#farmers follies story

[alterworldstudios]

Final stand

Hello everyone!!! This is a story about my friend @gemeralda07 s characters midnight and evilrette!!! Please go check her work out!! Both of them belong to her!

Long ago, before lucky first fell into this world, there once lived a guardian angel of legend.

Loved by all, revered by many, his tale of slaying the dangerous devil told from generation to generation. Many sing of his legend, for what he did that night had likely saved millions..

Though, does anyone really know how this legend played out? The angel and the devil had vanished after this fight, many presuming them to be dead, the angels sacrifice looked on with admiration and gratitude. Many believe the retelling.. But allow me to tell you what had really happened that fateful Thursday night.

It was a day like any other, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the clouds themselves had a nice morning glow to them. An average day in the safety of heaven itself.. That is, until a resounding thud shook the clouds themselves. "GAH- ow..." A small angel groaned as he fell from one of the pillars, having been sent flying into it by his training instructor. "Dangit..." "MIDNIGHT."

The angel snapped back to reality, and quickly sat up. "Sir yes sir!" "I thought I told you to watch where I aim!!! What in lotus's good name was that!?" "I.. Uh.. Well!-" "well!?" "I was distracted sir, my apologies!"

The instructor shook his head disappointingly, looking on at the moth in front of him. "You need to get your head out of the clouds, midnight. If that were a real demons attack, you'd be a dead man!" "I know I know... But that cloud over there looked like a mouse-" the instructor face palmed, the angel wincing in response to it. "I.. Uh.. I can try again. Honest! Ill be ready this time-" the angel held his hand up, and midnight swiftly fell silent.

"No. No. We've been training all morning, and hadn't made any progress what so ever. You keep getting distracted, and we can't have that on the force." "Y- you're not saying what I think you're saying, right?" "No. I'm saying exactly what you are afraid of. Midnight, if you don't clear those clouds out of your vision, you'll be demoted from guardian to common! Do I make myself clear!?" "I-uh-but sir!-" "I don't want to hear it, you. Be gone with you, out of my sight!"

With a heavy heart, midnight left the training arena, the instructor looking on as he left. After awhile, the instructors stern expression faded. "..I'm doing this for his own good, I hope he realizes that..."

Midnight meanwhile, as he left the arena, felt a bit.. Down about his predicament. He had always dreamed of being a great guardian, just like those before him, but he just can't seem to stop himself from getting distracted. He doesn't know why, but the littlest things seemingly caught his attention, whether it be an interestingly shaped cloud, A passing butterfly, or the song of a bird resting on a tree. Others were capable of tuning things out, capable of keeping form and being precise, but him? He couldn't. It was near impossible. And that was just with focus.

He was very clumsy as well, and when you're A being with three different pairs of arms, you tended to get tied up by your own limbs. The amount of times this had happened in general embarrasses him greatly..

Cursing silently under his breath, he kicked at the cloudy floor below him. "Dangit.. I can't risk losing this, what would the others think?.. If I fail at this, I'd be the biggest laughing stock of a guardian in all of history!!... But what am I going to do? Training isn't doing anything to help..."

His antennae suddenly perked up, him overhearing a passing conversation.

"it happened again, this time on the west side.." "Again!? That blasted devil.. How many souls will he kill until he's satisfied!?" "Devil?.." Midnight, his interest piqued, hid behind a nearby pillar, listening in on the conversation between two head angels. Normally, guardians wouldn't do this, it wasn't right, but.. Well, he wasn't an average guardian now, was he?

"It's been.. How many?" "Too many, hundreds, if not thousands of innocent souls damned to hell because of him." "Why is he gathering so many? Is he trying to take over that awful place?" "If I had to guess, yes..." "Maybe we should send the force to dispose of him..." "No, its too dangerous. With all those souls he had gathered, it'd be a death sentence to the entire force..." "Dammit.. What're we gonna do?.."

Midnight turned away from the pillar, thinking to himself. A devil huh? And a problematic one at that... Its a danger to souls up here? And the heads won't do anything to stop them?... "...this is my chance. If no one else will do this.. Then.. Dangit! I will!!!"

Looking every which way, until he was facing west, he swiftly opened his wings, and took flight, heading for the location this devil had been last seen.. Albeit clumsily and slowly, he wasn't always the greatest flyer. "Maybe I should walk instead?.. No. No. Flyings faster.."

As he traveled through the clouds to the western side, the clouds grew darker, and darker, becoming stained with the monochrome blood of souls long since lost. Midnight didn't want to admit it.. But he was getting scared. He hadn't seen so much carnage before, hell he's never even been on a task at all! This was his first time being this far away from home in.. Ever. And the amount of damage that littered the broken down cloudy city was nothing like he had ever seem before. Maybe he should turn back..

Before he could turn around, however, his antennae perked up once again, him hearing movement off in the distance.. Movement, and the screams of souls escaping whatever was chasing them.

Landing close by, he carefully made his way over, peering out from behind some rubble. What he saw shook him to his core, A demon snatching up souls as if they were flowers in a field, its darkened wings acting as a shadowy cape. It was chuckling to itself. "Run little souls, run.. You'll all soon be mine anyway... A game of chase is all this is!!!"

He had found him. He found the devil. And he..

Was having second thoughts.

This devil was clearly dangerous! Its wings, horns, and claws were stained with blood, it's speed unlike anything midnight had ever seen before, its sheer size making midnight seem like a tiny little bug in comparison! Its no wonder the heads seemed so against sending the force out, this.. Thing, was far too dangerous for anyone to deal with! 'maaaybe if I stay quiet, he won't notice...'

He began to walk away, trying to escape as quietly as possible.. When there was a sudden loud SNAP.

flinching, he looked down.. He had broken a twig from one of the cloud trees hanging overhead. "oh.. Shoot-"

Before he could react, he was tackled down by the devil, it laughing maniacally as it held him down. "HELLO THERE!!!!!! HELLO THERE!! OF ALL ANGELS TO SHOW UP, IT IS ONLY YOU WHO DARE? SUCH A LAUGH IT IS, I GAVE YOU SUCH A SCARE!!!!"

Midnight screamed, and kicked him away, the devil lurching away as midnight got back to his feet, quickly drawing his sword and spell book. This was it. Even if he was scared out of his mind, there was no turning back now.

"what is this, what is this?" The devil looked on. "What have they sent to stop little old me? What is it that my eyes have to see? A bug of all things, A moth to be exact! HA! oh how funny, what a hilarious act! They could've sent an army, how fun that would be!!! But its so funny, that they think a moth would stop little old me."

"I-i wasn't sent, I came here by my own volition! What you've been doing is a safety violation!!"

"HAHAHA is that so!!? Well tiny moth, you'll become a John doe!!! You should've never tried to stop me, now a never ending nightmare is all you will SEE!!!!"

"don't think like that, I will stop this act!!"

"Oh what a sight, SHUT UP AND FIGHT!!!"

the demon rushed forward, its claws colliding with midnights sword. Midnight attempted to parry, pushing the devil away. However, the demon swept him off his feet, and sent him flying with a sucker punch.

Flying through numerous buildings, midnight landed in a wall of clouds. Shaking the clouds out of his vision, he looked up just in time to see the demon barreling towards him with a mallet. Thinking quickly, He opened his spell book, swiftly casting a shield spell to block the attack. The demon lurched back, hissing at the light casted from the spell.

"...ha! There we go, you can't hit me now!!!" "Your voice is as annoying as a dying cow." "Hey! No its not, my voice is perfectly fine!- wait, huh? Where'd he g-" "quiet now, your soul is mine..."

Midnight suddenly screamed, A horrible pain felt on his back, A deafening ripping sound shaking the clouds themselves. Tossing something aside, and kicking midnight away, midnight weakly looks up to see... His wings.  They were discarded on the clouds themselves. That devil.. He.. He ripped off his wings! He could feel his blood pool around him, his vision blurring as he looked towards the devil himself. The devil quietly shushed him from afar, slowly making his way over. "quiet now, this battle is done. Just give up, all hope is gone..."

Midnight couldn't think straight. His wings were gone, discarded like toys, his vision was obscured, his eyes stained with his gathering blood, and his body felt too weak to move, the loss being too much on him.

..he felt as though he had failed, that he'd be just another tally on this demons growing death toll. This demon couldn't be stopped, not by some.. Clumsy little moth...

'...Focus.'

... He fell silent. The demon looked on.

"A quiet one now, isn't that grand? I should give you credit, an angel who never ran.. But that's all you'll be known for, is a foolish mistake. You really tried to fight me, with everything at stake?"

The demon chuckled, then turned to his wings.

"these are important, this I know... How unfortunate, you've reached a brand new low... What is an angel without its wings?... No longer flying with these silly things... Oh well, what's done is done, the wings now gone!...What'll you do, why not make it worse?...."

The demon picked the wings up once more, and lit them on fire, the wings dusting away into the evening air. Midnight only looked on with what remained of his vision...

"Hahaha.. This will now be your curse..."

'Focus.'

The moth slowly got up, the devil giving an amused smirk.

"Oh? You still have some fight? Oh isn't that just a sight. Just give up now, its for the best! Die like a moth, you stupid little pest."

'FOCUS.'

The devils smirk swiftly faded away, as the moth suddenly held out his spell book, pointing his sword with newfound determination. A crescent moon formed in his eye. 'What is this moth doing, why won't he die?! Is this.. Fear I'm seeing in my eye?'

"What are you doing, what do you hope to gain!?" "ANOTHER LIFE, YOU'LL NEVER TAKE OR HURT AGAIN!!!!"

The sky suddenly lit up, the duo fading into white, A curse had been cast, A powerful one at that.

Falling from the clouds, their visions growing dark.. The battle was over, struck right at the heart.

To the few who found the remains of it, they presumed the two of them to be dead.

...but, to them, they woke up in a new land instead.

[floweroflaurelin]

So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

of

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

[bestworstcase]

Something I can't help but think of is the Great War in RWBY. How Ozpin in one of his past selves had to basically wipe out entire armies of soldiers and people with a single attack from what was likely the Sword of Destruction.

I have to wonder just how many generations of men and women were wiped out. How many settlements of people basically lost their breadwinners or no longer had anyone to protect them from Grimm.

How many years of battle experience and wisdom about the follies of war, just annihilated in an instant. How many lessons that could have been taught to a new generation made lost forever, ensuring that many of the newer generations could not learn from the past except only through a distorted, flawed lens.

I wonder if this loss might have contributed to Atlas' lackluster military capabilities, because anyone from Mantle who could have held the jackasses at the top to account with hardened experience and wisdom JUST. WEREN'T. THERE.

anon i am grabbing u gently by the shoulders

you have fallen for ozma’s propaganda that he is the Main Character of history. and also activated one of my many trap cards (sorry)

the institution of huntsmen is – overtly, albeit not couched in exactly these terms – predicated on the Great Man, the idea that the course of human history is predominately a product of the decisive choices and actions of Heroes, of individuals whose superior intellect and fortitude and so forth elevated them above the common people. this is the fundamental idea undergirding ozpin’s whole thing – his guardians, the maidens, silver-eyed warriors, his “smaller, more honest soul,” the greatness he promises oscar, the way he describes ruby as possessing “something unquantifiable: a spark, that can inspire others even in the darkest of times” – these are his Great Men. the practical short term purpose of the huntsmen academies is to mold children into warriors in order to guard his fortresses, but in the longer term the point of them is to create Great Men.

narratively, this is an idea that rwby does not agree with; the thematic critique leveled against this view of history begins with the inherent contradiction between ozpin’s soaring rhetoric – the stated ideal of everyone standing together as one – and his actual behavior, which (as salem points out, correctly, in her v3 soliloquy) betrays the hollowness and lack of conviction in his professed “faith” in humanity. to believe in Great Men is fundamentally cynical; it is anti-humanistic; it is self-defeating.

we don’t really have time to outline everything in the CFVY novels that leads me to believe that this narrative critique is building inexorably toward bringing the common people into sharp focus as the true engine of history in vacuo – suffice it to say that there are passages in both books which elevate and emphasize the importance of ordinary people working together to achieve greater things than huntsmen can – but the atlas arc already offers a tangible shift in this direction with civilian politics dawning as a central narrative concern in contrast to the insularity of the beacon and mistral arcs.

the point being that the story structure itself is dismantling ozpin’s view of history; civilians are distant, abstracted set dressing within the hermetically sealed artificial reality of beacon academy, and irrelevant in mistral until the instant the lost fable shatters ozpin’s grip on the narrative and then – bam. brunswick farm is a horror-tragedy about subsistence farmers. the kids stay with the cotta-arcs in argus, and it is this connection with ordinary people that gets the kids to atlas, where class tensions between mantle and atlas and a contested council election dominate the plot and ozpin’s Great Man crumbles because he’s still hermetically sealed inside that artificial reality where the common people don’t really matter or exist in any meaningful way.

you see?

(and of course, professor oobleck, the exception who proves the rule: there is no one still living in the hollowed out ruins of mountain glenn, but that mini-arc is the one time in the beacon arc where the existence of ordinary people feels real and tangible and important, and it is because the history teacher says when i look at these ruins i see lives that were lost. i see a failure that must never be repeated. i see lives, past and future, and this is why i am a teacher, because history is more important than heroism.)

ok. so

the great war.

in qrow’s account of the great war, ozma – the king of vale – is the Great Man. the story of this sprawling, worldwide conflict is that the king of vale tried and failed to avert it, and for ten years the war raged on without an end in sight, until at last the king of vale took to the field of battle himself and single-handedly ended it by the sword; everyone bowed to him in surrender, but he lifted up the world by the hand and established a new world order.

no one else – not a single other participant in this conflict aside from the king of vale and (qrow hints ominously, and completely without evidence) salem – has a drop of agency or even a meaningful presence in the great war as qrow, received from ozpin, would tell it. and i do not think that is supposed to be taken at face value whatsoever; none of the other WOR spots are objective. these are character studies as much as they are worldbuilding shorts.

rwby is a narrative that has rejected this kind of simplicity over and over and over again. the great war was more complicated than that. some big chickens will be coming home to roost in the vacuo arc.

so with all that being said.

the historical exemplar that rwby’s great war seems to be modeled after is the first world war. (in brief: fought 80-90 years ago; the conflict was preceded by decades of increasing tensions driven by imperialist expansion and economic competition between rapidly-industrializing great powers; the war itself famously exploded from a single gunshot – although rwby eschews the political assassination angle perhaps because there were only three extant states in the world; the ending of the war resulted in massive redistribution of imperial territories and the formation of multiple new states. i know the usamerican tendency is to forget WWI happened and that ozma ‘nuking’ the battlefield with the sword to decisively end the war is likely to evoke the atomic bomb in the mind of the average viewer, but here i will remind everyone that the united states massacred nearly a quarter of a million civilians and that figure does not include deaths from cancer or long-term radiation exposure. because we dropped those bombs on cities. in contrast WWI was decided on the battlefield with the hundred days offensive.)

the real great war lasted from the summer of 1914 to the autumn of 1918. four years, three months. do you know how many people died?

an estimated 9 to 11 million military deaths, and 23 million more wounded. 7-8 million of those deaths were combat-related. upwards of 6 million civilians died. one of the deadliest conflicts in history, and aside from WWII (in which as many as two thirds of fatalities were civilians and genocide and war-related famine killed millions and millions of people, so many of these deaths were not combat-related), the only two conflicts in history that killed more people than WWI lasted 14 years, and 47. again, WWI lasted just four years.

ok. the reason WWI was so deadly, and the reason almost all of those military fatalities were combat-related is because of when and how this conflict was fought. in 1914 when the war began, the world was just coming out of the second industrial revolution. that was a period when railroads really began to proliferate, mass-manufacture of steel became possible, rise of production lines, automobiles, the telegraph, that kind of thing.

cannons, and things, had existed for a relatively long time at this point, but the second industrial revolution heralded the dawn of modern artillery weapons, and warfare, cultural conceptions of how wars are fought, had not caught up yet to the sheer scale of destruction that were now possible because of this new technology. which meant that WWI was the last conflict where war meant lining up troops on the battlefield and smashing the armies together, except everyone had things like rapid-firing heavy artillery, and explosive shells, and machine guns, and barbed wire, and chlorine gas.

this is what led to horrible, bloody stalemate of trench warfare and the unprecedented scale of casualties and the idea of “no man’s land” – it’s why the cultural image of what a battlefield looks like in the popular conscious for decades and decades after this war has been and often still is just a barren, muddy, completely obliterated wasteland strewn with debris. WWI was the transition between pre-industrial and modern warfare where industrialization had led to the development of military technology that rendered the old way of doing war obsolete. suicidal.

in the WOR spot, those are exactly the the conditions surrounding the great war except more lopsided because one side has a massive technological advantage. vacuo wasn’t even a state, it had no formal government of its own and it was under mistrali occupation when the vacuans rebelled. not an industrialized nation. vale was had probably industrialized to some degree (the artwork in the WOR spot doesn’t reflect this, but “no one knows who shot first” and vale/vacuan forces were reliant on dust munitions – everyone had guns) but mantle was significantly ahead of the curve.

so.

you have ten years of trench warfare – more than double the length of our own great war. you have the grimm, who are drawn to all negative feelings but especially to violence. you have huge swaths of territory that are just annihilated and never reclaimed. qrow mentions food rationing, so there were probably widespread famines caused by the loss and destruction of farmland. and this was happening all over the world, on every continent, including the unnamed continent that is now literally uninhabited – it wasn’t always, there used to be settlements there, they’re shown in i think WOR: vale – for a decade. right

ozma brought the sword of destruction onto the battlefield to break what was either a brutal stalemate or a slow grind of brutal attrition depending how lopsided the technological advantage was – after ten years of what had to be every military commander and every leader trying everything they could think of to force a surrender because nobody wants this – in the single bloodiest battle of the war, which, yes, means he personally killed an unfathomable number of people because trench warfare is a uniquely deadly form of warfare –

but the vast, vast vast majority of people who died in the great war were not killed in that one battle. remnant’s population is a lot smaller than ours – millions, not billions – so it’s unlikely that millions of people died. but proportionally this war probably killed hundreds of thousands of people and i would not be surprised if at some point a character drops a figure like “almost a million” or even “over a million” – like just. in raw terms, thinking about this as remnant’s great war – the historical exemplar is really not. subtle – that lasted for a decade, this is a conflict that wiped out a significant percentage of the global population.

all that said,

the military tacticians and strategists largely would have survived and military historians would have been all over this conflict. lessons learned. the infantry poured into the trenches were not gaining any battle experience other than “this is actual, literal hell” while they endured hours of artillery barrage. the only wisdom that can be imparted by trench warfare is that it must be avoided at any cost because the only way to win is for the other side to run out of men or ammunition or popular resolve first. pure attrition. that’s the only takeaway. never let this happen again.

i think this is why the atlas military immediately pivoted to, like, robotic soldiers and armored mechs and the warships. that is “we cannot do trench warfare again. we cannot do trench warfare again.”

(in combination with radically changing the way you deploy troops, tanks and aircraft is indeed how you never do trench warfare again – there were tanks and light aircraft during WWI but none of them were good enough to break the stalemate.)

the problem, largely, for the atlas military – in terms of tactical innovation – is that in the eighty years since the great war, there’s only been one large-scale conflict and the faunus revolution was an insurgency, which – had to have been a protracted war waged by some phenomenally tactically ingenious faunus because the insurgents won – and that is a completely different kind of ballgame.

strategic doctrine and military tactics are developed and tested through practice. we did not jump from WWI straight to modern warfare, there have been many many regional wars and smaller conflicts between then and now. after a war, win or lose, you can theorize all you want but until there’s another war that puts your new technology or new tactics to the test, there’s not really a way to know if you’ve learned the right lessons and corrected successfully from whatever errors you made in the previous war.

in a world like remnant, where there are only five states in the entire world and there is so much pressure against open warfare, military innovation is going to be really slow. glacial even. stagnant. the horrifying scale of the great war is not something anyone wanted to ever repeat, and you can see that in the development of atlas’ military technology since then. but, as we can see when salem begins her assault on atlas:

the doctrine has not changed significantly. we have unmanned robotic light infantry arrayed in formation support the atlesian equivalent of tanks, with heavy artillery mounted on the warships in formation above. and, in the back, trenches for the human shock infantry and huntsmen. this is still very much warfare in the pre-industrial mode.

the calculation that the atlas military made here is quite clear – pursue aerial superiority to control the skies so you can eliminate ground-based enemy artillery, mass-manufacture lightweight disposable robotic infantry to feed into the meat grinder, deploy soldiers in heavily-armored mechs supported by those disposable infantry bots into the no man’s land to lead the advance and clear a path for the human rear infantry (<- those mechs would be excellent for cutting rapidly through barbed wire, a major advantage over tanks in another WWI-style conflict).

this is a military that reacted to trench warfare by investing in armored ground vehicles and heavy aircraft (✅ tanks and bombers), and by substituting disposable drones for human shock infantry instead of the shift toward evasive maneuvering and detection avoidance that undergirds modern warfare. which is not unreasonable! if in 1918 it had seemed remotely possible to anyone to replace human troops with little war machines, people would have tried! and in a world where a) the technology to do that proves viable and b) the great war is followed by an 80-year period in which the only major conflict is an insurgency, it’s inevitable that the doctrine stagnates there because it’s untested.

no matter how many drills and VR scenarios and war games you do, you can’t know how this new approach works in a real war until you fight another war. the iterative process of improvement is stalled.

and the terrifying thing about salem is she knows what the fuck she’s doing. it is clear that one of the lessons ozpin took away from the great war is that the general public cannot be entrusted to know that war is on the horizon – he’s furious with ironwood for bringing warships to vale because (aside from risking a bona fide diplomatic incident that could inflame tensions between vale and atlas should the vale council take issue with the uninvited presence of a foreign state’s air force in their kingdom!) he’s concerned that it will make people tense.

you know, like how people were tense when mistral occupied eastern vale and ozma tried to avert war by appeasement, and then there was a deadly riot that exploded into a decade of trench warfare. like how things were probably pretty goddamned tense before the faunus revolution broke out in response to humans being – as oobleck very delicately put it – “quite, quite adamant about centralizing the faunus population in menagerie.”

(that’s code for, at best, systematic persecution intended to make living outside menagerie so untenable that faunus would leave en masse; mass deportations and genocide at worst. in case that isn’t clear.)

i doubt ozma was remotely as obsessed with absolute secrecy such that the common people don’t even know there’s anything unusual happening prior to the great war and the faunus revolution. ozpin is a trauma reaction to those conflicts, deeply and profoundly shaped by them and terrified to the point of irrationality of allowing the “energy” that preceded the outbreak of those wars to happen again.

salem hits beacon with three separate and extremely public terroristic attacks all on the same night – she planned for four, but one fired early – all of which were broadcast internationally, live. she spent eighty years observing how oz reacted to the great war and then struck at him in a manner he would never be able to conceal, and (if he’d survived) would have gotten him stripped of power and cast out of his fortress in disgrace. i think her calculation here is that ozpin would either be dead for at least a few years or self-immolate out of panic.

haven, of course, she had lionheart in her pocket and planned a covert operation. low risk, quick and quiet.

but then, when her plans shuffled and brought her to atlas – a military power that has spent eighty years preparing for war between industrialized states, trying to claw its way ahead of the curve so it won’t be trapped in a trench stalemate again – salem made an inexhaustible force of grimm and delivered a an old-school siege, because a post-industrial military that has focused for eight decades on the problem of avoiding trench stalemate is not prepared to handle an enemy force that is effectively immune to artillery fire.

i think the atlas military would have done a lot better in a round two of the great war. but that’s not the war it got. it got a premodern siege by the eldritch roman legion with instant and infinite respawns so artillery barrages just don’t matter. it’s not about overpowering the enemy! it’s about taking away what power they have!

(this, plus the atlesian military’s development of devices that provoke massive grimm swarms as per arrowfell, makes it emphatically clear that the atlas military does not exist for the purpose of grimm extirpation. it’s an institution that has been built from the ground up for open warfare with other states.)

[typezerostudios]

Reposting clean version without the long thread. Possible intro to Avatar: New Omashu/Avatar: Dead Moon/Whatever it ends up called.

@charlesoberonn @avatar-the-dead-moon

The Fire Nation cheered at the beginning of the end. Admiral Zhao slew the Moon Spirit, and cut the legs out from the Northern Water Tribe when they were at their strongest. By dawn, their soldiers patrolled the streets, their chief knelt before the Moon Slayer, and their princess was taken away as a bride to be to the Fire Prince.

None of them thought of the consequences of their victory.

There were always storms, always monsters, and with the conquest of the Water Tribes complete, it was easy to blame on an increase in raiders. When entire naval groups disappeared, with no survivors, no trace of what happened, they grew uneasy, but focused on the conquest of Ba Sing Se. There was no need to panic when victory was so close at hand. There was no need to be concerned about naval affairs, the final battles would be fought on land.

It was easy to ignore the soldier's stories, of strange voices in the night. After all, they needed something to keep them occupied. It was easy to blame their sudden disappearances on Jeong-Jeong, the traitor, seducing them with empty promises. No one spoke of the empty uniforms left behind.

It wasn't until the end of Summer, with the return of Sozin's Comet, that they truly understood their folly.

The Fire Lord's decision to burn the resistance out of the other nations was met with cheers, the the deployment of the aerial fleet went perfectly. The end of Earth Kingdom resistance was inevitable. They were the elite Firebenders, personal guards to the Fire Lord himself, blessed with power most benders could only dream of possessing. They thought they were invincible.

They were wrong.

The Ocean rose up to stop them, translucent tendrils rising up the engulf the fleet. Some burned their way free, ascending out of easy reach. Most did not, and were dragged into the depths. It chased them, shooting the most powerful ships ever created down like a farmer swatting spider-flies.

Ozai fled, abandoning his fleet and followers. The Ocean swore it would always hunt those who took away its beloved, and the seas began to rise.

The Earth Kingdom was meant to end in fire. Death by water was unexpected, but by no means merciful. Ba Sing Se stood as it always did, the walls built ever higher to keep the floodwaters at bay. The rest of the Earth Kingdom survived as they always did, building dam, sealing off underground caverns, or learning to sail.

The Water Tribes survived, even thrived. They just moved their frozen homes from land to water. Some learned a new form of waterbending, fueled by rage and retribution. The arts of healing were lost, but the destructive power they gained more than made up for it.

The Fire Nation… suffered. Their civilization was all but obliterated when the Great Tsunami swept over the archipelago. Survivors rebuilt on the mountain tops. Their armies and colonies… dissipated. Some made new lives in the Earth Kingdom, others became raiders, and some took their fleet and welding them together into floating fortresses, capable of withstanding even the most power storms.

Regardless of their nation, so much was lost. Cities were swallowed by the seal, never to be seen again, spirits lashed out as their homes were ravaged, rampaging across what little land remained.

Throughout it all, people prayed for the Avatar to return. He didn't. Some say that his disappearance was the first sign of the coming end. Some say that the Spirits kept him from reincarnating, because humanity had gone beyond redemption. Some say he gave up, like so many others.

But I still hope.

[bestiarium]

The Dard [French folklore]

Supernatural monsters that suck the milk out of cows are surprisingly common throughout European folklore. I suppose it was a way for farmers to explain why a perfectly normal, healthy cow suddenly didn’t give any more milk.

In the Vienne region of France, stories were told of a strange creature called ‘le dard’. According to Desaivre’s 1882 description, this animal was a snake with the head of a cat, a short tail and four legs. A furry mane ran along the creature’s spine.

Though the Dard is not venomous, it can deliver a vicious bite if provoked. In addition, these creatures are known to make a hideous hissing sound. They suck milk from cows' udders.

Curiously, some farmers in the region claimed to recognize the Dard’s likeness in the decorations on the columns of certain churches, though it’s not mentioned which ones.

Source: Ellenberger, H., 1949, Le monde fantastique dans le folklore de la Vienne, Nouvelle revue des traditions populaires, 1(5), pp. 407-435. (image source: me, hence the crude pencil drawing. I figured I could probably draw a cat’s head, right? Such is the folly of man!)

[glbtrx]

Let's talk.

Just here to remember that Oromis, a wise hundreds years old elf, said to twenty years old Galbatorix, That had just lost his dragon and half of his mind, not to be angry.

And he thought it would work :')

No, ok, let's be serious. Arguably the finest of the new Dragon Riders, he had lost his dragon, his partner of mind and heart, as well as four friends with him in a vicious Urgal ambush. That boy (just 19) wandered a dangerous and probably haunted mountain range for months until he was found by a farmer. Now, already here, in the story told there has never been any mention of any quest by the Riders for Galbatorix. Like, the Prodigy Rider disappears and you don't move? Let the thing pass?

However, the worst thing comes next. Oromis tells us that he saw Galbatorix's folly in the desperation of his request for a new dragon, and that he convinced the other elders that he was crazy.

And?

Then what? What did you do then? Knowing how terrible the loss of a dragon is for a Rider, you simply let the crazed boy go without helping him in any way, and also in the spine?? A place where he had gone mad and a place inhabited by evil spirits? (And indeed, it is supposed that spirits taught Gal black magic there, and that he met the shade Durza)

We can well say that the negligence of the order of the Riders went far beyond arrogance.

[dolphin1812]

The beginning of this chapter is honestly really funny because somehow, the sentence “He had theories” inspires the same specific form of dread that Hugo seems to be calling on with that line: knowing that you’re about to hear horrible takes from someone in a position of authority in a household. In this case, his terrible ideas are about women. Reading this about 200 years after the events of the story, it’s kind of interesting to see what a bourgeois woman could and couldn’t do from the list given:

“Then his wife busies herself, grows passionately fond of handling coin, gets her fingers covered with verdigris in the process, undertakes the education of half-share tenants and the training of farmers, convokes lawyers, presides over notaries, harangues scriveners, visits limbs of the law, follows lawsuits, draws up leases, dictates contracts, feels herself the sovereign, sells, buys, regulates, promises and compromises, binds fast and annuls, yields, concedes and retrocedes, arranges, disarranges, hoards, lavishes; she commits follies, a supreme and personal delight, and that consoles her. While her husband disdains her, she has the satisfaction of ruining her husband.”

It’s quite a long list! With money, Gillenormand’s wife was able to be pretty active in her community. It was definitely a precarious position, though; the money was never hers, as she only “[felt] herself the sovereign.” All of that wealth was really M Gillenormand’s, and she only had access to it as long as he felt like allowing that. A bourgeois woman could, then, be economically active, but only as long as her husband permitted it.

I also like that we see the logic in Gillenormand’s lifestyle, even if it’s a despicable one. The sexist underpinning - with wives just needing to be “legitimate” and ruining husbands financially out of “jealousy” rather than real frustration at being stuck with a man who doesn’t care about her - is a big part of it, as that’s how he ends up with so little money (comparatively). There’s a more sympathetic political aspect as well. Gillenormand has lived through so much political change in his lifetime: first the French Revolution, then Napoleon, then the Bourbons, and now the July Monarchy. He specifically fears his property being taken away by a sudden political change because he’s seen that happen, and it makes sense that that kind of instability would lead him to prioritize his day-to-day lifestyle over saving for the future. At the same time, it’s a selfish decision. We know that he has an unmarried daughter that won’t be left with much because of his financial choices, and we’ve seen how hard it is for women to get by without husbands or other men supporting them (Fantine being the most extreme example). Given that his introduction began right after we were promised an introduction to Marius at the end of Gavroche’s chapter, we can assume they’re connected somehow, too, so his decisions may harm Marius as well. 

Then again, Gillenormand’s selfishness there isn’t surprising at this point. He’s already been rude and condescending to his daughter, and the way he “re-baptizes” his servants again emphasizes how disrespectful he can be to those around him.

[floatingaroundinmymind]

Prologue for a fantasy story; feedback appreciated!

The world's savior was found on a Tuesday. 

On a single patch of green grass amid frost tipped weeds and crystalline ants lay a single man-sized egg in the village square. The children found it first and then the fishermen and farmer's wives. The elders spoke in hushed whispers, spun silvery tales of prophets and heralds to man, saviors in times of need. And so a gilded shrine was built to honor the Prince of Men, a nest with the good down, adorned with the finest silks and purest gold. 

And into the walls men carved such intricate patterns, eyes of the village to watch and protect the young prince--the grandest being an ornate carving of the imagined prince among his people. The women produced their fineries, dresses and robes, stockings and cloaks with which their skilled fingers distilled every ounce of hope. There was deliberation, talk of how to mold the new angelic host, of how he should come to know man and the world of men in the days since prosperity. 

Oh, but it was folly. 

Seed of discontent, sown by human or heavenly hands? Flower of malevolence in full bloom on crimson earth, beneath smoky skies; new ashen snow in frozen summer. And the egg, in a golden cage. 

No one was there when the egg hatched. The scant sunlight filtered in through the rocks above, seeping into cracks between yellowed blades of grass and craggy holes in weak, sputtering spurts of life. And as it hit the large, pale slabs of raw stone and shone on the streams of water which trickled off their crumbling steps, Aurea found they were alone. 

They crawled out of the egg, amniotic fluid spilling onto the previously untainted floor. The bare ground was cold and stark against the warmth of the egg and Aurea felt its solid, stony weight beneath her feet. 

The gilded cage sat upon a raised pedestal and through the golden slats, Aurea caught glimpses of greenery, the trickling of water dropping off into some dark abyss beyond the reach of both the sun's rays and their eyes. Aurea shrugged off the cracked bits of shell that clung to her body, the sticky residue from the egg clinging to each piece. 

Against the bars closest to the stairs were a wooden bowl, cloths of some sort, thick boots, and a folded set of garments upon which a crown of branches sat waiting, watching as if it too awaited their arrival. The bowl was large and filled with water for washing, the fabric beside it needlessly ornate for what amounted to washcloths.

Instinctively, she cupped the water in her hands and rinsed her face, felt the sticky fluid run off it and reached for a washcloth, wiping the rest off. Aurea's face reflected back at them in the ripples—blonde hair curling around the edges of their face and ice blue eyes searching for some sense of self in the not quite child nor adult face that stared back. Tearing her eyes away from the false self, the process was repeated with the rest of their body until the water remaining in the bowl had turned a dingy yellow, the remnants of birth clinging to the bottom. 

Cleansed as they were, the slight chill in the air had now grown to a freezing magnitude, aided by the dampness of Aurea's hair and the absence of the egg's warmth. It was then that she turned her attention to the garments beside the now dirtied washcloths. Stacked neatly there were four pieces in the set, accented by golden threads and vibrant purple hues with an off-white serving as the base, earthen browns meant to balance the more striking elements.  

She held the garments in her hand, noted on one there were holes for arms, a head and more confusing ones on another piece. Aurea stared at the large carving on the wall furthest from them, a winged herald among ground people. The regal figure was clothed in strange robes, trousers and fine boots—the very same set neatly folded before her.   

Aurea turned away from the carving feeling the stone figures' eyes lingering long beyond their rocky casing and attempted to dress herself. 

As she slipped on the clothing still she felt eyes watching. It was a low hum in the background that made its presence known louder with each passing minute. Half-dressed, Aurea turned back to glance at the stony faces on the wall and noticed on the opposite wall a pattern. 

Eyes.

There were eyes carved into every wall surrounding the great gilded cage.

They didn't roam—there was no life behind them. They simply stared at her half-naked asking questions that only the ancient hands of men knew, answers that the wind pretended not to know as it blew through the cavern. Their silent, ever-present gaze never once left Aurea and she could feel each pupil on her body, covering her whole being like a million unwanted hands touching, poking, and prodding at her like she was an animal in a cage. 

There was nowhere to hide. 

She turned, suffocated by the prying eyes, feet slipping on the water from before and reached for the gilded bars as she fell. The bars gave way and Aurea hit the ground—the cage door was open.  

The large golden door now lay wide open, the mysteries of the world outside the cage waiting. Its hinges were old and worn but still functional—the same could not be said for the lock whose chain was rusted brittle and broken, the result of many years left unattended.  

Still feeling the burning gaze of the carvings, Aurea finished dressing, threw on the boots and wrapped herself in the massive cloak provided, the fur-lined hood tickling her cheeks. They stepped carefully over the cage threshold and took in the cavern with caution and awe.

From atop the pedestal holding the cage there were a set of stairs which led down to level ground. On either side of the steps were countless stalagmites guarding a large lake which seemed to circle around the base of the steps, back into some far corner beyond sight. Far above even the cage, there were cracks in the cave ceiling through which small rays of light penetrated and water from some unknown source seemed to endlessly trickle in, dripping off the stalactites and down onto the stalagmites and into the subterranean lake.       

As Aurea descended the stairs, small pillars of white came into view. Dozens of old candles were littered at the base of the steps and led outward into a narrow corridor, ancient wax drips dried on their bulky stalks. 

Alongside the candles were dried bundles of herbs, some ashen and all bound with thin string, the likes of which Aurea could faintly smell mingling with the earthen scent of the cave. 

They followed the trail of candles in darkness through a winding path. The only constants discernible were the drip of water, the occasional streak of light and the sense of a gradual ascent. When the path opened up once more, there was a great out pour of light and with it a scant few steps which led to somewhere outside the cave.

The outer world was immobile. Beyond the threshold was a vast expanse of white blanketing the ground as far as the eye could see and hazy in the distance, a faint plume of smoke against the slowly darkening blue sky. Aurea stepped forward as if on impulse, one foot in front of the other as she stared at the source of the smoke and felt snowflakes float onto her nose and ears, dampening both with their presence. 

The wind's chill penetrated even the thick coat and trousers that Aurea wore and they had grown hungry, an ache seating itself deep in the pit of their stomach. The smoke in the distance was far, but close enough to reach, Aurea thought. And off she went towards the source.

*

"Wren, come tend the fire." 

Grandma sat curled by the fireplace on a much loved rocking chair. The wrinkled face still held the woman's countenance well, playful nature coming through in her twinkling ancient eyes and calm voice. Oh, but she was always like this, lightly complaining about the ache winter brought to her brittle old bones—Wren never minded. 

"Just a moment."

Wren moved slow down the stairs, the outline of her lithe form barely visible in the faint firelight and short brown hair swaying with each step. 

There was something comforting about the way Grandma called her each winter night, the loose routine they had settled into as Wren talked about the stars and Grandma taught her about the past, the olden days most had forgotten. Grandma had always said winter was the season for dreams and so Wren thought it seemed fitting that each passing winter felt a little like a dream itself—lazy and uncertain but with a hopeful tone. The slow meandering pace of the nights overshadowed the brief periods of sunlight called day as the long arm of time stretched itself thin again. It would be a matter of time before spring came and brought with it all the beauty of nature.  

Until then on tonight, like most nights, Wren was relegated to retrieving firewood from the storehouse and preventing the small flame that gave life to all inhabitants from going out. 

"Be careful, the wolves have been restless lately—strange men in the area. Be on your guard." 

"I know, Grandma. I learned from the best after all." Wren winked, patted her hunting knife in its sheathe and lit the lantern like always, the wick seized up in dancing flame. 

Shrugging on a thick coat and slipping into equally warm boots, she turned the front door knob and stepped out into the cold, started down the steps and towards the direction of the storehouse.  

It was a short walk from the main house to the storehouse indicated by loosely staked poles with symbols carved on them so one could navigate nearly blind if they had to. The lantern lit up the path as Wren walked, snowflakes dappling the black wool coat she wore. Undoing the latch and pushing the door open, she grabbed a few hefty pieces of wood and made her way back out, nightly routine nearly over.

The pale moonlight was at its peak now, an imperfect crescent that cast a lonely gaze over a stark white land covered in coniferous trees of varying shades and exposed rock.   

And there face down in the snow, far from Wren but just close enough, was a girl with blonde hair. 

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

The Flight of Shadows

In the waning light of a May evening in 1941, Rudolf Hess stood on the airfield outside Augsburg, his eyes fixed on the Messerschmitt Bf 110. The twin-engine aircraft gleamed under the setting sun, a symbol of the hope and desperation that filled his heart. As Deputy Führer of the Third Reich, Hess had been privy to the machinations of power, but tonight, he embarked on a mission that diverged sharply from the paths of war and conquest.

Clad in his Luftwaffe uniform, Hess climbed into the cockpit, the weight of the Reich pressing down on him. The world was engulfed in the flames of conflict, and he, once a close confidant of Hitler, had grown increasingly disturbed by the relentless march toward annihilation. His thoughts turned to peace, an elusive dream amid the chaos. The decision he made was one of conviction and madness, an attempt to broker a truce with Britain, whom he saw as a potential ally against the true enemy: Bolshevism.

The engines roared to life, and the plane hurtled down the runway, lifting into the darkening sky. As he ascended, Hess felt a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Below, Germany shrank to a patchwork of shadows and lights, while ahead, the vast expanse of the North Sea stretched out, a cold, indifferent witness to his solitary quest.

Hours passed as he navigated by the stars, the hum of the engines his only companion. The coastline of Scotland emerged from the mist, and with it, the realization of the enormity of his endeavor. He aimed for Dungavel House, the estate of the Duke of Hamilton, a man he believed could facilitate peace talks. His fuel dwindling, Hess prepared for the final descent.

The plane skidded across a Scottish field, crashing to a halt. Dazed but determined, Hess extricated himself from the wreckage. His mind raced with the urgency of his mission. Stumbling through the darkness, he was soon apprehended by local farmers, who were bewildered by the appearance of this high-ranking Nazi officer in their midst.

Under heavy guard, Hess was transported to the Tower of London. His arrival sent shockwaves through the British government. Prime Minister Winston Churchill, initially skeptical, ordered an investigation into Hess's motives. In the cold, damp cell, Hess found himself isolated, his grand plans reduced to the stark reality of imprisonment.

News of his flight reached Hitler, who erupted in fury. Hess was declared insane, his actions condemned as the folly of a deranged mind. The Führer's inner circle closed ranks, distancing themselves from the man who had once stood at the heart of Nazi power.

In the cold, stone-walled room of the Tower of London, Rudolf Hess sat across from Winston Churchill, the two men locked in a silent battle of wills. Churchill, cigar smoke curling around his head like a wreath, listened intently as Hess laid out his proposal.

"Mr. Churchill," Hess began, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the weight of his mission, "Germany does not seek to destroy Britain. Hitler's true enemy is Bolshevism. We believe that together, our nations can eradicate this threat and ensure the future of Europe."

Churchill's face remained impassive, but his mind raced. The war had taken a heavy toll on Britain. The Blitz had ravaged cities, and the strain on resources was immense. Despite his deep distrust of the Nazis, Churchill recognized the potential strategic advantage. After hours of intense discussion, a reluctant but pragmatic agreement was forged. Britain would cease hostilities with Germany and join forces against the Soviet Union. The United States, wary of the entanglement, decided to remain neutral.

With the secret pact in place, Operation Shadow was launched. The British and German forces coordinated a massive assault on the Soviet Union, catching Stalin off guard. The combined might of the Wehrmacht and the British Army swept through the Eastern Front with unprecedented speed.

The propaganda machines on both sides churned out stories of valor and brotherhood, portraying the alliance as a heroic stand against the spread of communism. Hess, once seen as a madman, was now heralded as a visionary who had brokered the impossible peace.

In London, Churchill faced a divided public. Some saw the alliance as a betrayal, while others, weary of war, welcomed the prospect of an end to the conflict. In Germany, Hitler's image was bolstered by the newfound partnership, and the narrative of a united Europe against Bolshevism gained traction.

The decisive Battle of Kursk saw the Allied forces dealing a crippling blow to the Red Army. Stalin, cornered and desperate, sought peace terms. The Treaty of Minsk was signed in 1943, effectively ending the war in Europe. The Soviet Union was left severely weakened, its influence in Eastern Europe diminished.

As Europe began the arduous task of rebuilding, Hess's role in the alliance was celebrated. He was awarded the Iron Cross and given a prominent position in the new European Union, an organization dedicated to ensuring peace and cooperation across the continent. Churchill, while still wary of the Nazis, found himself working closely with Hess to stabilize the post-war order.

The new European order, under the leadership of Germany and Britain, focused on reconstruction and economic cooperation. The Marshall Plan, initially designed for Western Europe, was expanded to include the Soviet Union, with the goal of preventing the resurgence of Bolshevism.

The United States, observing the developments from across the Atlantic, continued its policy of isolationism, focusing on its own economic growth and technological advancements. The Cold War, in this timeline, was averted, and the world entered a period of relative stability.

Rudolf Hess, the architect of the Shadow Alliance, was hailed as a hero who had not only helped end the war but also shaped the future of Europe. His vision of a united front against communism had come to fruition, and the horrors of the Holocaust and Nazi atrocities were downplayed or conveniently forgotten in the new narrative of unity and peace.

Churchill, though he had his reservations, adapted to the new reality. He continued to be a dominant figure in European politics, working with Hess and other leaders to maintain the fragile peace. The European Union grew stronger, becoming a beacon of economic prosperity and political stability.

In the end, the world remembered Hess not as the nut job who flew solo to Scotland in a desperate bid for peace, but as the hero who brokered an unlikely alliance that changed the course of history. The story of the Shadow Alliance became a testament to the power of diplomacy and the complexities of wartime politics, a narrative of redemption and cooperation that shaped the 20th century.

Years later, as the world looked back on the tumultuous events of the 1940s, historians debated the morality and implications of the Shadow Alliance. While the immediate benefits of peace and prosperity were undeniable, the ethical compromises and the overshadowing of Nazi crimes left a complex and controversial legacy.

Adolf Hitler, buoyed by the success of the Shadow Alliance and the stabilization of Europe under German-British leadership, solidified his position as the dominant figure in continental politics. With the war in Europe effectively over by 1943, Hitler focused on consolidating his power and implementing his vision of a Greater German Reich.

With the Soviet Union significantly weakened and the Western Allies focused on their own recovery and economic expansion, Hitler's regime enjoyed a period of relative stability and international acceptance. The atrocities of the Holocaust and Nazi aggression were downplayed or overlooked amidst the narrative of post-war reconstruction and unity against communism.

Hitler continued to wield immense influence over European affairs, shaping policies and alliances to further his expansionist ambitions. His leadership style evolved into a more strategic and politically astute approach, leveraging Germany's economic prowess and military strength to maintain dominance in continental Europe.

However, as the years passed and the complexities of governing a vast empire grew, internal dissent and opposition to Hitler's authoritarian, crazy ass rule began to surface.

Initially, Hitler's regime benefited from the perceived success of the Shadow Alliance and the stabilization of Europe under German leadership. The European Union, spearheaded by Germany and Britain, focused on economic recovery and cooperation, presenting a facade of unity and stability. However, beneath the surface, cracks began to appear.

As time passed, the memory of Nazi atrocities, including the Holocaust, continued to cast a dark shadow over Hitler's regime. Despite attempts to downplay these atrocities, international condemnation persisted, especially from countries outside Europe that had been directly affected by Nazi aggression and genocide.

Within Europe, dissent simmered among populations who remembered the horrors of Nazi occupation and persecution. Resistance movements, fueled by the memory of lost loved ones and a commitment to justice, grew in strength. Political opposition to Hitler's authoritarian rule gained momentum, bolstered by a younger generation eager to move past the traumas of war and embrace a new era of democracy and human rights.

Internationally, Hitler's Germany faced increasing isolation despite the initial cooperation with Britain. The United States, having remained neutral , became a vocal critic of Hitler's regime, emphasizing the importance of accountability for war crimes and genocide. Pressure mounted on Germany to reconcile its past and address the lingering scars of the Holocaust.

Soviet Russia, weakened but not defeated, continued to exert influence in Eastern Europe, challenging Germany's dominance in the region. Tensions between the Soviet Union and the German-led European Union simmered, leading to sporadic conflicts and proxy battles in border regions. The Cold War, though different in its origins, still loomed over the continent, shaped by ideological divides and geopolitical maneuverings.

The enduring consequences of Hitler's genocide during the war reverberated across generations and continents. In Europe, efforts to rebuild and reconcile were complicated by the legacy of Nazi crimes. Survivors of the Holocaust, supported by international organizations and advocates for human rights, demanded justice and recognition for the millions who perished.

The Nuremberg Trials, adapted to reflect the nuanced political landscape of this alternate history, became a pivotal moment for international law and accountability. Key figures within Hitler's regime, including those responsible for planning and executing the Holocaust, faced trial and punishment. This process, though contentious and complex, aimed to establish a precedent for holding leaders accountable for war crimes and crimes against humanity.

In the broader context of global history, the memory of Hitler's genocide served as a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked nationalism and extremism. International efforts to promote tolerance, reconciliation, and human rights gained momentum, shaping global institutions and policies aimed at preventing future atrocities.

As pressure mounted both domestically and internationally, Hitler's grip on power weakened. Facing internal dissent and external condemnation, he found himself increasingly isolated and vulnerable. In a dramatic turn of events, a coup within Germany's military leadership, supported by civilian resistance movements and international allies, led to Hitler's arrest and eventual trial.

The trial, held in a reformed and democratic Germany, symbolized a turning point in European history. Hitler, once a symbol of authoritarianism and aggression, now stood trial for his crimes against humanity. The proceedings, broadcast worldwide, served as a reckoning for the atrocities committed under his regime and underscored the importance of international justice and accountability.

Hitler and his lover Eva Braun were hung upside down and eventually torn apart by citizens of Berlin.

Ultimately, Adolf Hitler's fate i was sealed not by military defeat but by the moral and legal condemnation of his actions during World War II. His legacy, tarnished by genocide and war, became a cautionary tale for future generations about the dangers of intolerance and extremism.

Thank God for crackpots like Hess.

God knows how bad it might have gotten or how insane the world would be today if Hess had not succeeded.

shape Hitler's fate by describing the evolution of European politics, the dynamics of international relations and the enduring consequences of his genocide during he war ChatGPT In this alternate history where Rudolf Hess's diplomatic maneuverings led to an alliance between Germany and Britain against the Soviet Union, Adolf Hitler's fate and the trajectory of European politics and international relations evolved in profound ways:

Evolution of European Politics: Initially, Hitler's regime benefited from the perceived success of the Shadow Alliance and the stabilization of Europe under German leadership. The European Union, spearheaded by Germany and Britain, focused on economic recovery and cooperation, presenting a facade of unity and stability. However, beneath the surface, cracks began to appear.

As time passed, the memory of Nazi atrocities, including the Holocaust, continued to cast a dark shadow over Hitler's regime. Despite attempts to downplay these atrocities, international condemnation persisted, especially from countries outside Europe that had been directly affected by Nazi aggression and genocide.

Within Europe, dissent simmered among populations who remembered the horrors of Nazi occupation and persecution. Resistance movements, fueled by the memory of lost loved ones and a commitment to justice, grew in strength. Political opposition to Hitler's authoritarian rule gained momentum, bolstered by a younger generation eager to move past the traumas of war and embrace a new era of democracy and human rights.

Dynamics of International Relations: Internationally, Hitler's Germany faced increasing isolation despite the initial cooperation with Britain. The United States, having remained neutral in this alternate timeline, became a vocal critic of Hitler's regime, emphasizing the importance of accountability for war crimes and genocide. Pressure mounted on Germany to reconcile its past and address the lingering scars of the Holocaust.

Soviet Russia, weakened but not defeated, continued to exert influence in Eastern Europe, challenging Germany's dominance in the region. Tensions between the Soviet Union and the German-led European Union simmered, leading to sporadic conflicts and proxy battles in border regions. The Cold War, though different in its origins, still loomed over the continent, shaped by ideological divides and geopolitical maneuverings.

Enduring Consequences of Genocide: The enduring consequences of Hitler's genocide during the war reverberated across generations and continents. In Europe, efforts to rebuild and reconcile were complicated by the legacy of Nazi crimes. Survivors of the Holocaust, supported by international organizations and advocates for human rights, demanded justice and recognition for the millions who perished.

The Nuremberg Trials, adapted to reflect the nuanced political landscape of this alternate history, became a pivotal moment for international law and accountability. Key figures within Hitler's regime, including those responsible for planning and executing the Holocaust, faced trial and punishment. This process, though contentious and complex, aimed to establish a precedent for holding leaders accountable for war crimes and crimes against humanity.

In the broader context of global history, the memory of Hitler's genocide served as a stark reminder of the dangers of unchecked nationalism and extremism. International efforts to promote tolerance, reconciliation, and human rights gained momentum, shaping global institutions and policies aimed at preventing future atrocities.

Hitler's Fate: As pressure mounted both domestically and internationally, Hitler's grip on power weakened. Facing internal dissent and external condemnation, he found himself increasingly isolated and vulnerable. In a dramatic turn of events, a coup within Germany's military leadership, supported by civilian resistance movements and international allies, led to Hitler's arrest and eventual trial.

The trial, held in a reformed and democratic Germany, symbolized a turning point in European history. Hitler, once a symbol of authoritarianism and aggression, now stood trial for his crimes against humanity. The proceedings, broadcast worldwide, served as a reckoning for the atrocities committed under his regime and underscored the importance of international justice and accountability.

Ultimately, Adolf Hitler's fate in this alternate history was sealed not by military defeat but by the moral and legal condemnation of his actions during World War II. His legacy, tarnished by genocide and war, became a cautionary tale for future generations about the dangers of intolerance and extremism.

[typezerostudios]

Possible Intro:

The Fire Nation cheered at the beginning of the end. Admiral Zhao slew the Moon Spirit, and cut the legs out from the Northern Water Tribe when they were at their strongest. By dawn, their soldiers patrolled the streets, their chief knelt before the Moon Slayer, and their princess was taken away as a bride to be to the Fire Prince.

None of them thought of the consequences of their victory.

There were always storms, always monsters, and with the conquest of the Water Tribes complete, it was easy to blame on an increase in raiders. When entire naval groups disappeared, with no survivors, no trace of what happened, they grew uneasy, but focused on the conquest of Ba Sing Se. There was no need to panic when victory was so close at hand. There was no need to be concerned about naval affairs, the final battles would be fought on land.

It was easy to ignore the soldier's stories, of strange voices in the night. After all, they needed something to keep them occupied. It was easy to blame their sudden disappearances on Jeong-Jeong, the traitor, seducing them with empty promises. No one spoke of the empty uniforms left behind.

It wasn't until the end of Summer, with the return of Sozin's Comet, that they truly understood their folly.

The Fire Lord's decision to burn the resistance out of the other nations was met with cheers, the the deployment of the aerial fleet went perfectly. The end of Earth Kingdom resistance was inevitable. They were the elite Firebenders, personal guards to the Fire Lord himself, blessed with power most benders could only dream of possessing. They thought they were invincible.

They were wrong.

The Ocean rose up to stop them, translucent tendrils rising up the engulf the fleet. Some burned their way free, ascending out of easy reach. Most did not, and were dragged into the depths. It chased them, shooting the most powerful ships ever created down like a farmer swatting spider-flies.

Ozai fled, abandoning his fleet and followers. The Ocean swore it would always hunt those who took away its beloved, and the seas began to rise.

The Earth Kingdom was meant to end in fire. Death by water was unexpected, but by no means merciful. Ba Sing Se stood as it always did, the walls built ever higher to keep the floodwaters at bay. The rest of the Earth Kingdom survived as they always did, building dam, sealing off underground caverns, or learning to sail.

The Water Tribes survived, even thrived. They just moved their frozen homes from land to water. Some learned a new form of waterbending, fueled by rage and retribution. The arts of healing were lost, but the destructive power they gained more than made up for it.

The Fire Nation… suffered. Their civilization was all but obliterated when the Great Tsunami swept over the archipelago. Survivors rebuilt on the mountain tops. Their armies and colonies… dissipated. Some made new lives in the Earth Kingdom, others became raiders, and some took their fleet and welding them together into floating fortresses, capable of withstanding even the most power storms.

Regardless of their nation, so much was lost. Cities were swallowed by the seal, never to be seen again, spirits lashed out as their homes were ravaged, rampaging across what little land remained.

Throughout it all, people prayed for the Avatar to return. He didn't. Some say that his disappearance was the first sign of the coming end. Some say that the Spirits kept him from reincarnating, because humanity had gone beyond redemption. Some say he gave up, like so many others.

But I still hope.

Avatar AU where Aang wakes up after 200 years in the iceberg, and 100 years after the Fire Nation completely fucks up the world.

The land is burned to a crisp. The moon is dark. The weather is out of wack. Angry spirits roam the wild, seeking vengeance against humanity for what they've done.

And yet despite everything, people still survive in the wasteland and ruins.

It's too late to save the world, but it's not too late to fix it.

(also instead of steampunk tech elements, it's atompunk elements)

[zonerobotnik]

"It's chilly in here-not that I feel it," he said. Then he sent the cat to start collecting food for the next meal, and began to talk in his rumbling voice. This was the story he told.

Hell Hall had once been an ordinary farmhouse named Hill Hall-it had been built by a farmer named Hill. It was about two hundred years old, the same age as the farm where the Sheepdog and the cat lived.

"The two houses are quite a bit alike," said the Colonel, "only our place is painted white and well cared for. I remember Hell Hall before it was painted black and it really wasn't bad at all."

The farmer named Hill had got into debt and sold Hill Hall to an ancestor of Cruella de Vil's, who liked its lonely position on the wild heath. He intended to pull the farmhouse down and build himself a fantastic house which was to be a mixture of a castle and a cathedral, and had begun by building the surrounding wall and the Folly.

(The Colonel had heard all this while visiting the Vicarage.)

Once the wall, with its heavy iron gates, was finished, strange rumours began to spread. Villagers crossing the heath at night heard screams and wild laughter. Were there prisoners behind the prison-like wall? People began to count their children carefully and found some missing.

"Some of the stories-Well, I shan't tell you just as you're falling asleep," said the Colonel. "I didn't hear them at the Vicarage. But I will tell you something-because it won't upset you as it naturally upset the villagers. It was said that this de Vil fellow had a long tail. I didn't hear that at the Vicarage, either."

Missis had taken in very little of this and was now fast asleep, but Pongo was keenly interested.

"By this time," the Colonel went on, "people were calling the place Hell Hall, and the de Vil chap plain devil. The end came when the men from several villages arrived one night with lighted torches, prepared to break open the gates and burn the farmhouse down. But as they approached the gates a terrific thunderstorm began and put the torches out. Then the gates burst open-seemingly of their own accord and out came de Vil, driving a coach and four. And the story is that lightning was coming not from the skies but from de Vil-blue forked lightning. All the men ran away screaming and never came back. And neither did de Vil. The house stood empty for thirty years. Then someone rented it. It's been rented again and again, but no one ever stays."

"And it still belongs to the de Vil family?" asked Pongo.

"There's only Cruella de Vil left of the family now. Yes, she owns it."

What a fascinating story! Why does she keep renting it out?

[alterworldstudios]

Farmers follies: episode two

The rabbit looked down at the boy with a confused glare. Where did this small... Farmer boy come from? Why was he hugging him? No ones ever done this before, especially with this worlds track record. Was he from out of town? No, couldn't be, no one dares to visit this sad part of the countryside. With an unamused sigh, he speaks again with a low, growly voice. "Ill say it again.. Who are you."

The boy snapped back to reality, and quickly stepped away, giving a sheepish laugh. "Uh.. Sorry.. Force of habit, haha.." "...uh huh." A habit? No one from here has a habit of randomly hugging someone. maybe that visitor theory isn't too far off.. "Still doesn't answer my question." "Oh! Uh... My name is... Uhhhh...." To the rabbit, the boy seemed to be struggling over saying something as simple as his own name, but to the "boy".. Well she wasn't sure on how to respond to that. See, lucky has read a lot of books on being a guardian, comes with being raised by a head angel, and in said books, one rule always rang clear. 'never say your name in the surface world'. The reasoning behind it wasn't always clear, though one theory Lucky had was due to the fact that demons can draw power from names at times... Especially demons who impersonate others for their own personal gain. With this in mind, Lucky began frantically looking around for something to give as a name, looking every which way for something, anything.. " jeez farmer, calm down." If her ears were still visible, they would've perked up at that. "Farmer?" "I mean... Yea? Aren't you a farmer? Ya kinda look like one..." "Uh... Yea! I am! I uh.. Like to.. Tend to gardens and, all that jazz haha.. Uh.. Yea, I'm Farmer, nice to meetcha!!!" she sheepishly held her hand out, shaking a bit. Would this rabbit buy it?

With a slight, unamused glare, the rabbit shook his head. "Your name.. Is actually farmer? Really?" "uhhh...... Yea?" "....not the strangest thing I've heard, makes sense around here." Lucky blinked. Wait. This is normal on the surface world? Strange, she didn't know of this.. "Uh.. Earth to farmer. come in farmer." "Oh! Uh.. Sorry, haha! Just uh... Wondering- say what're you doing here? Playing a banjo in the middle of a.. What is this a field?" "...these are the outskirts to my farm. It's a ways off, hard to find..." "Oh.. Really? You run a farm? But.. Wait, if you're out here, and.. This place is hard to find..." She looks behind the rabbit, spotting the revolver resting on the ground. Putting two and two together, A look of concern met her face. "...say... Uh... Pardon me for asking but... Are you ok?"

The rabbit didn't respond to that, instead turning away, playing a few notes on his banjo. Seems he didn't want to talk...

'farmer' isn't going to give up so easily though, she knows something is terribly, terribly wrong, and she wasn't gonna just brush it aside. The song itself was dripping with sadness and regret, and his hand seemed forced when plucking away at the cords...

But how could she possibly speak over the tune itself? How can she grab his attention?

Deep in thought, she was unaware to the fact.. That they were being watched.

Off in the forest, A ways away, two demons watched from the shadows. One, A tall imposing figure carrying a sparking trident, looked on with a unamused expression. The smaller one looked up at him, then back at the boy that was causing them both worry. "So.. We're just gonna let that guy talk to 'em?" "We can't intervene, not now. If we reveal ourselves to them, that will jeopardize things." "You're kidding me. What if they stop this stupid... Whatever this shit is that you've been doing forrrrrr.. How many years now?- EEP!" the being pointed his trident at the smaller demon, A low growl escaping him. "Watch what you say, ret, or do you want to be kept in the room for the next few hours." the littler demon flinched. "...s...sorry. Sorry. I won't question you again." "I thought so." The demon growled, returning its gaze to the duo off in the distance. The littler demon, shaking slightly, sighed, and returned his gaze to the 'farmer', thinking silently to himself 'I just wonder why I'm here at all... Its not like I'm of any use to...whatever this is.'

Back with the duo, Lucky was still trying to figure out some way to communicate with the sad rabbit in front of her, when an idea crossed her mind. This rabbit seemed to be venting out his feelings through his banjo playing, made clear with just how sad the song sounded. Maybe.. She could sing along to his song?.. Yea! That could work! I mean, its worth a shot right?

With a slightly nervous voice and a shaky breath, she slowly began to sing along.

"Hey mister rabbit, why so down? What has caused that distressed frown?"

The rabbit turned to face her, lucky flinching slightly. Shoot. was that a bad idea?... Wait.

With a sudden strike of his banjo, he softly sang back. "Well little farmer, dunno why you'd ask. With what's going on, you're not up to the task."

"w... Well uh... I want to help! Seeing that revolver, it almost makes me yelp! Surely something is terribly wrong, won't you tell me why, with this song?"

"As if I'd tell you anything, you couldn't even tell me your name! Just go on, get, there'd be no shame."

"Why would I do that?! That's so wrong!!!"

"Because the weak don't survive, only the strong!"

Lucky seemed taken aback at what the rabbit had said.

"What makes you say that? That's just sad! Please mister rabbit, tell me, before it gets-"

"TOO BAD!!!- ack-"

Strings snap, he was playing his banjo so fiercely, that he had broken its strings. Frustrated, he dropped the banjo, growling angrily to himself. "Lotus dammit. Just my luck. Of fucking course this blasted thing breaks when I need it most. OF FUCKING COURSE." Ranting angrily, aggravated at the broken banjo, he didn't seem to notice 'farmer' slowly inch closer and closer.. That is until, he felt a soft pat on his ears. Confused, he looks down, and sees the small farmer softly pet his ears. "What in the..." Normally he'd snap at anyone who did this, since usually it was done mockingly, but... The farmer was doing so with care, A sort of comforting calmness emitting from the petting. "there there... It'll be ok.. Calm down.." The rabbit looked on at the farmer, his voice and way of speaking.. It reminded him of...

Before lucky knew it, she was being hugged tightly by the rabbit, the rabbit crying softly into the hat she was wearing. Caught off guard slightly, she quickly recovered, patting the rabbit on the back with a calm smile. "There we go.."

The demons looked on, the smallest in awe at what the little farmer did, the tallest in anger, for he had interfered in the worst way possible. "No...no no NO." "wait, huh?-" before the little demon knew it, the tallest swung his trident towards the duo, A sharp, red magic blasting from the spikes, hitting the rabbit dead on. Lucky quickly backed away, alarmed. "W-what was that!? Wait... M.. Mister rabbit?"

The rabbit reared back, wincing and shaking, holding his head in pain. Visions visible only to him flashed in his eyes. His wife. His wife was gone. and it was all his fault. All his fault with his stupid stupid luck. Tears in his eyes, his head ablaze with screaming thoughts, he backs away, looking every which way.. His eyes landing on the revolver on the ground.

With a shaky breath, he grabbed it, pointing it at his head. Lucky looked on in shock and fear, quickly speaking up. "Wait! Don't!!"

The rabbit only laughed, tears streaming down his eyes, the voices and visions getting worse and worse and worse. 

The demon looked on in shock, turning to face his 'boss'. "What did you do?" "Simple really.. A simple torment spell.  Tormenting someone with visions of the dead, with visions of past regrets, guilt and anger... Why... His time will surely be up now." The tall one laughed, whilst the littlest one couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of guilt. But... They're demons... This is what they must do.

Lucky, alarmed at the scene unfolding in front of her, quickly tried to think of a plan. What caused this sudden change in the poor rabbit? Wait.. That feeling.. The sense of demonic energy.. That must've been what caused it. Demons must be trying to hurt this poor rabbit! But why?.. Now isn't the time to question that. With a shaky breath, she began to sing once more.

"Mister rabbit please, this isn't the way!! Put the revolver down, don't let it stay!!!"

"And what makes you think you can change my mind!? Nothing will change, nothing!!! This world isn't kind!!!"

"what makes you say that!?"

"Allow me to explain the rules of this land! No kindness or care for woman or man!! Grief and regret is seen for the weak! Its no wonder these thoughts have truly peaked! I'm not strong, not at all! Don't you hear it? VESANIA CALLS!!!!"

"Who is vesania? Please calm down!!!"

"ILL BE CALM WHEN I'M BURIED SIX FEET UNDER GROUND!!!! Listen buddy.. In the end, we all die. Why should I even try? Gun in hand my life shall end... MY SUFFERING SHALL BE KNOWN FRIEND!!!!"

with a manic laugh, he pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoing throughout the surrounding area.

Blood pouring out from the wound, the rabbit just kept laughing and laughing, Lucky looking on in fear and worry. The tallest demon laughed, A booming laughter that shook the ground, one that lucky didn't register.. The laughter was cut short on both sides, when lucky suddenly did something unbelievable.

He hugged the rabbit.

despite the blood pouring out onto him, despite the rabbit holding a weapon, he still hugged him, crying softly into his fur. The demon seemed confused, growling. "No... That won't work, surely..." But..it did.

After a moment of hesitation.. The rabbit hugged him back, the visions slowly dying, the voices growing quieter and quieter, until all he heard was the soft crying of a small, caring farmer.

"I.. I'm sorry..." was all he could really say at first. Repeated, over and over... "I'm so.. Very very sorry.. I... I just... I miss her so much.. B.. But everything I do... I've tried to die so many times.. Nothing worked.. I.. I just want to see her again... I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry..."

After a moment, the farmer looked up at him, tears streaming from his eye's. The rabbit slowly, and hesitantly cleared them away, the revolver dropped to the ground. A shot narrowly missed the farmer, but the duo didn't notice, instead focusing on calming the other down.

"Holy shit..." The littlest demon uttered. "That.. That.. Whatever he is, he calmed Oswald down! Never seen that happen before-" "this isn't good. It isn't good Everette." "Huh? Why not?" The taller demon growled, rising up. "It interrupted the ritual. The one I've been working on for so long. As long as that stupid brat stays in the picture, that rabbit isn't going to die anytime soon!" "Damn, that sucks." "Watch your tone, Everette." "Well what the hell else am I supposed to do? Its your own damn fault its ruined in the first place, I told ya to not be an idiot!- EEP" the demon had slammed his trident into the ground, as sparks of energy emitted from it. Alarmed, Everette attempted to run away from the raging demon in front of him. However, his efforts were for naught, when a blast of energy sent him as well as the duo flying.

The duo reared back a bit, the rabbit looking around with immense worry. "What the hell was that!? Wait..." He looked down at the boy who had helped him, A strange demonic energy surging through his hair, he had seemingly been knocked out cold from the blast. "wait... Shit shit shit no no no no-"

The rabbit picked him up, and ran to the farm house. He wasn't sure of what kind of spell had hit the guy, but it surely wasn't a good one, given the sparks.

Everette on the other hand, winced as he got up, looking at the demon with fear in his eyes. It was then that he noticed something was off. Alarmed, and a bit frustrated, he screamed as the demon slowly made its way back to hell. "Where are you going!? What the hell did you do to me!? Or him for that matter!!!??" "All will be revealed in due time... But know this Everette." The demon pointed his trident at him, causing them to flinch once more.

"Dare set a foot in hell without killing that foolish monstrosity, and I will not hesitate to make sure that your next breath will be your last."

With that, the demon disappeared, leaving Everette in the singed, burning field. After a moment of silence, he got up, and growled. "Fine" he said. "How hard can it be to kill some.. Rabbit angel anyways?" He thought of this as he staggered his way over, to the lone farmhouse off in the distance.

[brookston]

Holidays 4.4

Holidays

Antitrust Day

Art Deco Day

Atlanta Day

Auditory Processing Disorder Awareness Day

Ballroom Dance Day

Basque Day (Spain)

Bonza Bottler Day

Cat’s Day (Taiwan)

Chicago Flag Day (Illinois)

Children’s Day (China, Taiwan)

Clear and Bright Day (Farmer’s Calendar; China)

404 Day

HIE Awareness Day

Hug a Newsperson Day

International Day for Mine Awareness and Assistance in Mine Action (UN)

International Day to Defend Amina

International Rock Beat Day

Jeep 4x4 Day

Maya Angelou Day (Boston)

Microsoft Day

Mourning Day for Covid-19 Martyrs (China)

National Dillon Day

National Horse Rehabilitation Day

National Lunchbreak Day (UK)

National Pansy Day

Ose Matsuri (Japan)

Peace Day (Angola)

Refugee Rights Day (Canada)

Sarhul (Jharkhand, India)

Swedish-American Friendship Day

Tell-A-Lie Day

Victims of Violence Wholly Day

Vitamin "C" Day

Walk Around Things Day

World Drummers Day

World Plagiocephaley Day

World Rat Day

World Stray Animals Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Chocolate Milk Powder Day (a.k.a. Powdered Chocolate Day)

Homogenized Milk Day

International Carrot Day

National Cordon Bleu Day

National Pub Day (UK)

National Ramen Noodle Day

1st Tuesday in April

National Family Caregiver Day (Canada) [1st Tuesday]

National Healthy Schools Day [1st Tuesday]

National Service Recognition Day [1st Tuesday]

Oncology Nursing Day (Canada) [1st Tuesday]

Sexual Assault Awareness Day of Action [1st Tuesday]

Independence Days

Jacktoopia (Declared; 2014) [unrecognized]

Senegal (from France, 1960)

Sorrenia (Declared; 2013) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Aequinoctium Vernum VI (Pagan)

Benedict the Moor (Christian; Saint)

Dabucuri pataub, (Initiation Rites of the Young Men; to Jurupari, South American Guarani/Tupi God)

Feast of No Saints Day (Pastafarian)

Gaetano Catanoso (Christian; Saint)

Holy Tuesday [5 Days before Easter]

Isidore of Seville (Christian; Saint)

The Kangaroo Rat (Muppetism)

Katori Jingu Otaue-sai (Rice Planting Festival; Japan)

Magna Mater begins (aka Megalesia / Great Mother Festival; Ancient Rome)

Martin Luther King Jr. (Episcopal Church (USA))

Maurice de Vlaminck (Artology)

Megalesia (Mother of Gods Festival; Phrygian)

Mahavir Jayanti (a.k.a. Janma Kalyanak; Jainism)

Nafels Pilgrimage (Glarus Canton, Switzerland)

Pierre-Paul Prud´hon (Artology)

Portfirio Diaz Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Reginald Heber (Anglican Church of Canada)

Theodisius of Bithynia (Positivist; Saint)

Tigernach of Clones (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Unluckiest Day of the Year (China)

Premieres

Alice’s Auto Race (Disney Cartoon; 1927)

Aloha From Hawaii, by Elvis Presley (TV Concert Special; 1973)

Anna Karenina (Film; 1997)

Brilliant Corners, by Thelonius Monk (Album; 1957)

Bye Bye Birdie (Film; 1963)

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Film; 2014)

Chasing Amy (Film; 1997)

Combatants Will Be Dispatched (Anime TV Series; 2021)

Cool for Cats, by Squeeze (Album; 1979)

Cowboy Bebop: The Movie (Anime Film; 2003)

The Double (Film; 2013)

Follies, by Stephen Sondheim (Broadway Musical; 1971)

The Good Life, a.k.a. Good Neighbors (UK TV Series; 1975)

High Fidelity, by Elvis Costello (Song; 1979)

Man’s Best Friend (Disney Cartoon; 1952)

Nim’s Island (Film; 2008)

Oliver’s Story, by Erich Segal (Novel; 1977)

The Party (Film; 1968)

Perils of Pauline (Film Series; 1914)

Rio Bravo (Film; 1959)

The Saint (Film; 1997)

What a Girl Wants (Film; 2003)

Today’s Name Days

Isidor, Konrad (Austria)

Benedikt, Izidor, Platon (Croatia)

Ivana (Czech Republic)

Ambrosius (Denmark)

Ambrus, Arbo, Arp, Arpo (Estonia)

Ukko (Finland)

Isidore (France)

Isidor, Konrad, Kurt (Germany)

Izidor (Hungary)

Isabelle, Isadora, Isidoro (Italy)

Herta, Valda (Latvia)

Algaudas, Ambraziejus, Eglė, Izidorius (Lithuania)

Nancy, Nanna, Nina (Norway)

Ambroży, Bazyli, Benedykt, Izydor, Wacław, Wacława, Zdzimir (Poland)

Iosif (Romania)

Izidor (Slovakia)

Benito (Spain)

Ambrosius, Marianne, Marlene (Sweden)

Cedric, Cedrica, Plato, Tiernan, Tierney (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 94 of 2024; 271 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 2 of week 14 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Fearn (Alder) [Day 17 of 28]

Chinese: Second Month 2 (Gui-Mao), Day 14 (Red-Chen)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 13 Nisan 5783

Islamic: 13 Ramadan 1444

J Cal: 3 Aqua; Threesday [3 of 30]

Julian: 22 March 2023

Moon: 97%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 10 Archimedes (4th Month) [Theodisius of Bithynia]

Runic Half Month: Ehwaz (Horse) [Day 10 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 16 of 90)

Zodiac: Aries (Day 15 of 30)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 4.4

Holidays

Antitrust Day

Art Deco Day

Atlanta Day

Auditory Processing Disorder Awareness Day

Ballroom Dance Day

Basque Day (Spain)

Bonza Bottler Day

Cat’s Day (Taiwan)

Chicago Flag Day (Illinois)

Children’s Day (China, Taiwan)

Clear and Bright Day (Farmer’s Calendar; China)

404 Day

HIE Awareness Day

Hug a Newsperson Day

International Day for Mine Awareness and Assistance in Mine Action (UN)

International Day to Defend Amina

International Rock Beat Day

Jeep 4x4 Day

Maya Angelou Day (Boston)

Microsoft Day

Mourning Day for Covid-19 Martyrs (China)

National Dillon Day

National Horse Rehabilitation Day

National Lunchbreak Day (UK)

National Pansy Day

Ose Matsuri (Japan)

Peace Day (Angola)

Refugee Rights Day (Canada)

Sarhul (Jharkhand, India)

Swedish-American Friendship Day

Tell-A-Lie Day

Victims of Violence Wholly Day

Vitamin "C" Day

Walk Around Things Day

World Drummers Day

World Plagiocephaley Day

World Rat Day

World Stray Animals Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Chocolate Milk Powder Day (a.k.a. Powdered Chocolate Day)

Homogenized Milk Day

International Carrot Day

National Cordon Bleu Day

National Pub Day (UK)

National Ramen Noodle Day

1st Tuesday in April

National Family Caregiver Day (Canada) [1st Tuesday]

National Healthy Schools Day [1st Tuesday]

National Service Recognition Day [1st Tuesday]

Oncology Nursing Day (Canada) [1st Tuesday]

Sexual Assault Awareness Day of Action [1st Tuesday]

Independence Days

Jacktoopia (Declared; 2014) [unrecognized]

Senegal (from France, 1960)

Sorrenia (Declared; 2013) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Aequinoctium Vernum VI (Pagan)

Benedict the Moor (Christian; Saint)

Dabucuri pataub, (Initiation Rites of the Young Men; to Jurupari, South American Guarani/Tupi God)

Feast of No Saints Day (Pastafarian)

Gaetano Catanoso (Christian; Saint)

Holy Tuesday [5 Days before Easter]

Isidore of Seville (Christian; Saint)

The Kangaroo Rat (Muppetism)

Katori Jingu Otaue-sai (Rice Planting Festival; Japan)

Magna Mater begins (aka Megalesia / Great Mother Festival; Ancient Rome)

Martin Luther King Jr. (Episcopal Church (USA))

Maurice de Vlaminck (Artology)

Megalesia (Mother of Gods Festival; Phrygian)

Mahavir Jayanti (a.k.a. Janma Kalyanak; Jainism)

Nafels Pilgrimage (Glarus Canton, Switzerland)

Pierre-Paul Prud´hon (Artology)

Portfirio Diaz Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Reginald Heber (Anglican Church of Canada)

Theodisius of Bithynia (Positivist; Saint)

Tigernach of Clones (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Unluckiest Day of the Year (China)

Premieres

Alice’s Auto Race (Disney Cartoon; 1927)

Aloha From Hawaii, by Elvis Presley (TV Concert Special; 1973)

Anna Karenina (Film; 1997)

Brilliant Corners, by Thelonius Monk (Album; 1957)

Bye Bye Birdie (Film; 1963)

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Film; 2014)

Chasing Amy (Film; 1997)

Combatants Will Be Dispatched (Anime TV Series; 2021)

Cool for Cats, by Squeeze (Album; 1979)

Cowboy Bebop: The Movie (Anime Film; 2003)

The Double (Film; 2013)

Follies, by Stephen Sondheim (Broadway Musical; 1971)

The Good Life, a.k.a. Good Neighbors (UK TV Series; 1975)

High Fidelity, by Elvis Costello (Song; 1979)

Man’s Best Friend (Disney Cartoon; 1952)

Nim’s Island (Film; 2008)

Oliver’s Story, by Erich Segal (Novel; 1977)

The Party (Film; 1968)

Perils of Pauline (Film Series; 1914)

Rio Bravo (Film; 1959)

The Saint (Film; 1997)

What a Girl Wants (Film; 2003)

Today’s Name Days

Isidor, Konrad (Austria)

Benedikt, Izidor, Platon (Croatia)

Ivana (Czech Republic)

Ambrosius (Denmark)

Ambrus, Arbo, Arp, Arpo (Estonia)

Ukko (Finland)

Isidore (France)

Isidor, Konrad, Kurt (Germany)

Izidor (Hungary)

Isabelle, Isadora, Isidoro (Italy)

Herta, Valda (Latvia)

Algaudas, Ambraziejus, Eglė, Izidorius (Lithuania)

Nancy, Nanna, Nina (Norway)

Ambroży, Bazyli, Benedykt, Izydor, Wacław, Wacława, Zdzimir (Poland)

Iosif (Romania)

Izidor (Slovakia)

Benito (Spain)

Ambrosius, Marianne, Marlene (Sweden)

Cedric, Cedrica, Plato, Tiernan, Tierney (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 94 of 2024; 271 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 2 of week 14 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Fearn (Alder) [Day 17 of 28]

Chinese: Second Month 2 (Gui-Mao), Day 14 (Red-Chen)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 13 Nisan 5783

Islamic: 13 Ramadan 1444

J Cal: 3 Aqua; Threesday [3 of 30]

Julian: 22 March 2023

Moon: 97%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 10 Archimedes (4th Month) [Theodisius of Bithynia]

Runic Half Month: Ehwaz (Horse) [Day 10 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 16 of 90)

Zodiac: Aries (Day 15 of 30)

[wereshrew-admirer]

......Regency Era AU 

Duvall came to Eastern Folly as a student, but though he comes from a good family the high society of Sangfielle paralleled the common folk in their disdain for the old dominion. struggling to keep his place among the nobles, he regularly took long walks in the countryside to avoid doing anything rash in response to the taunting of his peers. 

On one such walk in the spring he met a young farmer wandering far from home and restless despite the season’s usually bone-wearying work of plowing and planting. they’d been forbidden from working the fields until the crops emerged, having been caught the year prior attempting to plant unearthly seeds in the soil. 

The farmer had never met a nobleman and their suspicion of Duvall was no different from their hesitancy to trust any of his class. Duvall, well accustomed to hostility by now, found this a refreshing change from the sneering of his supposed peers. 

The farmer, for their part, was pleasantly surprised first when instead of taking offense Duvall shared in their complaints of the local ruling class, and second when he reacted with genuine (and even enthusiastic) interest when they mentioned their theories on unorthodox methods for increasing crop yield. 

The two formed a habit, unintentional at first, of meeting along the shore of the large lake to the west of town, laughing together until the suns hung low on the horizon. they became close that summer, but when the weather cooled and harvesting began the farmer was called back to work, their size and strength appreciated by their family even when their mind was not. 

Duvall continued his afternoon walks until the frosts fell over the land and chilled his feet, but his friend did not return. All winter he sat at his bedroom window looking out at the low hills surrounding Eastern Folly, dreaming of the day he might hear the farmer’s laughter and forget, if only briefly, the strict world in which he lived his daily life. 

He got his wish the following spring, before even the first of the year’s new leaves unfurled -he found his farmer working among a construction crew near the marketplace Duvall frequented. At first he was overjoyed, but when the farmer caught his eye and called to him from the scaffolding of a new building, Duvall realized at once that they were not alone, and that any number of his enemies might witness his association with this commoner and use it to their advantage. 

Still, his desire to speak to his friend was strong, and he managed to pass word to the farmer of a time and place for them to meet in private. 

The farmer, blind to Duvall’s concerns and new to both urban life in general and the vulgar stories passed among their new coworkers, misinterpreted this request and arrived at the proposed meeting place with expectations well beyond those Duvall had intended. 

Surprised but far from offended, Duvall found himself drawn into the farmer’s arms and an affair of the sort he’d thought only possible in the most frivolous of fictions. But unlike his clothes, the farmer was unable to strip from him the true reasons for his discretion. 

Duvall was a scholar. To access his studies he must remain in the good graces of his family, and to do so meant that though he was allowed to fly far from the nest, he was to remain a respected member of high society wherever he landed. And the farmer was far below his station in both class and temperament. To be seen together would ruin him. 

And so when they met, they did so in secret, and only with great caution on Duvall’s part.

This would prove disastrous for any love that may have grown between them when Duvall received a scholarship that took him far from Eastern Folly on such short notice that he was unable to find the time away from watchful eyes to inform the farmer of his departure. 

Though he tried to write, his letters were returned to him undelivered. In desperation he wrote to the farmer’s parents under the guise of a business owner seeking work owed, and to his horror, this was the only letter that received a response: his lover had been conscripted and was soon thereafter killed in battle. 

Years later, Duvall returned to Eastern Folly in time to see its change into Blackwick county, and established himself there as a humble professor. Finally tolerated by the local gentry, if only, he suspected, as a source of entertainment. Still, this afforded him the freedoms he had originally sought in his flight from Aldomina - to study as he saw fit, and to research first hand those subjects that caught his interest. 

And he was not altogether as lonely as he seemed - he made what he thought were genuine friends in a rival scholar whose humor was all that saved him from constant scandal, and in a lady who shared Duvall’s foreign tongue and whom would have faced similar trials if not for her cool demeanor that allowed insults to roll off of her like beads of water off a duck’s back (unlike Duvall, who continued to struggle to control himself when sufficiently frustrated well beyond the years of when such things are expected of young men). Others, too, were kind enough to him that he felt at ease in Blackwick, if not at home. 

Parties, unfortunately, were still an uncomfortable necessity to remain in good favor with the patrons he had managed to acquire on his own, and to satisfy his now-distant family who continued to send him financial support from time to time with the hope that he might someday marry and expand the reach of their line into the heartland. 

And so every few weeks he’d spend an evening suffering the ignorant questions of those attempting to stave off their own boredom. He was painfully aware that most attending these social events had no genuine interest in his research, and so when the gaggle of dull-witted gentry abandoned him for some new amusement, Duvall felt nothing but gratitude to the unfortunate newcomer whose mysterious origin drew their attention.

It was a general, he found out later, having “returned” to Blackwick after a successful campaign in the bloodfields absolutely dripping in awards and medals and tales of gloriously violent exploits. Duvall’s gratitude for the distraction they posed did not extend to his curiosity, as not much turned his stomach quicker than did the glorification of military men who stood on the backs of soldiers who had no choice but to die fighting under their heel - a sensitivity that he did his best to hide, lest someone inquire as to how he picked it up.  

It was this that kept Duvall far from the circles that grew around the general, though the rumors were impossible to escape: Chine should died when a bullet tore through his face and took one of his eyes, but he had fought on to lead his men to victory as if unaffected by pain or blood loss. The list of battles they’d won was long, and they had become well known for their ferocity and willingness to face death alongside his soldiers. It was said that the very sight of their snarling face sometimes inspired their foes to surrender - The tales of their exploits nearly bore Duvall to tears. 

The only interesting line of gossip was the officer’s mysterious background. They were said to have come from Eastern Folly, but no local house claimed them. They spoke with the local accent, though, and bore features similar to those whose lines ran deep as the mines in these mountains. 

More curious yet, he would not identify the benefactor that sponsored their commission. Claiming again that they had ties to the land of Blackwick itself. What might have been a controversy that ruined a lesser man, Chine thrived on it. Equally fearsome on the ballroom floor, it was said, as they were in battle. 

This set Duvall off laughing whenever he heard it and so his friend and rival Lye Lychen took to announcing dance partners as though they had stepped into a boxing ring with the general, assigning points to potential suitors as they struggled to catch Chine’s attention through the normal means of flattery and sex appeal and over-practiced wit. 

While this often successfully got his shoulders shaking, Duvall managed to not so much as glance in the general’s direction. Lye’s obvious exaggeration of the situation became something of a game between the two of them and the Lady Es. She acted as a referee, confirming the truth or lie of Mr. Lychen’s claims whenever Duvall called it, saving him from actually looking himself - which added to the challenge for Lye, who was determined to craft a story just extravagant enough to draw Duvall’s curiosity without being flagged as false. Lady Es, in all fairness, never contradicted Lye until Duvall asked for her word. 

But Blackwick was not populous enough for such a game to continue forever. It was inevitable that eventually Duvall would look upon the general by accident, on or off of the dance floor. It happened late one evening after Duvall had drunk just enough to doubt himself - across the room a large group of people shifted, opening just enough to reveal at their center the figure that Duvall had thus far avoided. 

And fate would have it that the general, in that moment, also glanced in his direction. Duvall was frozen in place, staring with eyes so wide that he was sure to draw attention by his expression alone -  there across the hall stood his farmer, rendered nearly unrecognizable by the scars that cut bright lines through their freckles and dug deep pits into their face, but alive. He half-stumbled forward only to realize that a sea of party goers still blocked the path between them, and then recognition seemed to spark in the general’s eye and instead of reflecting the intensity of joy that Duvall felt for the briefest, sweetest moment, their expression shifted into a cold glare that seemed to take the floor out from below Duvall’s feet. 

Lyke was near enough to catch him, exclaiming, “woa now, you alright buddy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost”

Duvall grasped his friend’s arm for dear life, staring at the space where his farmer had been a moment before, replaced now by the ever-shifting crowd, and grateful for it, too - for a moment more of that hateful glare would surely have sent him to his own grave. He shook his head as if to clear it, blinking up at Lye and forcing a grin that he knew wouldn’t fool the man for a second, “you know - i - i might have”

[riridontneedya]

Whats mine isn't yours ... Pt 3 

*Fanfare music* Tada! Here it is guys part 3!! And in a much more timely manner lol. Right in this segment Ive decided to take a different direction ... why? well cause I like the drama haha and it keeps it exciting! but seriously I'm deliberately playing with the readers emotions at this rate. I will insert PART1 & PART2 here. There's no pressure to read them but if I'm being honest its better you at least read part 2 before this for continuity reasons :) other than that, nothing more to say but a massive thank you to all the babes who enjoy this wee series I appreciate all the likes and comments. And once again don't be afraid to reach out let me know if have any ideas in which direction you'd like to take the story or requests etc

Thanks again💕💕

Summary: Following the female readers turbulent love triangle.

Pairing: Tommy x Y/N x Micheal

Word count: 2,330

Warnings: Mature language but overall rather PG. This segment is more on the fluffy/ angsty side.

A/n: As always a shout out to the main babe !! and the title giver and an absolute dream!! when it comes to being supportive @notyour-valentine You're a doll !💕💕 xoxox

It was the peak of summer . The restless youth of Sheffield all fled to the neighbouring villages clutching  bottles of liquor either stolen from parents drink cabinets or acquired by other unscrupulous means , but they hadn’t a care in the world. The summer months welcomed lawless behaviour , late nights and questionable decisions, but that was the folly of youth … Their small town suffocated them . With nowhere to exert their energy they often flocked to neighbouring towns in search of new adventure. However as the day drew to a close they always found themselves in a familiar routine..  By the time the contents of their parents liquor cabinet had caught up with them and they would seek refugee in a pasture. Once or twice they would be shooed away by a disgruntled farmer but most the time they blissfully frolicked in pastures green.

It was getting late. The sky was adopting a warm hazy copper colour , the air had a slight cool twinge to it . A nice crisp summer breeze that was much needed  after they had been victim to the scorching midday sun. Despite the developing dull headache y/n remembered feeling euphoric and carefree as she lay on her back gazing into the coppery abyss surrounded by gleeful chatter and a gentle crackling of the makeshift campfire. Y/n could feel herself beginning to drift off .. that was until a broad figure came in to her line of sight  obscuring her vision. She immediately sat up to get a look at whom ever was simply looming over her. With everyone in their drunken stupor she wouldn’t be surprised if someone thought it perfectly ok to just hover .“Oh Micheal its you, what are doing ?”. Y/n  said with a haphazard smile . ‘Sticks , we need some more let's go” he fussed heaving her up by her forearm “Sticks … what are you on about” she whinged feeling particularly queasy having been hoisted up like that . “Sticks .. for the fire you daft idiot, you're coming with me to get them” . “Oh .. love having a choice in the matter Micheal thanks” she muttered sarcastically. Unperturbed , Micheal just flashed his usual remarkable  grin and continued to lead y/n to another part of the field. As they reached a tree Micheal slumped against its bark and proceeded to light a cigarette. 

“Sticks aren’t gonna collect themselves darling” he grinned , motioning to its branches . Y/n folded her arms across her chest “Get to fuck Micheal “ she cackled “ Get ole Peggy up here she fancies you enough to do your dirty work” . Ready to u turn and make her way back to her spot she felt Michaels hand pull at her wrist. Y/n remembered the silence that lingered between the two as they gazed at one another .. her wrist  remaining in his grip. He gently tugged her towards him guiding her hands to slope around his neck whilst his met at her waist . Y/n remembered the sensation of his large smooth hands beginning to sculpt the contours of her body , how his gaze was unwavering how the more receptive she became of his roaming hands how he instantly hauled her towards him. How his breathe became shallow as he felt her breasts atop him . How she couldn’t help the spillage of moans as he buried his face into her neck and intertwined his fingers into her hair. How he effortlessly spun her round and now had her flush against the tree , how his thumb brushed against her lower lip , how just as his wandering hands began to descend dangerously low his name was called out. Not by y/n but instead by that summers chosen concubine… 

Y/ns eyes snapped open with infuriation, she cursed her brain for unearthing a memory she had blissfully forgotten. After all those years she had marked it off as a case of usual teenage shenanigans nothing to overthink .Just alcohol causing a bad lapse of judgment and the overall exhilaration of it died down pretty quickly as they chose to ignore it and continue on . However that giddy feeling began to rebirth and was on constant loop in her brain ! Was it that she was really destined for Micheal since the very beginning?

Tommy stirred as the sun peeked through the curtains illuminating a portion of his porcelain face, casting him in a sort of angelic light. This was one of the only times he managed to look peaceful, when he was deep in slumber.  Last night It was everything she wanted to hear from him and more .. but it came in the form of instructions  rather than in the form of a man attempting to pour his heart out. Y/n debated if she was in fact being picky or maybe overacting about the whole thing but deep down she knew his delivery leaved much to be desired. This was because instead of the declaration quelling her fears it instead left her in a weird limbo . Unable to deal with the overwhelming uncertainty and newfound Micheal interest y/n knew she had to do something. She  grew impatient with her own theories and decided she had to find Micheal and hash this out. Not wanting an awkward conversation with Tommy regarding her whereabouts for the day she quietly slipped out. 

Micheal was awoken by frantic knocking at his door. He groaned as he tossed over to consult the bedside clock. ‘God who’s knocking at this hour’ he thought  to himself. Begrudgingly he flung the duvet of  him and fastened his dressing gown beginning to shuffle towards the door. His stomach churched thinking what if it was Rosie again , she hadn’t taken too well to the breakup and had quite the unsavoury practice of turning up unannounced . Micheal had yet to learn that allowing her to coax him into bed only further aggravated the situation instead of aiding it. Preparing to be unamused as he swung open the door he was absolutely delighted when it turned out to be y/n. “Y/n … is everything alright? Come come inside” he said gesturing to her . As soon as the door had closed behind her Y/ns words began to tumble from her mouth.“Do you remember that one summer night, it was” y/n needn’t say more immediately Michaels facial  expression became animated , his grin was wide resembling  that of a watermelon crescent. He rubbed at the back of his neck chuckling to himself . “ There was a time I would’ve left this … but you're going to explain to me what that was all about” she said woodenly .

“What I fancied you , and the horny teenager I was wasn’t really able to communicate that in any other way I am sorry”. Y/n groaned flinging herself into one of his chairs.  “I don’t know what to do I'm sort of weighing up cons and pros at the moment ”. “ Well I can help with that .. I think .. tea?” He questioned gently wobbling the tin. Y/n nodded gratefully. “First off  we’ve been friends forever , it would hardly come as a shock, plus ! Polly would love it” he cooed “ I think she’d find the whole childhood romance aspect quite endearing” “ I highly doubt that” .. interjected y/n  “that fluffy reality would only exist within the pages of a book and Im not planning to be the one who causes blood shed in a family” she sighed , she knew full well the ominous threat that lurked beneath Tommys love declaration. Cupping her  hand in his , he placed it on the small exposed part of his chest “Maybe there’s another universe where we could have that happy ending” . Y/n looked into Michaels baby blues, she felt awash with the warmth of familiarity , his eyes soft and kind …but she couldn’t quite work out if the calmness she felt gazing at him  was simply that familiarity and not anything strictly to do with feelings.

“We probably shouldn’t cross anymore lines Micheal”. A hefty chuckle escaped him “That line disappears when it comes to you, go on tell me what’s the line y/n hmm” he turned to face y/n his hand now cradling her face . Lining his mouth to her ear his voice was husky “ because if I remember correctly its been just shy of twenty for hours of you begging me to fuck you .. I think your exact words were i'll let you do anything if you just touch me now”. Y/Ns chest heaved , she hated how his words immediately elicited such a physical reaction from her. Whilst she despised it Micheal clearly relished this as he backed away sporting a triumphant smirk  . 

“Fuck off! You know I can’t afford to have my judgment clouded by sex Micheal” . He let out a grumble as he plopped down her tea on the table in-front her. “Look, I can quite happily play pretend like we have for the past odd years y/ns but are we to just  ignore the weird sexual tension , which you restarted by the way?” Micheal was right it scuppered the atmosphere around them and it wouldn’t take long before it started to permeate others air space . Y/n knew it was ultimately a dangerous game to play , like leaving a pot on a roaring flame and hoping its contents won’t bubble up and spill over. “This isn’t a game for me this is my life..” Micheal’s face fell.. he began to gnaw on his bottom lip trying to disguise his disappointment. “Ouch y/n, yeah ok I get you have your doubts about me but I'm taking this seriously .. remember  Im putting myself on the line here too, but for you .. its worth it but don’t keep me waiting y/n” . Y/n swallowed sharply. She hadn’t meant to offend him she just wanted to shed light on the severity of the situation… she was about to apologise that was until.

A smile began to emerge on Michaels face. “ y/n meet me back here in an hour , we will take the car there’s something I have to do and I need you with me”. Taking no mind to Y/Ns series of follow up questions and protests he simply began to usher her towards the door. “Pinky promise its all good now go get ready” he winked dotting a quick peck on her forehead before closing the door. 

“You were out early” remarked Tommy as soon as y/n entered the manor.  He was stationed by the door with his glasses etched down the length of his nose and a newspaper grasped firmly by his hip. “Yes I was , I'm sorry I hope I didn’t wake you  I just couldn’t sleep” . There was a moments silence as his gaze drifted up the length of her “I see” he said pensively. Sensing the development of a rather awkward tension Tommy began to adjust his body language in a bid to alleviate it . Making his way to y/n he plucked  her hand from her side he delicately held onto it letting his thumb graze across her knuckles “Join me for lunch?’ He said with a wry smile. Tommy had started to take heed to y/ns apprehensive mannerisms .. how she would sometimes recoil at his touches or hesitate before approaching him, whereas before she used to clamour all over him always brandishing that smile he found so infectious. “I have plans within the hour I'm afraid Tommy , I'm sorry”

“No no thats  perfectly fine take your time , I should be here when you get back” he said softly scooping her up into his arms . Tommy let out a laboured sigh as he squeezed her into a tighter embrace gently placing a kiss upon the crown of her head “Show me .. show me how to love you so it doesn’t hurt y/n” he uttered breathlessly . He could hear y/n begin to murmur . Looking down into y/ns doe eyed gaze he placed a frail kiss on her lips . This kiss was different it was patient and kind lacking the usual fiery urgency. There was so much y/n wanted to say at that moment but it was apparent Tommy had nothing more to as with one final squeeze he withdrew from her. Picking back up his newspaper he said “ I don’t want to make you late darling …please enjoy your day and like I said ill be here for when your home” and with that he made his way out the door. 

After a fairly long car ride the pair had arrived at their destination. Y/n had been far too engrossed in conversation with Micheal to deviate her thoughts from that interaction with Tommy,  she had failed to take in her surroundings.  So was generally bamboozled as to why they appeared to be on a farm. “Look if you're taking me here to finish me off because I haven’t left Tommy we can talk about it first” she chuckled. Micheal tutted and rolled his eyes “Follow me” he ordered and walked ahead. “Where are we …” moaned y/n as she traipsed behind him. “Awww come on , don’t tell me you don’t realise where we are .. y/n”. Y/n scanned her environment still puzzled until she was suddenly struck with a wave of deja vu as Micheal propped himself against the tree bark . This wasn’t just any old farm field it was in fact the same field from that infamous summer.

“Oh and y/n ..Im keeping true to my promise that day in the barn” . Taking Y/n by the wrist he drew her close to him . In the same formation of that night many years ago he looped her hands around his neck whilst he pulled her in by the waist . Except there was no hesitation this time , Micheal leant in towards y/n .His kiss slow, tender and searching  .Lips soft and pillowy , tongue slick and skilful. Y/n could immediately feel herself begin to unravel.