who could have helped, but she saw the non-Named as a liability (triple ouch). She offers the possibility of performing a blood sacrifice ritual that could turn her into full Fae, that would make her no longer a liability, which Cat staunchly refuses because she sees the practice as a disgusting disregard for life a "line she won't cross". They stop seeing each other for months.

I was dying to know the outcome of this fighting. I was one who wanted to see them make up somehow, if only cause it's rare to see a couple in fiction fight and make up, rather than break up immediately. Maybe it's cause I've only been in one relationship, that has lasted decades and seen us both through the best and worst of our lives, and we've made it work even though we don't always agree, or do/say the right things. But that makes me want to see people reconcile, I guess. So I assumed they would.

The chapter where they finally talk again is one of my favorites, tho very little of consequence to the story happens, but to Cat's and Kilian's character, very much. I don't know how many would be reading this that haven't already read through the series by now, at least to this point, but if you are you probably don't mind spoilers so I'd highly recommend reading this chapter which focuses on their talk, and eventual breakup. It requires little other context, and is such a good piece of prose exposing just how emotionally shut out our Catherine has gotten. I was as surprised as Kilian when she admits she'd used Kilian as a kind of refuge from the dark shit, so when Kilian made it clear she doesn't share the same ethics it felt like a betrayal, which wasn't fair to put on the mage. And then it makes so much sense that she'd be upset when Cat tries to turn this into a "so do you still want to do this thing I hate in order to be close to me" conversation.

Kilian, like Hune, isn't like the others that have been pulled into Cat's circle. She will serve as Senior Mage so long as the legion holds, for that is what she's the best at. But she has no interest in being "a horse you have to break or a hound you have to feed" to be a part of Cat's circle of Big Damn Villains. She was paramour to the Squire/Black Queen for a while, and she got left behind for it, when all she wanted was to be girlfriends with Catherine Foundling because she liked her, not the Name, and for a while was happy.

And isn't that the fucking tragedy of it all.

Kilian never wanted to break up, wanted to forget about the ritual and not see Cat use it to self-flagellate, to go on about how she's crossed lines so she shouldn't have held others to standards she doesn't meet. She wanted Cat to just be a person while it was the two of them, and Cat simply can't anymore. She's too afraid of failing, herself and everyone she's dragged with her, if she's not perfect in her vigilance, if she doesn't live up to the Name and titles given to her. And THEN after all that, has the GALL to say she loves her as she's saying goodbye which just breaks Kilian's heart 😭

You wanna know the best part? The very next chapter Cat has a debate with a priest of the House of Light about her definition of Evil. Cat says Evil refuses to play by the rules. Evil means seeing the powers trying to keep her controlled, tell her what to do or where to be, and decides she should be able to do what she wants, to live how she wants, and will kill for that right.

And the priest responds "I didn't think you would be so prone to fear," and Cat thinks she doesn't get the point??

Like, CAT. It's just like you were saying to your ex! And you don't see the connection there?? She really is losing her humanity, and the barometer for it was losing her connection with Kilian until they had to break up 😢

Needless to say I EAT THIS SHIT UP. Of all the most important lines Cat could have crossed, perhaps it's this one that's the most important.

Do I still expect them to make up? Not really, I think that ship has sailed. It would take a humongous amount of self-healing for Cat to be in an emotional position to be that vulnerable, and most importantly she'd have to forgive herself, which I don't see anytime soon. I almost wish Kilian moves on by then, for the added lesson of acceptance on top of that. But in the meantime we've got a lot more wars to fight and a lot more atrocities to commit, so that will have to wait.

See you all again after book 4! If I can finish before my post-surgery recovery is over (the only way I've been able to tear through these books so fast)

[ekat-fandom-blog]

List of Danny's powers:

Accelerated Healing (quickly heal and regenerate bodily tissue and organs damaged as a result of injuries)

Paranormal Immunity (resist the effects of certain or all ghost powers)

Supernatural Agility (respond to changes in the body's position with balance, bodily coordination, speed, reflexes, strength and endurance)

Supernatural Durability (incredibly resistant to damage)

Supernatural Endurance (endure vastly beyond what is naturally possible)

Supernatural Equilibrium (balance oneself more accurately and for longer duration what is naturally possible)

Supernatural Reflexes (drastically better reaction time than what is naturally possible)

Supernatural Speed (move and react at extraordinary physical speed, beyond those of normal humans)

Supernatural Stamina (indefinitely go on without sustenance, such as food or drinks)

Supernatural Strength (have and exert a level of physical strength or force much greater than what their body would allow than that of a normal person)

Flight (hover and move in the air at will)

Ghost Ray (attack by releasing ecto-energy)

Intangibility (pass through solid objects)

Invisibility (render one's body undetectable to the naked eye)

Overshadowing (possess a human, animal, or object and control its actions)

Spectral Body Manipulation (manipulate the size and shape of one's body)

Telekinesis (move objects without being in physical contact with them, by using ecto-energy)

Teleportation (move instantaneously from one location to another)

Cryokinesis (create, control and manipulate ice and snow, frost and sleet, hail and cold at will and mold into any shape and form)

Duplication (make duplicates of one's body or parts of one's body)

Pyrokinesis (generate and control fire)

Electrokinesis (generate and manipulate pure electrical/lightning-like energy into any shape or form.)

Ecto-Energy Constructions (generate constructs such as weapons and tools out of solid ecto-energy)

Energy Strike (attack by releasing ecto-energy)

Exorcism (forcefully remove ghosts from the body, object, or location they are possessing through)

Ghost Sense (sense a nearby ghost or half ghost)

Ghost Shield (barriers made of solidified ecto-energy)

Ghost Stinger (shock an enemy with ecto-energy released in the form of electricity)

Going Ghost (lets the user transform into their half ghost self)

Power Augmentation (enhance the powers of oneself)

Reality Warping (manipulate reality) (does he actually have this one or is it just the reality gauntlet that allowed him to do so?)

Ghostly Wail (generate an extremely powerful sonic blast)

Intangibility Fusion (fuse together objects, and/or people that are separate or opposite to one another)

Photokinesis (project light)

Repulsion Field (send out a pulse of energy in all directions to repel large groups of attackers)

Dark Danny's powers (that Danny didn't have in the show):

Shapeshifting (change the physical appearance of one's body to that of another living or nonliving object)

Sleep Inducement (render the user's opponent unconscious without the use of force)

Fusion (two ghosts to combine to create a new ghost)

Ghost Portal Creation (create portals between the Ghost Zone and the human world at will)

Plasticity (manipulate one's body into an elastic form)

Powers I see people use most often: Flight, Ghost shield, Ghost sense, Overshadowing, Invisibility, Healing, Immunity, Durability, Strength, Agility, Endurance, Stamina, Intangibility, Ghost ray, Cryokinesis, Duplication, Energy strike, Going ghost(obv), Ghostly Wail

Powers I don't see people use too often: Spectral body manipulation, Telekinesis, Teleportation, Pyrokinesis, Electrokinesis, Ecto-energy constructs, Ghost Stinger, Reality Warping, Intangibility fusion, Repulsion, Sleep inducement

(there's more for that, but I see them just a bit more than the ones on the list. it's like an in-between sorta deal. Or I don't care enough to put it on the "don't see" list.)

[sakuraswordly]

In the ancient Babylonian epic or Atrahasis. The Annunaki gods grappled with the consequences of their creation . As humanity flourished, their numbers swelled, and the incessant noise and activity disturbed the divine realm. Enli, the chief deity, grew increasingly frustrated with the humans' overpopulation and their disruption of the celestial peace. To restore balance, the Annunaki first unleashed a series of plagues and famines, hoping to curtail the burgeoning human population. Yet, humanity proved resilient, adapting, and surviving each divine assault. Enlil, exasperated, convened the gods and proposed a final, drastic measure: a great flood to cleanse the earth. Enki, the god of wisdom and a protector of humanity, secretly warned Atrahasis, a pious man favored by the gods. Enki instructed him to build a vast ark, preserving his family and the seeds of life. When the deluge engulfled the world, Atrahasis' ark weathered the storm, ensuring the continuity of life. The epic of Atrahasis highlights Annunaki's struggle with maintaining cosmic order and their drastic measures to achieve it, illustrating their profound impact on the fate of humanity. ☆ alien.related

Anunnaki gods were worshipped by Sumerians of ancient Mesopotamia long before Greeks praised Olympian gods or Egyptians prayed to Osiris. While Zeus and the rest of Greek gods resided at top of Mount Olympus, and Osiris was god of earth and underworld, Anunnaki were winged deities who lived up in heavens and came down to Earth to decide on people’s destiny. Sumerians had many myths involving Anunnaki gods passing judgment on humans. The gods were described as children of the Earth and sky. This indicates they were believed to interact with humans when they came down to Earth. Based on ancient carvings depicting deities of ancient Mesopotamia, some had wings, wore horned caps, and had bird faces, while others held something resembling a modern-day ladies’ purse. Anunnaki descended from the god of heavens An and goddess of the Earth Ki. The word Anunnaki word can be translated into “princely seed” in Sumerian, but as a term, it remains poorly defined. There is hardly any evidence of an exact number of these gods and their various functions as historical texts deviate from one another. According to Sumerian beliefs, Heaven and Earth were inseparable until Enlil came along. Enlil split Heaven and Earth in two and carried the Earth away whilst his father, An, carried away the sky. Sumer, one of oldest civilizations, estimated to have existed between 4500-1750 BC. It consisted of a small number of city-states, each organized around a temple now called a ziggurat, dedicated to Anunnaki gods’ worship. Ziggurats were layered pyramids with a flat top. Archaeologists consider those communities to be “servant-slave” populations dedicated to serving temple gods. Later, priesthood rulership was replaced by kings. Babylonian cuneiform texts describe Sumerians as ancients. Despite their ancient origins, Sumerians had developed a sophisticated method of keeping time, dividing the day into hours, similar to way we count time today. They also invented cuneiform, one of earliest known systems of writing in human history. In addition, they invented plow. This played a great role in helping their empire grow. Epic of Gilgamesh; so-called Mesopotamian Odyssey begins with five short poems in Sumerian language about Gilgamesh, king of Uruk. It is known from tablets that were written during first half of 2nd Millennium BC. The poems have been entitled “Gilgamesh and Huwawa,” “Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven,” “Gilgamesh and Agga of Kish,” “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld,” and “The Death of Gilgamesh.” The sophistication of Sumerians is demonstrated by a clay tablet translated in 2015 showing that ancient astronomers made extremely accurate mathematical calculations for the orbit of Jupiter a full 1400 years before Europeans did. These extraordinary advances in Sumerian civilization so early in antiquity that made some researchers doubt Sumerian mythology and extrapolate so-called ancient astronaut or ancient alien theories about Anunnaki. Fringe theorists believe Sumerian deities were aliens from another planet that ruled the Sumerians, sharing their advanced knowledge and intelligence with them. Researcher and author Michael Cremo (Forbidden Archaeology), Zecharia Sitchin, Erich von Däniken (Chariots of the Gods), author and researcher Michael Tellinger, and several others argue that Anunnaki were actually aliens posing as gods. Some of these theories also assert these aliens genetically engineered human race to be a slave species, influencing human affairs for millennia. These off-world gods brought advanced technologies that account for sophisticated megastructures such as pyramids or Stonehenge. Tellinger claimed that Anunnaki extracted massive amounts of gold using human labor and introduced the concepts of money, finance, and debt to human societies.

Source(Below)

[deadn30n-arch]

of eden && their various monikers.

as you write with me, you may find there are a number of titles that i will use in reference to the protagonist of the novel, so i wanted to take a little time to give a brief illustration of what significance each titles has :>

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄:           first  &&  foremost, the most important of Eden's names  –  their ‘chosen’ name. i don't want to go too deeply into it's significance, as it would spoil a lot of nuance and plot for the story itself, but this name contains within it several reasons as to why it was chosen. one of it's looser associations is that when Eden finally chose to give themselves a more ‘human’ name  (  as ‘Eden’ was tied to their angelic background  )  they were doing so during the winter solstice. alas, as much as i want to elaborate more on that, i can't. but just know that Solstice is a chosen name much as one who transitions chooses a name that better identifies them.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄:           referring to their primary function when not only being born, but arriving on earth. during their initial creation, they were coded with every ounce of data pertaining to the angels, their history, their lifestyle, traditions, etc. and instructed to bring that information onto earth to help ‘education’ humanity in an effort to eventually effortlessly integrate into their society. likewise, it was also Eden's duty to then gather as much information that they could on humanity itself, and feed it back to their creator so the angels could understand humans. having a mutual understanding of one another's cultures would help the two of them bridge a connection and hopefully live in mutual harmony.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐀𝐏:           there is… something much darker tied behind this otherwise innocuous title. there was intention behind it that Eden didn't anticipate, but was orchestrated from the moment they were born. in addition to passing information between both societies, during their journey to Earth, they were meant to map out the entire universe to allow for easier travel. in doing so, their body eventually became engraved with a series of star-systems that  –  when studied, reveal the entire universe mapped out. originally they were not born with this, but acquired it through their travels.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇:           another rather sinister title hiding behind an innocuous meaning. something else i cannot go deeply into for risk of spoiling major plot points of the book. all i can really tell you is that ‘God’ has put a hidden set of coding concealed behind a program called ‘monarch.exe’ which can only be encrypted and accessed through ‘God’ himself.

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒:           basically references the very beginning of their birth in which they needed to devour one-hundred angels in order to acquire an alternative body from their original appearance. because they were a transmutation of cosmic metal + dust, planets, stars, etc. the thing that was born was… horrendous to look at. realizing quickly that this would never work, ‘God’ had to rush to find a solution in having them appear more humanlike. hearing his thoughts, the eldritch-like abominationed known as ‘Eden’ informed him that they would require the flesh of at least a hundred angels in order to be able to build themselves a satisfying appearance. ‘God’ happily obliged and offered up said angels, though many were unwilling. it was written in testimony that all who were sacrificed went so willingly, but this was a lie. a placation in order to bait the angels into submission and not question why he was creating Eden.

𝐆𝐎𝐃❜𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 / 𝐆𝐎𝐃❜𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃:          refers to the direct neurolink established between ‘God’ and Eden. when accessed, ‘God’ is allowed to see life through Eden's eyes, and even remotely control their body when necessary. however, this link is drastically weakened the farther away they are from each other, so at this current moment, God can really only possess Eden for roughly five minutes before being forcibly removed from the system. he can also only do this once a week as it requires an extensive amount of celestial power.

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑:           a rather simplistic and straight-forward nod toward the fact that in order for Eden's creation to actually function, they had to quite literally swallow a dying star. a star about to go supernova  –  to be exact. in doing this, the star  &&  it's incredible power were transformed into Eden's golden core, powering their entire system and allowing them free movement. however, this star is not infalliable and requires additional power, as it's power alone cannot sustain them forever. so once every ten years Eden will need to descend back into the inky black sky in order to devour smaller super novas that will fuse with this golden core and continue fueling it's power. without this, Eden cannot function and will shut down completely.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋:           last but not least, my favourite title for them. this title refers to their true form in that their body is composed of dozens of gilded cogs and wheels. Eden's actual body has a very steampunk-esque design to it blended together seamlessly with a series of cosmic  &&  angelic elements. in the place where their ‘heart’ should be rests a rather large clock. this is why if you press your ear against Eden's chest, you can hear the faint tick tick tick of the clock's second hand. so long as this clock continues to function  (  powered by their golden core  )  Eden is able to move about freely. the clock holds another purpose, but i will refrain from elaborating on as it nods toward another major spoiler of the book.

[m1lkyw4yw1sh3z]

Rotating that elevator in our brain <3 We have SO many worldbuilding thoughts sldkfjsf Anyway here's a collection of various general hcs that apply both to our AU and our interpretation of Regretevator in general :)

First off imo it seems like most of the different floors are entirely separate dimensions?? The various NPCs are all so drastically different from each other, not to mention some floors are references to/locations from other games entirely. It'd just make the most sense to us if the elevator was an interdimensional entity.

On the surface it seems like there's no rhyme or reason to who gets access to the elevator, or what worlds it travels to, but in our interpretation it tends to go after people who fall under two categories: 1. they have some abnormal/otherworldly quality that makes them stand out compared to the rest of their own dimension, and 2. they're holding onto some regrets (ha because regretevator)

Once someone fits those criteria, they receive an anonymous invitation in the mail containing the number corresponding to their floor, and the elevator starts appearing somewhere near them. Perhaps a new door appears in their house, or the entire elevator itself just materializes in a remote area, it's a coin toss.

Some people never decide to investigate, which is why many floors have no elevator NPCs associated with them. However, curiosity often gets the best of them anyway...

More below this post is getting long sldkfj

Some floors are just different locations in the same world, and as time passes this becomes more common of an occurrence due to the elevator causing otherworldly vibes :tm: to spread. For example: Two Stud Camp, 3008, and Infected Apartment were originally just normal locations all on Earth.

Unfortunately the elevator's dimension-warping energy/technology is very unstable (hence its frequent malfunctions, inability to properly assess whether it is at capacity or not, the tendency for NPCs like Mozelle or Jaoba to enter in-between floors etc.) so it tends to contaminate worlds it accesses very easily.

Due to this, some floors also exist as "pocket dimensions" hidden within other worlds, like the Gumball Machine in the Hotel Floor. A lot of the liminal space floors in this AU are examples of these pocket dimensions! You take a wrong turn, open the wrong door, and end up wandering in a slightly Off version of the building you were originally in....

Also, time doesn't pass normally within the elevator, meaning it can still serve as instantaneous travel from place to place despite the fact that all of the buttons are broken and rarely take you directly where you want to go. The time distortion sometimes bugs out, which can cause travelers to see strange things, like echoes of their own previous trips to the elevator....

In this AU, the INTERNET ITSELF is also an otherworldly creation like the elevator, able to span across dimensions if you know where to look. Several characters from different worlds met each other online before they ever gained access to the elevator to be able to meet in person. Ex: our headcanon that Infected met PartyNoob and Split online pre-elevator.

The reason why we assume Infected Apartment and similar floors to be on Earth is because iirc the devs said that Infected is based on old roblox roleplay games, which tended to simulate normal everyday things in society. Like living in a city, having a job, etc. Robloxian "humans" from Earth are distinct from beings like PartyNoob or Pest.

That being said, most "humans" who manage to gain access to the elevator are uh. No longer human by the time they do....

[d1g1k1tty]

SPOILERS FOR ARCANE SEASON 2 (Episode 7 specifically, I think)

I've said this before to my friends, and I'm coming on here to say it to the people, but I think the passage of time is so interesting in Arcane. Of course, we see the main events, but never what happens in the in-between moments. We, as viewers, are never clued in on just how much time has passed between events. That, combined with some of the out of order/POV switching scenes makes Arcane so interesting for me.

I have a lot of thoughts on the entirety of season 2, but I mainly want to focus on the Perfect AU that Ekko and Heimerdinger were sent to. There's debate on what exactly happened to make this universe the most prosperous. I saw someone on Tiktok (I think? I can't remember right now) point out that Vi's death was not the only factor leading to this result. And I agree full heartedly. Her death certainly stopped the creation of hextech, therefore stopping the events of almost all of season 1.

Just to skip the rest of the preamble, what I really want to talk about is Silco's role in this and why I think the AU's success might lead back to him. This is where the stream of consciousness is coming in, but I'll try to keep it coherent.

I had originally thought the major point of divergence between the AU and our current universe was Vi's death, but this has to be wrong. Because, to my understanding, Silco still would have been producing Shimmer at this time, which would have led up to kidnapping Vander and bringing him to the warehouse in the beginning of season 1.

Of course, there's always the possibility that Silco did have Shimmer in the works, but he had no need to use it since the enforcers weren't being sent to the undercity to retrieve the crystal since they were under the impression that they had disposed of all of Jayce's research. But I digress.

Since there's no mention of Shimmer anywhere in the AU, it must go back to Silco and Vander's original fight. We know that they obviously had that fight in this universe since, when Ekko was like "didn't you two try to kill each other🤨" and Silco doesn't deny it, so the divergence must happen soon after that. It took me way too long to realize that Silco's eye is healed in the AU, which I personally interpret as the repairing of their relationship soon after. Correct me if I'm wrong, but our Silco's problem with Vander was not only the act of betrayal, but the abandonment that followed, the feeling of being left in the filthy water, feeling bacteria eat away at the injury Vander inflicted, and have it permanently disfigure him.

If their relationship is repaired well before the events of season 1, then that drastically changes things too. It's just so interesting, and the brain worms are doing their thing.

Anyway, take this with a grain of salt, I've just been thinking about it so much that I've been talking to myself about it while my roommate is out.

[weirdestbooks]

The North and The South (Wattpad | Ao3)

Bonus Scene from Secrecy and Deception. All dialogue in this chapter is in Korean unless it is in Italics, then it is Russian or English, depending on context. Requested by Violetsaredancing

August 15, 1948

Koreans (formerly known as the Koreans of the Empire of Japan) had always hoped her time would be limited. If she died, it would hopefully mean the creation of a new Korean state and the end of Japan’s cruel rule over her people. Ever since the end of that war, that dream could be a reality.

Well, for the most part.

The one big thing that prevented her true dream from becoming a reality was the division of her people’s land between America and the USSR, both of which had been taking drastically different routes for her people’s government and future.

A route that was most likely to lead to her people's division.

Koreans understood that it was no longer a matter of if but a matter of when.

And that when seemed to be today.

Koreans' most apparent clue was when she shrunk. She also felt that side of her people vanish as her thoughts and opinions became more uniform, but she had shrunk, as part of her land was taken to form a new country. From her estimates, Koreans had shrunk about five inches.

The southern part of the peninsula was where the new Korea would be; Koreans knew that, as she had been in Seoul the past few days, the land here was no longer hers. A new country had appeared there, most likely replacing her son, United States Army Military Government in Korea. 

Was this new country the son of that government, or was it instead the child of America?

Even though she had asked that question, Koreans already knew the answer, the familiar tugging that signaled that she had a child. If this new Korea were her grandson, she would not feel that. This was her child, one that she most likely had with America. (Koreans would not think about the possibility that this was a child she had with her son. The world was cruel, but it wasn’t that cruel).

Koreans followed the tugging until she saw the familiar face of America down the street, a smaller figure in front of him. One of his states was also one of the ones with antlers. Koreans could not tell the figure's age from where she was, and America’s height was not helping.

“America!” Koreans called, walking over. America spotted her and smiled, waving a hand.

“Hello Koreans. I assume you’re here for the same reasons Idaho and I are?” America asked as the state, Idaho, waved shyly at her.

“Hello, Koreans,” Idaho said. America leaned down beside her.

“If you want to say it in Korean, it is ‘hello Koreans.’” America said.

“Hello, Koreans,” Idaho said. Koreans smiled slightly at Idaho’s attempt at greeting her in her language and decided to return the favor.

“Hello Idaho, it’s nice to meet you,” Koreans said before turning to the girl’s father, “Now, I would like to meet my child, not yours.”

“Well, South Korea is mine as well. Both our peoples played a role.” America said. 

“And now my people are divided between you and Soviet,” Koreans said.

“He’s not my colony. He’s his own republic.” America insisted. Koreans scoffed.

“And you won't have any influence on his decisions at all.” America was silent before he jerked his head to the building behind him.

“South’s in there with his people.” America said, “Come on, Idaho, let’s let Koreans speak with her child.”

America and his daughter walked away, and Koreans watched them go before going inside. She saw her child, a boy with a youthful face and the world's weight on his shoulders.

“Hello, son,” Koreans said, unsure how to address him. Her son and his people stared at her as a hopeful gleam appeared in her child’s eyes. 

Her son looked back at his people as if asking for permission. Upon the nod of one of the men at the table, her son ran forward, slamming into her as he pulled her into a hug.

“I thought you were already dead, Mom.” Her son whispered. Koreans shook her head.

“Not yet. I will not pass until Soviet decides what to do with his half of the land.” Koreans said. Her son pulled away, looking at her with wise eyes that betrayed his nature as a country and the position he would now hold in society. 

“Mom, we both know that he will make another Korea.” South Korea said. Koreans sigh deeply, a deep sorrow in her soul. 

“I know. And I will most likely pass upon their birth and not be able to meet them.” Koreans said, her mind drifting to everything that could go wrong. She was aware of Soviet and America’s growing rivalry and knew they would also influence their children to adopt it.

Koreans knew her death would be used as a tool in that.

“Son, make sure your northern half does not think I loved them any less because I died and never got to meet them. Make sure they know they are still loved and still a worthy successor to my land.” Koreans said, a hand on her child’s cheek. 

South Korea put his hand on top of hers and held it tight.

“I will.”

September 9, 1948

After 38 years, Koreans of the Empire of Japan was dead. She had now been replaced by her children, America’s bastard child, the Southern Korea, and the child of Soviet, the Northern Korea.

Ultimately, one of them would have to assume their mother’s legacy and become the entire peninsula. Soviet hoped and would ensure that it would be his child. 

North Korea would be the successor of the Korean Peninsula and the kingdom that preceded the Japanese colony.

“My son, I hope you understand that your counterpart to the south may threaten your existence,” Soviet said. The young boy, barely a few hours old.

“I know.” He said, “He’s met Mom, and I haven’t.”

“That’s not what I mean. This isn’t a monarchy. Meeting one’s parents doesn’t qualify them to govern a nation. That’s an outdated notion from the days of tsars.” Soviet explained, feeling annoyed at that long seated notion in countryhuman society. “I mean that eventually only one of you will be allowed to be the personification of Korea. This division can only last for so long.”

“One of us will die.” North Korea said, voice sounding tired. Good. That meant he understood the way the world works. 

“Don’t let it be you. I will do my best to ensure your survival, but you must also do your part.” I instructed. North Korea straightened.

“Understood. I will, Father. I will not let myself be killed.” He said. 

“I know you won’t. You are my son, after all.” Soviet said, before turning to leave. He had things to take care of back in Europe, and trusted his new child to take care of himself for now.

Soviet knew that he would eventually have to come to his child’s aid, whether to save him from America or correct misbehavior, he didn’t know.

But very few of his children and wards could be trusted alone.

[rjzimmerman]

Manyara Ranch: African Wildlife Foundation

Good story from the African Wildlife Federation. Tap/click on the caption to get to the PDF version of the report.

Excerpt:

A long time ago, the people of Tanzania and their livestock adopted to living alongside wildlife. For millennia, the Maasai have tracked the movements of wildebeests to identify good grazing; the favorite hideouts of lions to avoid attacks on cattle; and the presence of oxpeckers to know if dangerous buffalo are nearby.

In the past 60 years, however, drastic changes have come to the Maasai Steppe, a large semi-arid grassland ecosystem in north-central Tanzania. Large-scale farms, the expansion of safari tourism, the creation of national parks, and restricted access to once communally used land have squeezed the rangeland available to livestock. With more cattle on less land, grasslands are becoming overgrazed. The spread of human settlements and agriculture have blocked age-old wildlife migration routes, leading to more frequent—and sometimes deadly—confrontations between people and animals. And climate change, which has intensified droughts and upended rainfall patterns, is escalating competition for green grass and fresh water, pushing even more pastoralists to agriculture.

Anchoring the Maasai Steppe are Tarangire and Lake Manyara National Parks, where the shores of the eponymous river and lake abound with wildlife in the dry season. The steppe is home to some of the world’s most abundant and diverse wildlife, including one of the largest—and growing– populations of elephants in Africa (recovering from heavy poaching in the 1970s and 1980s) and the only stronghold of the eastern white-bearded wildebeests. The ability to move between the parks and beyond them into the plains is crucial for the survival of many of the ecosystem’s most iconic species, including elephants and wildebeests. But safe, unimpeded pathways are becoming scarce. In between the two parks, in the all-important Kwakuchinja wildlife corridor, sits a patchwork of villages, farms, large herds of livestock, grasslands—and Manyara Ranch.

Since 2001, the African Wildlife Foundation (AWF) has championed a unique conservation model for the ranch, starting with negotiations with the government to form a land conservation trust to make the ranch a conservation space. Beginning in 2013, we took over direct management of the ranch, balancing the working cattle ranch with habitat restoration and wildlife conservation—a new model for Tanzania.While Tanzania’s pastoralists generally are prohibited from bringing livestock into national parks, cattle are a nonnegotiable part of the region’s economy and culture. Therefore, successful conservation of land outside formal protected areas depends on the sustainable coexistence of livestock and wildlife, particularly along migration routes where wildlife move outside of the boundaries of the parks. Manyara Ranch is a vital link along one of those migration routes. It helps connect the national parks to each other and to the wet-season grazing grounds of the Northern Plains, described as the “last, best remaining breeding ground” for the ecosystem’s migrating wildebeest, zebras, gazelles, and others. In addition to the migrating animals that seasonally pass through, the ranch today is home to resident giraffes, lions, and many other iconic African species—as well as more than a thousand cattle.

The lease to the land is now held by the Monduli District Council, and the day-to-day running of the ranch is managed by the Manyara Ranch Management Trust, composed of representatives from the Monduli council, two local villages, the Tanzania Wildlife Management Authority, and AWF.

“The vision for a project like this is to bring management expertise to the local stakeholders. We want to think inclusively and really focus on creating local partnership in decision-making regarding operations,” said Pastor Magingi, AWF’s Tanzania Country Coordinator.