#which continent do you think the middle east belongs to???

[ataleofcrowns]

i only mean that it isn't typical/representative of that subgroup, i would ask the same thing if there was an asian kurd character

Did you take geography classes in the United States of America? Be honest now.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Author Ask Tag

Kindly tagged by @writernopal 💕

1. What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

The Last Wrath's main message, throughout many of the character arcs, is that one must not lose hope, even through the darkest times, and that to find that light in the dark, one has to take action, instead of waiting for a savior that may never come.

It also includes messages of acceptance and diversity (in the sense of the need for respect and tolerance for a harmonious society), learning from the past but not letting it define the future, and the need to take a stand for what you believe in. The value of freedom. Change, and its presence in all beings and things, is also an important theme.

TLW also shows how cruelty and injustice (of all kinds) can shape not only a world but the people within it.

On another note, The Last Wrath is also a story that criticizes how crooked people with enough power act like they are above others, and how prejudice can be one of the greatest evils a society can harbor. It criticizes oppression and corrupt systems, as well as criticizes against people who think they can take whatever they want because they can (be it in the more direct sense, like a conquest, or something more subtle but just as dangerous)

And it shows how there is still good even if it is hidden by the existence of great evil, and that the only way to find freedom, is to believe and accept yourself, and actively seek it - even if it may seem impossible at first, there is a brighter future ahead.

As for why I chose these themes, while most of them came naturally to the plot, it is also - in some ways - the story themes that I would've liked to read in the past and feel the message of a striving for a brighter future despite the odds, can be important to a lot of people out there too.

2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

The Last Wrath takes a lot of inspiration from past civilizations that existed during the Ancient Times and Medieval Ages. I often find myself reading history books, researching historical articles, or even watching videos with random curiosities about the past, and all of those things eventually serve as a basis from which I built the fully fictional world that is the continent of Agrannor.

While my inspirations were varied the few ancient and medieval cultures that immediately come to mind when I think about some specific kingdoms/locations in Agrannor are: Ancient Romans, Ancient Greece, Vikings, the Mongols, Ancient Egypt, Celtic, Feudal Europe (especially England, France and Germany), Mediterranean, Ancient Middle East, Phoenicians, etc.

Mythology, lore, and folk/fairy tales are also great sources of inspiration for me, especially when it comes to the creation of magical beasts and creatures with a twist.

I also find myself inspired by watching different pieces of media, such as good movies or series, that take place in medieval fantasy settings. Something about it just gets me in the mood to write!

Listening to music, looking for aesthetics on Pinterest, daydreaming about my WIPs while listening to vibing songs - all of this helps get me inspired too!

3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, and help readers grow as a person?

Well, aside from the overall goal of "prevent/stop the War of Prophecy from destroying the world" and "defeat the Secret Court and Emperor Aerich", I guess that all of my Main Characters are somehow looking for a missing piece of themselves (not in a literal sense lol, but in the metaphorical sense) and to finally find the place where they belong in the world, their "purpose" so to speak. Of course, each of the protagonists has unique goals and wants, but even those boil down to a variation of these.

As for what I am trying to achieve with them as a writer: I am trying to write a compelling story about unique individuals facing the odds, not because they want to, but because it is the right thing to do. I want to explore some aspects of the human condition through these characters, and how their harsh world shapes each individual in unique ways. How, at the end of the day, they're just people trying to do their best with what chance was given to them, even though they make mistakes and fail sometimes. I want to show how "courage is not the absence of fear, but taking action despite of it. " and that one doesn't have to be born a perfect hero to stand up for what is right or to protect those they love.

Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, and help readers grow as a person? Yes, I do. At least I hope so, lol. But mostly, I want to inspire readers to question the world around them, and to consider looking at things through a different perspective rather than to become blindsided. I hope to show how you can choose your future and define your destiny, even if it is not an easy road for everyone. To embrace differences and let them help you - and the world around you - grow for the better. To consider that to try is the best thing anyone can do at any given moment, and that it is a thousand times better to try - even if there is a risk of failure - than to never try at all.

4. How many chapters is your story going to have?

While I have the story outlined and plotted, and know how it begins, develops, and ends, I don't know the exact amount of chapters it'll have. As many as it takes to write a well-rounded but concise story, I guess (:

5. Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original! I plan to publish The Last Wrath as an actual novel, one day, and I'm likely to indie publish when the time comes.

6. When and why did you start writing?

I started writing short stories when I was a little kid. I just loved creating stories, worlds, and characters, and creating wonderful things that only existed in my imagination! Sometime later I decided to try and write my first "book" on my dad's computer, which was already sort of medieval fantasy - which had always been my favorite genre, and still is. And this desire to write stayed with me ever since, and now, I actually write real novels and am able to bring the worlds in my imagination to my creations.

7. Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers on Tumblr do you follow?

Write the story you want to write, because it deserves to be out in the world, even if you currently doubt yourself, and only you - its author - can bring that story to fruition the way it was meant to be written, and know that you deserve to write whatever the heck you want. For yourself, to have fun doing it. Know that every word on a page, even if it is just a sucky first draft, is a step towards perfecting your craft, and that gentle practice and patience beats stubborn perfectionism (wanting things to come out perfect in the first try), any day.

Tagging (gently) @conkers-theficwriter, @digital-chance, @lyutenw, @exquisitecrow, @clairelsonao3, @cabbojage, @rickie-the-storyteller, @your-absent-father, @anoelleart, @jasperygrace

[iguanalysis]

Badiou and Spinoza: Errancy of the Void and the Psychogeography of Abrahamism

I wonder if you can read Badiou’s Meditation 10 on Spinoza as a critique of Islam. It seems almost like an affirmation that Spinoza is less Judaic than he is Islamic, if the substance that God’s structure determines is immanent (present everywhere and in everything, albeit in an “infinite mode”) to the thinking of what is singular.

Yet, the separation of thought and extension in Spinoza’s philosophy is more reminiscent of the dualism that characterizes the relationship between Moses and Aaron in the Torah.

However, doesn’t Mohammed in the Quran allude to the Torah as “Scripture”?

To me, Mohammed’s critique is not of the structure of God, as it is interpreted in either Judaism or Christianity, but rather of people who are “infidels”, preachers and rabbis, who do not “believe” in reading Scripture (the Torah) to the letter, and who bicker amongst themselves about the identity of God instead.

Hence, the political intervention of Islam was to put God in everything rather than into a singular Messianic figure.

However, such a theological conception of existence apparently “forecloses” the errancy of the void. In a maneuver that seems to outmatch the antinomy of reason described by Immanuel Kant, that of the infinitude of an “uncaused cause”, Badiou’s meditation on Spinoza calculates the void to reside in the discrepancy of perception as it regards the substance of objects. Doesn’t the void also belong to God if God is properly true to his own name?

God’s testimony to his own name thereby is the object of Judaic and Christian faiths.

The European continent and the Mediterranean region are also therefore the site of these philosophical and theological innovations that influence the basic politics of both China and the Americas alike, landmasses that are obviously relatively far away from the Middle East.

Why?

In my estimation, it is the geographical diversity of a region which inspired (and still inspires) these views on God and physical substance as they figure into the general political ideology of a nation. (If China is Marxist so-called, doesn’t that also make it a European country?) Arguments of the Nordicist variety of the supremacy of European philosophy may thereby be put to bed.

What turns this dialectic of psychogeography, religion, and politics is the realization that imaginary lack in Lacanian psychoanalysis is not just the imagined disappearance of objects in our outer intuition, but also the mode of defining the physical contours of objects, such as mountains, coastlines, numerical figures in terrestrial geometry, and molecular structures in chemistry.

[the-firebird69]

There's a few reasons to take a break one is I said it's time and she is too the other is we might be tired we're going to order us out sending orders out and a lot of the caverns they're really huge ones have teams going down from foreigners and I see them and they have ships that can make it and to make it back and I know which ones they have to go after now and they're going to be taking them wherever they are and the places they need them from are like New Zealand and Australia and Asia's forces are gathering up to go to Australia and take the ships they're going now and forces from Africa are gathering up to go to New Zealand and there's other places sometimes on their continents but they're going nearby to the Middle East and they go out there a lot and they're going to take those ships and the immiciles are interested in watch and they're doing it right now this is a huge war and these guys are going to lose everything because of what they're doing here in this little town

-John ramillard will be called in today and he will be called in in front of the powers that be and it's a like a console meeting of morlock. He's going to go down and talk to them and see what they think cuz he really should it's going to be a big day just fighting over the cars and trucks for our son and daughter is heavy fighting and over duddy Ford and over the cash and stash really is a storage facility his climate controlled and yeah for the truck it's a huge fight and people getting killed all over town those are higher ups upstairs and he's taking big hits and it's going to be a bigger and bigger there's a couple other things that her son will need and he's holding and he knows it's not his stuff if you houses around town and it's not hard to tell which ones are his it's on the list two of them belong to his family and he took illegally and he took about 10 from his clan in Florida but he only has like 300 houses no he's got millions and she can hardly maintain this one it's a pretty joke okay these people are doomed we're just suck bags on top of it Jesus we have to go to work with this guy stan keeps on this place in our son and doesn't care and we don't care about him and we're going to go after him but in the house is organizing forces and that's Stan who says to kidnap the boy and put him in the mental hospital where he belongs so faggy you're f****** loser stan I'm going to fire you from your jobs too my people need your territory and we're going to take it I'm praying as a list of things to do along next side of this idiot . How's our son and daughter singing and we're going to do that we're already taking territory of his little but we're going to focus on him I need more this s*** for that f****** loser and his hospitals too. He has places on Massachusetts and he has there is in fort Myers and Tampa Sarasota and Miami all over Florida and we are going to start taking them over now I want to ride over this a****** yes it is group are letting him flounder he just sits there threatening our son so I'll take care of business.

I send a daughter say it's big business because of the patchwork technique so I'm going to publish we want volunteers now for the service

Thor Freya

Olympus

[xtruss]

It is not known how these cards were played, but almost all card games from 15th century Europe involved some form of gambling. Since at least the 7th century, people throughout the world have used used cards for games or as collector's items. Photograph By The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

The Original Pokémon? A Visual (Ancient) History of Trading Cards

Our love of playing cards dates farther back than you think—perhaps as far back as the T’ang Dynasty. Here’s a look at their colorful past.

— By Elaina Zachos | November 3, 2023

In a world filled with endless entertainment, some of the simplest and most enduring sources of amusement can be found in a deck of playing cards.

For centuries, these unassuming game pieces have held a special place in the hearts and hands of people across the globe. From the hand-painted cards of T’ang Dynasty China to paper-and-plastic Pokémon trading cards, the history of playing cards spans cultures, epochs, and continents.

When The Walt Disney Company celebrated its 100th birthday last month, everyone got to take part in this century’s-long tradition with TikTok’s new digital playing card game. As a member of the mouse-eared family, Nat Geo saw over four million new followers scurry to our TikTok account, mostly to trade these digital cards.

This got us thinking—what’s the history of playing cards anyway?

China A.D. 600-1600s

It’s unclear when and where playing cards were invented, but they were popularized in China more than a thousand years ago. References to “domino cards” existed as early as the T’ang Dynasty, which lasted from 618-907 AD. Some historians, however, say playing cards took off during the 10th century. Either way, these cards were originally hand-painted on paper or parchment.

Fast-forward a few hundred years to the Ming Dynasty—which lasted from 1368-1644 AD—and you’ll find playing cards gaining steam. At this point, some cards had images of characters from popular novels. Others were “money cards” with suits inspired by old Chinese currency.

Left: These playing card fragments date to 13th and 16th century Egypt and are remarkably similar to those used today, with fifty-two cards divided into four suits: cups, coins, swords, and polo sticks.

Right: Unlike their Western counterparts—the king, queen, and jack—Mamluk court cards do not feature figural imagery but are identified through a combination of symbols and label-like inscriptions. Photographs By Museum Associates/LACMA

Egypt 1300s-1500s

From China, playing cards were likely carried to the Middle East via the Silk Road.

One deck dates back to the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt, which ended in 1517. These hand-painted cards were adorned with intricate calligraphic rhymes and likely belonged to a wealthy owner. They carried suits of coins, cups, swords, and polo sticks. Each suit would have had 13 cards, including three all-male court cards: the King, the Lieutenant, and the Second Lieutenant.

These French playing cards were made in the 18th century. The suit, hearts, are hidden in the cartoonish faces depicted on the card. Photograph By The Trustees of The British Museum

Italy, Spain, and France 1400s-1700s

There’s wide speculation on how playing cards eventually made it to Europe, playing card historian Peter Endebrock told Atlas Obscura in 2020. But most historians agree they suddenly showed up by the end of the 1300s, possibly introduced by Crusade-era soldiers.

Europeans loved these cards. Hand-painted and elaborately designed, playing cards were originally a luxury good popular among the wealthy. However, printing presses and stencils eventually helped to simplify the patterns on the cards and made them more accessible to a wider audience. By the 15th century, playing cards could be found throughout the continent’s inland trade routes.

In the Middle Ages, playing cards began to take on divination capabilities, which marked a significant shift in the use of the cards. For example, the Tarot deck, originally for competitive card games, later morphed into a tool for fortune-telling.

Today, the 52-card French deck is the most famous playing card deck. Its four suits (hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades) and two colors (red and black) are well-known to players around the world. The deck’s popularity is partially due to its simple design and because it was a favorite among the most prominent imperialist powers: France, the United Kingdom, and the United States.

Left: Early collectible cards didn't just feature athletes—some depicted celebrities. The women show here was French dancer Cleo de Merode, who lived from 1875 to 1966. Photograph By Transcendental Graphic/Contributor

Right: Honus Wagner was an American baseball player during the turn of the century. The baseball card seen here sold for a record $7.25 million in 2022. Photograph By Chris Hondros, Newsmakers/Getty Images

U.S. Athletes and Celebrities 1800s-1900s

Heavily taxed playing cards circulated in the American Colonies before the Revolutionary War. After, U.S. printers began making their own copies. Americans eventually introduced Joker cards to French decks around 1860.

Trading cards, similar to TikTok’s Disney100 collectibles, originated as “trade cards” around the same time as jokers. First sold as advertising cards, they were packaged up with cigarettes to keep the packaging stiff.

Multi-color printing around the turn of the century made trade cards even more popular. Although the cards were not related to specific products, companies began including them in packaging as a sort of prize for consumers. By the time baseball became a professional sport, sports trade cards were printed and sold in candy and tobacco products.

Members of the public began collecting these cards and trading them with each other. In the 1930s, companies began printing athletes’ biographies on baseball cards and selling them in packs of bubble gum. By 1949, Topps Chewing Gum was including cards of athletes, cinema stars, and big game hunters in their products. People started viewing sports cards as valuable collectibles in the 1980s, despite their low monetary worth years earlier.

Inspired by the video game, Pokémon cards are used both as collectors items and as game playing cards. Some rare cards are worth thousands of dollars. Photograph By Oreolife/Alamy Stock Photo

Pokémon 1990s-Present

Trading cards morphed into gameplay by the close of the 20th century. In 1993, while working on his PhD in mathematics at the University of Pennsylvania, Richard Garfield invented Magic: The Gathering, which is one of the most well-known trading games today.

Around the same time, a game designer and an illustrator in Japan pitched Nintendo on a game called Pocket Monsters. In 1996, Pocket Monsters—which would later be renamed Pokémon—was released as a video game and went on to sell millions of copies.

Months later, a companion trading card game was produced, which contained 102 illustrated cards. One year after the U.S. release of Pokémon in 1998, the Pokémon Trading Card Game was introduced to North America by the same company that created Magic: The Gathering. More than 30 billion Pokémon cards have been printed today.

[writingwithcolor]

“Fantasy Names” for Non-English Languages; One Language Per Continent?

@corrupted---minds​ submitted:

In my story there are different continents inspired by sections of our world; fantasy Europe, fantasy East Asia, fantasy Middle East, ect. And each continent, for convenience, speaks one language. Cantonese is fantasy East Asias language, for example.

Now on to naming conventions. While in fantasy Europe people have average european names, about 30% have fantasy names like Illumina or Crystal or Raten Firewalker. I want to try to keep the same naming ratio for the other continents, but I’m not sure if it would be offensive for me, as a white woman, to cut apart a language to make a cool sounding name for my characters that are POC.

If you have any insight, suggestions, or just flat out think it’s a bad idea, please let me know. I dont want to unintentionally offend anyone.

On the Issue of Worldbuilding

The salient point is to avoid using languages from real life outright. Already, I sense that your language and coding categories are too broad. It’s never a good idea to reduce such large regions containing so many ethnicities to a single language group/ setting. Think more granular and use single ethnicities instead. Rina has already written on naming conlangs, including pertinent resource links, that I think would be very helpful information for you. Please read her comments here. 

Furthermore, as a reader, I think it is more realistic and dynamic when the characters have names that mean something in their own languages. Most people already have such names IRL. I think in many Western cultures, some are simply too removed from the original root languages to know the word origins of their names. My pen-name here on WWC happens to mean “Jasmine” both in Sanskrit and Japanese, but Marika is a lot more culturally relevant than “Jasmine” as it expresses my bicultural identity much more effectively. Thus, I am curious as to why you wish to stick to this arbitrary 30% rule. Not only does it strike me as rather boring, but it also generates a lot of dissonance for me as a reader in conventional fantasy when a person “randomly” has a conventional fantasy name with no context given. 

If people are given atypical naming schemes, I’d much rather there be a sensible reason for this choice. It both provides context and lays the groundwork for world-building information that the reader can draw on unconsciously at a later time. For example, as I continue my role as this blog’s Tamora Pierce evangelist, the author has two such examples of atypical naming in her universes. In the Tortall series, the Shang warriors are given titles that reflect their prowess, with more legendary animals indicating higher levels of mastery. Thus, the reader automatically knows that Liam Ironarm, the Dragon, and Kylaia al Jmaa, the Unicorn, supersede Ida Bell, the Wildcat, and Hakuin Seastone, the Horse, in terms of skill. In the Emelan Universe, dedicates of the Living Earth religion choose names associated with plants, animals and natural phenomena ( e.g. Rosethorn, Frostpine, Moonstream) and lack last names. Academic mages, on the other hand, have last names that demonstrate what kind of magic they are proficient in (Goldeye, Ladyhammer, Glassfire), allowing us to immediately discern who is a dedicate in the Living Earth faith, who is an academic mage, and who is neither (whether they be from a different background or are still in training).  

Lastly, as a caution, we would like to warn many of our readers that words commonly associated with imagery used in Norse mythology are now often dog-whistles or outright references to white supremacy groups/ movements (Thanks Neo-Nazis!). Thus, particularly for white/ Western-coded characters, please check any name meanings against the following databases created by Southern Poverty Law Center and the Anti-Defamation League (viewable here and here).

- Marika.

On Colonial Implications

I would like to emphasize how flattening it is to summarize any large region down to a single language: British Columbia and some of Washington State have 7 mutually unintelligible language families within a few hundred square miles. That’s an incredibly saturated amount of linguistic diversity in a very, very small region. And it’s not the only linguistic hotspot in the world.

Europeans often have an artificial sense of how many languages are natural in a region, because Europe is one of the least linguistically diverse regions in the world at about nine language families, with 94% belonging to a single language family. Meanwhile, China alone has at least nine families, and India has at least six. In North America, you have dozens if not hundreds of language families across the continent.

Note that these are language families, not languages. Each language family can have anywhere from 2 to 50+ languages within it. The aforementioned language family with 94% of Europe is Indo-European, which covers everything from French (the Romance branch) to Punjabi (the Indo-Iranian branch) to Russian (the Balto-Slavic branch).

Convenience should not come at the expense of linguistic diversity. Language destruction is one of the targets of colonialism, and doing such a flattening would leave an extremely sour taste in my mouth at the implied history of this world. Many, many Indigenous languages are extinct because colonial languages were forced upon the populations of the Americas (English, Spanish, Portugese, French), and this isn’t counting non-European colonialism. 

Widespread single languages across huge landmasses often come with an extremely bloody history (unless it was purposely crafted for ease of communication among groups, such as Plains Sign Language), and for your marginalized readers it will be unignorable. You don’t have to create a continent’s worth of languages, but you do have to acknowledge the diversity is there.

As Marika said, focus on individual ethnicities instead of such broad land masses. Doing your current track would pull anyone with even an ounce of linguistics education, or anyone who has had their access to language suffer because of colonialism, right out of the story.

~ Mod Lesya

I agree with Mod Lesya, especially when it comes to their point of language destruction being one of the targets of colonialism. East Asia already has a history of this, with languages being banned and punishments for speaking them, and even now in mainland China Mandarin is being pushed as the only dialect to speak vs. Cantonese, Hokkien, Sichuanese, etc. A suggestion I have is to perhaps have one common language for diplomacy/trade purposes that is used alongside other languages and dialects in certain regions. 

--mod Jess

[fireemblems24]

I am so glad you pointed out the imperialist vibes Edelgard has sometimes. As someone who lives in a country who was basically occupied ahem conquered because they said "we have better ideas that will improve your lives" and had our culture absolutely shattered, one of the main reasons why I disagree with Edelgard so much is because of that. She thinks her point of view is superior and the most morally right and I really don't like it whenever she sounds so confused about people defending their homeland. Especially that one line she has with Dimitri in Chapter 17 ffffff—

Like, girl, they have the fucking right to disagree with you please stop sounding so confused as to why they can't see eye to eye with you gahhhhh

I would be more tolerant with the war if she had say, did diplomacy before it? But she tried to had Dimitri and Claude killed in Part I (the prologue). I would also understand her better if the war was a last resort and the other leaders were corrupt and all that. But they're not. Many of the students (who have power because many are noble heirs) outside her house are heavily affected by the nobility and Crests (Sylvain, Ingrid, Mercedes, Lysithea, etc.) or at least understanding of the problems caused by them (Dimitri). It's so frustrating how so much of this can be prevented if she just talked about it.

Also, to those who said she wants the change to be quick, even with war it won't be. The fucking war basically caused continent-wide damage. It's going to be so hard to actually fix this. Hell, there's definitely going to be an eventual rebellion by former Kingdom / Alliance people or sympathisers. It's not going to be as clean cut as the game or some pro-Edelgard people make it to be. Not everyone is going to agree with her, whether she takes over or not. She just destroyed the stability of the continent and while yes, she can rebuild it again, it will still take time and who's to say future leaders won't be corrupt? Also, a hierarchy will always exist, whether she likes it or not. Especially if she plans to set up a meritocracy. Meritocracy is going to usually end up giving power and privilege to those with already pre-existing privilege as they the opportunity to show off their merits or develop those skills. Poor and disabled people are going to have difficulty as they don't have equal opportunity to develop skills and accomplish stuff. I'm generalising, but it just ends up as a hierarchy, again. Not only that, it also has ways to enforce discrimination.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, she needs to long term plan out her systems. I apologise since I have bad memory but as far as I remember, the game doesn't give us too many details on how she wants to establish her system. All I remember is she does the war > Church / Rhea out of power > Establish her government > ???. Someone please clear this up for me because I'm confused.

...and again really, diplomatic reforms are an option. Yes, they're much more tedious. Yes, they take so much more longer. Yes, sometimes it feels impossible to accomplish. But did she not even consider it as an option?

All in all, I do like Edelgard. But I really wish the game let us go against her while we're with her? I wish it wasn't just general "agree with Edelgard" for CF. I remember someone pointing it out to me before that it would've been really great if she had someone in her house who does the same role Felix does in AM... which is basically disagree and call out the lord's shit. And they pointed out Ferdinand could've probably been that character for CF. And I kinda agree? I really think CF would immensely improve if Edelgard had a challenger / foil to her beliefs similar to how Felix does that for Dimitri.

Anyway, sorry for the very long ask lol. I like Edelgard and I agree with some of her morals and ideals such as the crest system being bad but....she's done so dirty asdfghjkl. I do think she's written well enough to incite these emotions in me, and she makes for a good antagonist. As a protagonist lord however.... yeah.

First off, sorry it took so long to respond, but I wanted to give an equally throughout response. 

While I haven’t gotten to chapter 17 yet, I can attest to the notion that Edelgard’s rhetoric is eerily similar to Imperialist propaganda. I do understand this is fiction, and that it’s okay to hand-wave/enjoy things in fiction that you shouldn’t or wouldn’t in real life. Crimson Flower has its charms and parts I enjoy. Edelgard is an interesting character more hampered by things that plague Three Houses as a whole than anything else, but it’s still worth examining how dangerous her rhetoric is. Because, unlike you, my country sits at the opposite end - the Imperialist nation selling that rhetoric to its citizens, and, unfortunately, at the time I bought it - which makes me really sensitive to this. 

I’m from the US and I’m specifically speaking about the US’s invasion of the Middle East. I was in middle or high school, just barely a teenager, and naive and ignorant enough to believe what my leaders said. Because guess what? I bought into it out of misplaced and ignorant (and racist) compassion. I was horrified at the idea these people were suffering unfairly just because of where they were born whereas I got all these promised privileges just because of where I was born. I really thought the US would go in there and give them democracy and everything would be great. Looking back, I realize they were lying, that we’ve only made things worse, that it’s horribly racist to assume the US was just inherently better, and I’ve sense then gained access to fast-speed internet, traveled, matured, etc . . . and thankfully this all happened before I had any actual power to do anything like vote. But to this day I’m beyond pissed off they used my own compassion against me to line their own pockets. It was ignorant and racist, but it was all based in concern that others didn’t have the same quality of life I had and a growing realization of my own privilege. And that’s what I hate so much. It didn’t sound evil. It sounded good. It used people’s good will and compassion against them and twisted it into evil for their own causes. 

I don’t think Edelgard is after Faerghus and the Alliance because she wants oil. I think she honestly thinks she’s doing good. And, if this were real life, I think that makes her rhetoric even more dangerous than a corrupt politicians’.  Because everything else is still the same. She’s being ignorant, nationalist instead of racist in this case, and honestly thinks her moral superiority will improve everyone’s lives even if it means ravaging the entire content in war. She is dangerously naive and ignorant. 

Maybe I’d support her more morally if I believed for an instant the general populace welcomed the changes she wants to bring, if the leaders she fought against weren’t open and wanting change themselves, ect . . . But the dialogue indicated her presence inspires people running and screaming in terror, not welcoming her presence (see the chapter where you kill Claude). The Kingdom is still fighting tooth and nail against her. She’s not supported. Her changes aren’t wanted. And she hasn’t bothered to learn a single thing about the cultures she’s determined to squash under her heal nor the leaders heading them. 

I also think I’d support her better if we had a clearer idea of what her plans were. But CF has shifted from Edelgard speaking about interesting ideas and classism to evil dragon overlords and chastising Byleth for making her blush. The decision to side with her or Rhea is not choosing between two ideals, but an emotional, spur of the moment thing. Edelgard’s early supports with Byleth attempt to convince the player to side with her not based on political ideals, but on feeling sorry for her. 

CF gives you no choice but to agree with everything Edelgard says (as you said, there’s no “Felix” or a “Lorenz”). It wants you to support her war without question, and therefore you don’t get any answers to questions like - if this is really just about Rhea, why are we invading the Alliance? Because they won’t hand power over to you? Why didn’t you just stick to the Empire to enact your changes? In the end, you’re left with what sounds more and more like an entitled Imperialistic princess with absolutely no idea how ignorant she is hell bent on conquering what she thinks belongs to her based on a conspiracy theory. 

All that said, I do think Edelgard has interesting ideas and isn’t wholly wrong, just how she goes about it is horribly wrong. And I fully believe the core issue is how CF has dropped the ball big time writing wise, because diving deeper into her ideas and not her crush on you would go a long way. So would shifting the narrative away from evil boogey dragon lady must die and everyone else is wrong and I am superior and right and more towards a clashing of ideals, this route could’ve been a lot more and seemed a lot less ignorant, naive, entitled, and Imperialistic. 

[bloodyshadow1]

Beauyashaweek 2021 day 2 Classical Art: Birthed from Stone

Beauyashaweek 2021 day 2 Classical Painting Art

Technically, the prompt is Classical Painting, but I couldn't really think of anything to write for that so I decided to do Classical Art as the prompt and thought of this. There's more to it, but I decided to cut it short because it was getting too long and not ending. I hope you enjoy my story, if you do please leave a comment, they help more than you know.

It was Saturday, there were a million things Beau would have preferred to be doing on her Saturday, one of the few days off she had, than going to the Zadash Museum of Art. That wasn’t fair, she liked the Museum, she liked the artwork, but she hated that she was here on an assignment for school rather than because she wanted to which meant she hated the Museum currently.

Beau had only taken Art Appreciation 110 on her best friend Jester’s suggestion. The blue tiefling art major thought it would be fun to have her best friend in the class she was TAing and assured Beau that it was an easy class being a 100 level. Beau didn’t mind an easy A, she was a double major history and sports medicine in her senior year, she figured she might as well since the rest of her course load was killer.

Unfortunately, unlike most of the classes Beau had taken though her time at Z.U. Art Appreciation 110 wasn’t a blow off class that she could just take the tests and write papers to pass with an A. The teacher Mr. Artagan was more eccentric than most of the faculty at Z.U. full of new age ideas how to run his class. No tests at all and only a few papers, which would be fine for most people, but the fact that participation was worth 60% of her grade made the class a living hell for Beau. He thought that children (despite them all being college students) should be rewarded for showing initiative, not just memorizing facts, something that Beau relied on. She was a smart girl who read the assigned reading before the class had even started hoping it would mean she didn’t have to show up for class only to have Jester’s hippy mentor ruin that dream the first day.

Artagan, as he liked them to call him, no mister for him, was one of those ‘cool’ teachers who thought they were changing the world in their 100 level course that contained mostly freshmen trying to get their gen ed credits out of the way. The teacher who wore an actual green cloak to class everyday that clashed horribly with his tangle of reddish orange hair, but went well with his inhuman green eye, knew he was put on this earth to reach the kids. Beau hated him instantly and thought if not for his laziness, his biggest weakness other than a wicked case of ADHD that no amount of Adderall would fix, he would probably be a cult leader. Luckily for the class, Jester took her job as his TA seriously, or at least as serious as Jester could leading a class taught by Mr. Artagan about appreciating art, so she was at least a competent teacher when the actual teacher decided to take a nap in the middle of a lecture or jump out the window to chase a bird. She would call on Beau whenever she could because she knew her best friend at least knew the information even though she wouldn’t volunteer the information willingly. It saved Beau’s average from tanking in class, but by the time the semester came to a close it didn’t look good, Beau was sitting at a low C which again, wouldn’t be bad for most people in their blow off class, but was horrible for Beauregard Lionett, the disgraced daughter of the Lionett wine family in Kamordah.

Without getting into it, Beau’s relationship with her family, especially her dad Thoreau, was horrible to be kind. She was only at Z.U. due to both academic and athletic scholarships, and losing one would mean she wouldn’t have enough money for her final semester, and she needed at least a B in all her classes if she wanted to graduate. Technically she would still be able to graduate, but her diploma would remain as property of the school until her debts were paid up, which meant she couldn’t get a job with her diploma unless she lied on her resume. And while, no one could say Beauregard Lionett was against lying, she wasn’t a self destructive teenager anymore she knew it would only hurt her in the long run.

Luckily, having her best friend as her T.A. meant Jester begging Mr. Artagan to let Beau have some extra credit so she could pass. Artagan agreed and told her to write a paper on how a piece of art makes you feel. If Beau didn’t desperately need to pass this stupid class she would have thrown it in his face, but instead as a self destructive adult who at least was aware of her money problems, she gritted her teeth and took the extra credit assignment.

Beau had been to the museum at their school a bunch of times, she had given tours for a bit as a work study gig until the people in charge realized how bad she was with people. But there was something about being forced to go there for an assignment that soured the whole thing for her.

“Let's check out the Emon exhibit first Beau,” Jester said taking her and dragging her to the Tal’Dori section. Beau didn’t mind it, but there was too much…, cleanness in the artwork of their neighbors to the West. Tal’Dori was really similar to Wildemount in a lot of ways, without the whole equally large enemy neighbor country that you’ve been in a Cold War with forever. Emon had its own set of problems, but propaganda or not, whatever Beau read made the other continent sound like a less shitty version of the Dwendalian Empire.

Still, the paintings and sculptures were nice enough to look at even if she didn’t have Jester’s excitement. There were a lot of paintings of naked people in some of the exhibits, which Beau enjoyed since there weren’t a lot of men as the subject. She had to hand it to the old masters, they might have been a bunch of old pervs, but they painted a pretty dame without her clothes. Even if they did give their works pretentious names like, “the Sin of Sarenrae,” or “the Seducer of Nations,” as if the women who were the subjects were at fault for being beautiful enough for men to want to paint them naked.

Eventually Jester got bored, it didn't take long, and they moved on to the other wings of the museum. “I’m gonna check out the Xhorhasian exhibit for a bit Jester,” Beau said, needing some alone time. She loved her best friend, but the girl could talk forever on her worst day, a day surrounded by hundreds of years of artwork around her meant she hadn’t stopped since Beau mentioned her paper.

The Xhorhasian exhibit was small and quiet, they were technically at peace, legally and all that, but two powerful countries can’t be neighbors without a lot of animosity. With only the Ashkeeper Peaks between them, there had been a long cycle of wars and ceasefires between the two nations that could break at any moment. That meant not a lot of people congregated in this out of the way exhibit. Most of the artwork and relics were probably technically stolen. Beau wasn’t happy about that despite being a citizen of the Empire, born and raised in Kamordah, less than a day from Zadash.

Maybe after she graduated she could break into the museum and somehow send the stolen goods back home where they belonged. Jester would probably be into it, and Veth wasn’t exactly opposed to petty theft or grand larceny. But that was for Future Beau with her bachelor’s degree to think about. For now, since they were here, Beau was going to enjoy the things from the Empire’s oldest enemy and learning about them, despite how they were procured.

Technically, the Empire wasn’t enemies with Xhorhas, they were enemies with the Krynn Dynasty, the country that had been the dominant power in the Wastes of Xhorhas for thousands of years. There were other people living in Xhorhas that were roped into the conflict, or so Beau heard, most of the stories from the East were about the Cricks or Krynn and the rest were hardly mentioned at all.

As Beau walked around the empty exhibit, for the most part it was bleaker than the other exhibits. Xhorhas seemed like a dreary place, all their artwork lacked the color of other nations artwork. Most of the paintings, few of them as there were, tended to be battle scenes of Drow soldiers in their dark insect like armor tearing through Empire soldiers like paper, it's a wonder citizens of the Empire never come to look at this exhibit. The rest was mostly pottery or weapons, the placards said they were souvenirs from survivors of perilous expeditions into enemy territory. Beau had read them all before.

But surprising her, there was something new in the exhibit. In the center of the exhibit, in a place of honor was a statue with lights pointing down on it. It was made of white marble and depicted the most beautiful woman Beau had ever seen. She was large, tall and wide, if she wasn’t made of stone she would tower over Beauregard, with arm muscles larger than Beau’s head. Long wild hair that the sculpture had managed to get across in the marble. She wasn’t just standing still either, she was swinging a sword like some goddess of battle. The massive feathery wings exploding from her back, that almost looked soft to the touch despite being made out of rock, made her seem even more divine. But even more than the wings, Beau was drawn to her eyes, they were perfect. Despite being just another part of the woman carved from the white stone, they seemed so dark, holding so much anger and sadness that it made Beau’s chest hurt to look into them, but she didn't have the willpower to look away.

The only flaw Beau could find in the sculpture of the beautiful woman, was the smile. Unlike the rest of the statue, the smile was just off. It was just too plain. The rest of the work from the woman, from the way the marble simulated how her arm muscles tensed like a real person would when swing a sword to fight, to her large soulful eyes, to the massive two-handed sword that looked like it was a real metal blade turned to stone, was the work of a master. Yet the smile was clearly the work of an armature, it looked like the smiles Beau had drawn on posters to look extra goofy to passersby. It didn’t fit such a beautiful woman, especially when the rest of her was clearly ready for battle.

It looked so off Beau immediately looked at the placard to find out if it had been damaged in shipping and the archeologist or smuggler did their best to fix it with a smile. The sign didn’t say anything about the smile, just that the sculpture had been found 3 years ago in an ‘expedition’ in the south of Xhorhas. The title of the piece was ‘Angel of Beauty,’ which made Beau gag. Sure the woma-, the sculpture was beautiful, but it was such a boring shitty title for such an awesome bitch. She was wielding a sword ready to chop someone to bits and ready to take on a whole army, Angel of Beauty was such a generic title for a real work of art. Skimming the rest of the paragraph for any more info, Beau learned the locals called the work ‘The Orphanmaker,’ before the archeologist procured the work.

Beau thought it was a bit better, at least more metal and fitting for such a bad bitch, but it still didn’t fit the woman or the sculpture in Beau’s unasked for opinion. Still, Beau couldn’t let her dumb lesbian brain that made her have a crush on the only more unattainable woman in the world than Jester, stop her from getting her paper done. She took a picture of the placard to get a reference and took a few more of the statue itself from as many angles as she could. You weren’t technically supposed to take pictures of the artwork, but no one was around and Beau needed the pictures for her project…, and nothing else.

Still, the more time she spent with the statue the more Beau was enthralled. The more she stared at it, from every angle it felt like the woman was ready to come alive at any second. That one second Beau would be staring into eyes of white marble and then she would blink alive the next. The skill of the sculptor had practically tricked Beau into thinking the woman would have a pulse if she touched her, like she wasn’t carved out of stone.

It got to the point where Beau, who would never break the law, especially when it came to stolen art, got so fed up she decided to touch the statue just to prove to herself it wasn’t a real live person. Just a quick tap on the arm to prove to herself that the woman wasn’t alive, that’s all it would take to make her crazy thoughts quiet for a bit.

Unfortunately, or perhaps very fortunate given the outcome, Beau was wrong, very wrong. The moment she touched what would be the flesh of the woman, not her sword, or hair, or clothes, the moment her finger touched the skin on the woman’s arm, it felt warm. So warm that Beau couldn’t believe it, until the woman’s pulse woke her up. She tore her hand away like the statue was made of fire, but even as she did, she could see cracks forming in the sculpture starting from where she touched the woman on the arm.

“Shit,” Beau yelled, as she slammed her back into the wall, she didn’t even know she had backed away that far. She desperately tried to search for glue or anything that she could use to fix the crack she made, but the cracks only got bigger. By the time Beau looked back, they had shot down the woman’s arm and were coming down her body, and Beau only had time to swear every curse she knew in the five languages she spoke fluently (which you would think would take a while, but Beau had always been quick with her mouth and was well practiced with it and cursing) before the statue exploded.

The room was full of dust clouds and the only sound other than the hammering of Beau’s heart was the sound of a large woman breathing heavily. It only took a moment for the dust to clear and give Beau a good look at the Orphan Maker. On a whole, she was pretty much the same as the statue, same massive frame, same gorgeous face that Beau had gone gaga for, same strong arms holding the now sharp steel blade, and older Xhorhasian garb, not from the Krynn Dynasty. Now that she wasn’t a statue anymore though, there was a big change, even if she was mostly the same, there was a big difference between a beautiful woman carved out of white marble and a real gorgeous flesh and blood woman.

Her skin was pale, almost as pale as the white marble, but the rest of her and her clothes had splashes of color, mostly black, but not white stone. The biggest change though, other than being a living person of course, was her wings. When she was a statue the wings on her back had been white and feathery, now, they were black and skeletal. As if they had been burnt to cinder’s but still attached to her. She has heterochromatic eyes, one is light green, the other is violet, they are filled with rage, but it’s not directed at Beau, the woman who burst from the marble is just angry.

“Where am I,” the strange woman demanded once the dust cleared enough to see Beau.

“The Zadash University Museum,” Beau said trying to stay on the good side of this strange Amazonian goddess that just flexed out of a statue.

“Zadash,” the woman said slowly, like it was a foreign word. “That is a is a name from beyond the mountains,” she asked more than said.

“Yeah,” Beau nodded, “or I mean I suppose. We’re on the other side of the mountains from Xhorhas if that’s what you mean.”

“Then I am a long way from home,” the strange woman said seeming to calm down.

“Are you a spy from Xhorhas,” Beau asked, immediately realizing how stupid that sounded. Beau could handle herself in a fight, but this woman was massive and had a sword almost the size of her. It would be really hot if it was in a movie or a book instead of real life.

“No,” the woman shouted, “I am from Xhorhas, but I am no spy.”

“Alright,” Beau said, throwing her hands up to show she meant no harm, “I believe you.”

“I think…, I am lost,” the woman said calming down, her voice was a lot softer than Beau would have guessed when she wasn’t angry. “I was in my homeland, I was fighting something and then…, nothing.”

“Well, maybe you could start with something you do remember,” Beau asked, trying to keep things calm. “Do you remember your name?”

“Yasha,” Yasha apparently answered after a moment, “Yasha Nydoorin. And I think I need your help.”

It probably wasn’t a great idea to agree to this, she didn’t know Yasha much other than she was big, gorgeous, and popped out of a marble statue. But despite her well above average intelligence, she was also a lesbian with a dumb lesbian brain sometimes, and all she could say was “sure.” Maybe she’ll let Jester drag her off to the museum if this happens all the time.

[matbarzyy]

From the soulmate alphabet, letter r? (Red string)

A/N: I’ve had this in my inbox for such a long time!! I loved the idea but never really got the time to write anything down for it, so here I am now, and I wrote it for Tito. This is just a quick one-shot, it could have been the start of something but I honestly don’t feel like jumping into another series when I already have so many WIPs lol.

Word count: 2091

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Montreal was loud.

The view from the rooftop of your new building was incredible, but you couldn’t get over the noise of cars driving past constantly in the streets below. It would take more than a week to get used to, so you didn’t lose hope that you would eventually get a peaceful night of sleep in this apartment. Shutting your windows tight helped drown out the cacophony of the city below you, it made you terribly regret the lulling sounds of the waves where you came from.

Up on the roof, however, you almost felt like you were looking at some sort of ocean. The buildings rose at different heights, shaping the city with grey concrete and windows that reflected the blue of the sky as well as water would have. There was a beauty to it, something that tied you to this place and made you feel like you belonged.

Your long sigh disappeared into the wind, carried off before you could even hear it yourself. You imagined it going as far as the red string that was tied to your heart and extended all the way to the horizon. You had always promised yourself that you wouldn’t give up your life and goals to pursue your soulmate, but you remembered the way the string extended west over the ocean back home, and you couldn’t say your relocation to Canada had nothing to do with the fact that you were supposed to find your soulmate in this direction.

Now that you were as far west as you had been able to go, the string pointed south. It gave you hope that you were on the right continent this time. Maybe your string was simply tangled with other people’s south of here, it was common, and it made finding your soulmate much harder than one could have expected considering you were literally tied to each other.

You could have stared at the view for hours and wondered who was at the end of this string, but the wind was colder than what you were used to and your hands were beginning to feel numb. You found the small trap door that had led you up here and climbed down the ladder, thankful for the protection of the walls and the warmth you immediately felt. You closed the trap as quietly as possible, unsure of whether you were actually allowed to go onto the roof.

It wasn’t like anyone would find out unless they were coming up to knock on your door, being alone on the top floor had its perks. You sighed again as you shut your front door behind you, reminded by your bare living space that you desperately needed to go out to get furniture and at least a bouquet of flowers to brighten up your apartment.

A few hours in stores to find the perfect couch and an iced coffee later, you crashed into your bed for what you hoped would be a restful sleep.

It was past midnight when your eyes shot open. You weren’t sure of why, maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was a particularly loud noise from the street, but with a flicker of light from outside you realised that this wasn’t just a normal night. You scrambled to turn the light on, still unfamiliar with the position of your light switch, and your eyes widened when you realised it wasn’t an illusion. The pretty red string that extended from your heart now pointed to the ceiling.

You cursed loudly as you bumped your toe in your bedroom’s door when you rushed out, barely grabbing your keys before pulling the trap door open and climbing onto the roof. The string still extended upwards towards the sky, which didn’t make any sense to you until you caught a flicker of lights in the darkness of the night. A plane. Your string led to a plane, and a particularly low one at that. Your soulmate was about to land in Montreal.

.

“Wake up Beau, we’ve landed,” Mathew shook his friend’s shoulder, earning an annoyed grunt as the other man got pulled out of his sleep.

“Fucking hate late night flights,” Anthony grumbled and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

The rest of the passengers were quiet too, but as soon as the plane came to a stop they were scrambling to get up and grab their bags. Anthony sighed, staying seated with Mat next to him to let everyone else out first. Neither of them wanted to push people around to grab their things and they knew they’d have to wait for their bags afterwards anyway. The further back they stayed the less likely they were to be recognised. Both men were always patient and friendly with fans, but there was something about being in the middle of the night that made them despise just the thought of running into one now.

That gave Anthony time to look out of the small window, he couldn’t see much but he was excited to be home for a few weeks. He wouldn’t rest much with Mathew around, but he’d at least be away from the busy streets of New York. It was only then that he noticed the red string that had steadily pointed east for his whole life now pointed north.

A rush of excitement flooded him, and he was suddenly ready to push through the whole crowd to get out of this airport as fast as possible and find his soulmate. He turned to Mathew to tell him, but got cut off by his best friend yawning in his face.

“What?” He asked, sensing Beau was much more awake than he had been moments ago.

“Nothing,” he ducked his head down and hid his smile. He wanted to keep this to himself, partly because his soulmate could still be far from him, but also because this was his moment, and he wanted to enjoy every part of it alone.

The two men eventually stepped into the cold air of the night to find a taxi, and Anthony watched the way his red string pointed, tempted to follow it immediately but knowing the middle of the night was not the time for it.

.

You almost got ran over about ten times the next morning, out for a walk before you even considered breakfast to hopefully find your soulmate. It was so early that the entire city was quiet, the light was dim and golden as the sun took its place in the sky, and you tried your best not to get too distracted by following the string so that you wouldn’t forget to look around before crossing the street.

Your red string was angled up, which you could only assume meant that your soulmate was somewhere in a building. Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment as you realised you were out looking for them before it was a decent hour to knock on anyone’s door, but you could always wait once you knew where they were.

And wait you did when you found yourself in front of a very nice building with restricted access. There was no way you could get in to knock on anyone’s door, you’d just have to hope they’d wake up soon and come out to meet you. The urge to get a warm coffee ran through you, but you were worried that just going a few streets down from here to grab a drink could make you miss your soulmate. This was a once in a lifetime moment. Coffee could wait.

Luckily for you, there was a bench on the street across from the entrance and you took a seat there to wait, your eyes trained on the entrance so that you wouldn’t miss anyone coming out. You would have been sleepy if the excitement of meeting your soulmate wasn’t making you so nervous your hands shook.

.

Anthony blinked several times to make sure he was seeing things right when he woke up. The red string attached to his heart was guiding him down and a little bit south. He rushed to his bedroom window and looked around for someone that might be passing by. He noticed you then, sitting on a bench across the street, bundled up in a warm coat and waiting with your eyes set on the entrance of his building.

In the heat of the moment Anthony almost forgot to get dressed, and he hurried to pull on the gym clothes he had prepared the previous night.

“Ah, ready to go?” Mat grinned when he saw his friend step out of his bedroom. He had been ready for a while himself, waiting on Anthony to get up so that they could go for a morning run and then hit the gym to start the day right.

“Yeah,” his friend answered mechanically, grabbing his keys by the door and stepping out while Mat was already beginning to ramble.

He nodded without ever talking through the short elevator ride while Mat talked his ear off, and he found himself stepping outside a few more seconds later.

“And anyway, I thought maybe we could-” Mathew’s ramble stopped when he bumped into his friend who had abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Beau?”

You practically shot up from the bench when you saw him, your eyes wide with bewilderment. You knew he had to be there, but seeing him, the same red string tied to his heart, made you feel something completely new.

He looked down at himself and then back at you, making sure he was getting it right while your heart hammered in your chest. Should you cross the street or would he? It was a stupid thing to wonder about but it was the most your brain was capable of putting out in that moment. Deciding that standing there wasn’t helping your nerves at all, you quickly glanced left and right and got across the street in a few strides.

“Oh,” things finally clicked in Mat’s head when you approached, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, you know what, I’m gonna go find myself a coffee,” he patted his friend’s shoulder, not expecting a response as he walked away.

“Hello,” you breathed out, taking in the man in front of you as well as you could while internally screaming.

“How did you get here?” Anthony was barely capable of forming a sentence, and this was all he could think of as he tried to process he was truly meeting his soulmate.

“Excuse me?” You frowned, unsure of what he meant.

“Montreal,” he clarified. “I’ve lived in Montreal for years, you weren’t here,” Anthony couldn’t get over the shock of finally finding you. His eyes were shining, open a little bit wider than normal as he took in every little detail of your face.

“Yeah, uh, I just moved here, I-I work in communication and marketing for a sports team,” you ran a hand through your hair, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

“I play hockey,” he replied and internally cringed. Could he have sounded any weirder?

“Cool,” you nodded, trying to figure out what you were supposed to say after that.

“Shit, I’m sorry I’m so awkward,” Anthony realised he had put an end to the conversation and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he glanced down at his feet. “I’m Anthony Beauvillier, a lot of my friends call me Beau,” he held his hand out for you to shake and you took it. It was much warmer than yours, and you almost didn’t want to let go.

“I- uh, kinda got that from the clothes,” you pointed out the blue and orange outfit. It was your turn to feel your cheeks warm in embarrassment. It wasn’t that you had anything to be embarrassed about, but thinking that this man was the perfect match for you made you nervous beyond reason. Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t been so damn gorgeous. “I guess I kinda just got a job working for your team,”

“That’s fucking crazy,” Anthony laughed, unable to contain the bubbly happiness in his heart any longer. “Do you want to go get a coffee somewhere?” His smile was wide as he asked, his emotions hadn’t settled much but he seemed to have control over them now. Seeing that he was more confident helped you relax too, and you took a deep breath before you smiled back and replied.

“I would love that.”

.

Please reblog and let me know what you thought <3

taglist (add yourself here): @itrocksmysocks @kerwritesthings @pupsandpucks @barzysreputation​ @whythough1319 @smit41 @glassdanse @fiveholegoal @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @thefootballfaithfull (strikethrough means tumblr was being a little bitch and I couldn’t tag you, sorry)

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc (Vilugh) x male reader (sfw) - Part Two

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This should have gone up on here yesterday, and has been available on my $5 Patreon tier for a week as the fourth ‘early release’ story on Patreon in July (every Wednesday).

You may recall the first chapter that I posted as an unedited WIP (Tumblr link) a while ago and had lots of encouraging comments about and some interest in seeing more from Vilugh and the prince. So, here it is! Sorry it's a bit late - things have just been nuts here lately. I wanted this to be the final chapter, but... plot happened. So... there'll be more in the future!

Content: continuing on from last time where our scholarly prince with the unfathomably dickish king for a father was told he was going to spend six months with the orcs, we see Vilugh again, meet his sister, and finally, get to the encampment. (tw: brief mention of past death of reader’s older brother, and constantly being compared to him by the aforementioned dickish king...)

Wordcount: exactly 4000. *nice*

Part One

To say that I was furious with my father for only deigning to inform me of my new situation for the next six months would have been an understatement. I knew I wasn’t the ruler-son that he’d envisaged taking over from him, but I had thought that my rather impressive record for strategy and tactics spoke for itself, not to mention that I was responsible for almost single-handedly planning and instigating massive economic reforms that not only refilled the monarchy’s gradually-dwindling coffers but promoted trade and gave our floundering, stagnating economy a huge boot up the backside. And yet, still, I was not enough. I was not my brother.

Fuming, I strode along the corridors from the great hall up to my chambers and nearly flattened a poor serving girl as she left one of the rooms along the way. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Highness,” she chirped, dipping into a curtsy and scurrying away before I could explain myself.

My reputation had gone from ‘scholar prince’ to ‘Royal Monk’ by the time I was twenty five, but I was also known for being moody and sullen, with a perpetual scowl on my lean - I thought gaunt - face. No wonder I’d frightened her. As I stared in the speckled mirror in my bedroom, I saw a face and body that would hardly impress the orcs to whom I was about to be packed off like a spare bit of cargo for six months. Why? What what did my father have to gain from sending me to a group of people who, until my teenage years, had been our enemies? They weren’t exactly our best friends now either.

The orcs right across the continent had begun to think about trade with us since Khraxh and her warband had first agreed to peace talks, and while the mountain orcs were still ferociously opposed to any kind of truce or trade talks with the soft, plains- and forest-dwelling humans, Khraxh had clearly seen the advantages that at least a ‘polite understanding’ would have with us. We had the monopoly on iron ore with our goblin-run mines to the east, and due to our superior charcoal burning techniques, we were able to forge steel like almost no one else, save perhaps the goblins themselves.

Goblins, like humans, had a long and turbulent history with orcs. Historically, encounters between the two peoples mostly ended in absolute annihilation of entire goblin communities by the larger and stronger orcs - hence their very slight preference for dealing with humans. It really was only a slight preference, however. Goblins were wary and untrusting of most folks, but it was understandable. They were a skittish, intolerant folk, quick to be offended and even quicker to give it.

Staring into that age-freckled mirror, I saw my lacklustre, pale skin, with no distinguishing features, save perhaps for my mother’s dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Where Dannan had been the golden boy of our family - qujite literally with his curly blond hair - I was the proverbial and, of late, the literal, dark horse. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression…

Needless to say, I got little sleep that night, which added to the dark shadows beneath those dark eyes. I turned it over and over as I lay amid the fine silk sheets. In the end, I came to the rather unsettling conclusion that my father hoped I wouldn’t survive my time with the orcs so that he could install someone like my cousin Balgrun on the throne after his demise. Not that anyone imagined that a king as tenacious and bitter as my father would ever give up his hold on life; he was simply too stubborn to die, I was sure of it. True, I was useful, but I was not a leader. I honestly crumbled to a trembling, stammering, sweating mess if I had to address the public myself, and I considered more than three people to be an abhorrent crowd. He’d raised me to be the shadow to my brother’s light, and I fulfilled that role too well to be trained to shine in public now.

Gritting my teeth the next morning, I stood on the sweeping steps of the royal castle, awaiting the arrival of the orcs.

The squeal of a war boar from the far side of the castle’s curtain wall announced their presence before the trumpets and shouts did. I drew a deep breath and kept my skinny hands folded behind my back. No need to let them see me shaking. The king emerged from the doors behind me and fixed me with his usual, emotionless glower. “Don’t embarrass me, son,” he muttered under his breath. “They do us great honour by taking you to the heart of their lands for so long a time.”

I raised my eyebrow. My mother had been able to do that, according to Rigmore. The castle steward and she had apparently been good friends, and when I had learned to do it, he had laughed and said I was the picture of my mother. Naturally, I did it around my father whenever I could just to rile him up. “Tell me, father,” I said with carefully controlled coolness in my voice. “What exactly do you hope to achieve out of my royal stay with — what was it you called them yesterday? — oh yes… ‘those beasts’.”

His lip curled and his eye twitched. “You will do well not to repeat that, boy,” he snarled.

I laughed and shook my head. “Out of the two of us, I seem to be the only one who values my hide, father. Fear not though, I have no intention of pissing off my captors.”

“Captors? Guardians, more like. The honour of hosting the son of the most powerful king on this continent will not be lost on them,” he said fervently, grey eyes drifting to the portcullis and main entrance to the bailey behind me.

“Surely you had some mission in mind for me then?”

“Win them over with that naive charm of yours,” he said dismissively, still not looking at me. “You could have charmed your way into the beds of half the nobility of this kingdom, despite your… physique… Fuck them if you have to,” he said in a hiss in my ear, “But I want them in an advantageous trade deal by the end of next spring. Butter them up, win their trust, and we’ll have the brutes in our pockets.”

“And if I don’t manage that?” I asked.

His eyes flashed. “Then you really aren’t of any use to me at all, are you?”

It wasn’t a wholly unexpected answer. The man was always the king before he was my father, but still, I barked out a loud and undignified laugh just as the orcs entered amid a clatter of cloven trotters and squealing war beasts, feeling empty and hollow. “Goddess be merciful,” I cursed. “You just want me out of the way while you wine and dine Balgrun in my absence. Oh yes,” I chuckled back at him over my shoulder, practically skipping down the stairs and strangely looking forward to my six month ‘holiday’ from the backstabbing and conniving of the castle. “I asked around; I know you’re asking my dear little cousin to stay. Perhaps you can show him the ropes in six months, and perhaps the orcs will decide I’m more useful as a toothpick than a diplomat, and you’ll have a reason to go to war with them again, wipe them off the plains, and then nothing will stand in your way between the coast and the mountains.”

And with that, I left him sputtering on the steps, his face a rather nasty puce colour. I’d figured out his alternative plan, and if he thought for a moment I was going to let him have it, he was a dotard.

“Greetings,” I said, addressing Vilugh in the common Trade Tongue. “Regrettably I have not had the chance to learn your language yet, otherwise I would have greeted you in your own tongue.”

The orc swung down from his boar and dropped the reins to the flagstone floor, ground-tying the beast the same way I might have ground-tied my mare. Starling was, to my relief, already saddled and ready for me, standing with her bridle in the hands of a groom and stamping her hoof in anticipation of an outing.

Vilugh was every bit as colossal and imposing as I remembered him from the last time I’d seen him, if not more so. I knew he had to be ten years or so older than me, and if he was thirty five, he was still in his absolute prime. His green-skinned chest was largely bare, save for the leather strap that reached diagonally from one hip to the opposite shoulder, holding up the leather hunting skirt that hugged his hips and hid very little from the imagination. He didn’t have the defined abs of the veiner fighters I’d seen who liked to show off their lean, oiled bodies for the attention of the crowd, but his middle was packed with solid fat and muscle that spoke of the strength of two or three oxen. His thighs could have crushed one of our warhorses to a bloody slurry if he’d fancied trying, and his hands were as big as the buckler shields favoured by fancy duellers in the city. Small for a shield, but very big for a hand.

His eyes were still that unnerving black that I recalled from my youth, and they were every bit as perceptive as I remembered too. He raked his gaze up my slim form, no doubt also cataloguing my physical features and sartorial preferences. That day I had chosen simple buckskin leggings, suitable for long distance riding, and a loose, linen shirt. My hair was tied back in a practical style at the nape of my neck, and across the front of my saddle, I had instructed my servant to tie a leather hunter’s jerkin for when evening drew in and it inevitably got much colder. In my saddlebags I had had simple, comfortable clothing packed, with none of the fripperies and fineries with which a prince might be expected to travel. Orcs were a pragmatic and practical people, and having a whiny prince demanding to stop for wine and grapes halfway there would win me no favours with them.

“We can teach you to speak orcish if you want,” Vilugh said in a voice like a rock slide.

I couldn't help but grin at the chance to learn something else, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that. I can’t promise to be any good, but I’ll try.”

To my surprise, Vilugh laughed. “From what I hear, you’re a quick learner, prince. You’ll catch on quick enough I reckon.”

Relief washed through me. The warrior was polite and had a sense of humour. As much as my father’s court frustrated me, I knew where to tread there, and how far I could push and poke before I risked too much. With the orcs, I had no idea yet what might provoke them or amuse them. I also had no idea how they felt about this arrangement, or how my presence among them would be received.

“If you’d like to rest or feed your mounts, and seek the same for yourself, then please make yourselves comfortable, otherwise I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” I left it up to him to decide, and after a quick look at my father, still standing on the castle steps like a lone lion on a rock while hyenas prowled below, Vilugh shot me a look of a different calibre.

“These boar can ride all day without stopping for food or water; three days without rest,” he said in a measured voice, walking at my side and casting my entire body into shadow with his immense height and breadth.

He was testing me, and I didn’t fall for it. “And yet the ride from your mother’s bastion is four days from here,” I replied with the same even tone.

Vilugh’s eyes glittered with amusement. “The piss you people drink for ale should be enough for now.”

It was easy enough for me to take a chance on his sense of humour with my father’s bowmen lining the walls and the honour guard ranged up the stairs nearby. “For you or for the boars?” I quipped, turning away and inviting him to follow me.

Again, the massive - and honestly quite intimidating - orc let out a long, loud belly-laugh of amusement. “Hay will do for the boars just now, though they prefer meat when they can get it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I muttered.

The boars were seen to, and I led Vilugh and the two other orcs who had accompanied him up to meet my father. Neither Vilugh nor his fellow warriors bowed or bent the knee to my father I was pleased to note, and it got my father’s hackles up like a like a bristling tomcat. I almost could have kissed the enormous warrior just for putting my father on the back foot already, but honestly, what did he expect? Did he think the orcs would prostrate themselves before him? They’d hardly done that last time, so I couldn’t imagine he’d be so conceited as to think they’d do it this time.

“Your majesty,” Vilugh said.

“Welcome,” my father said, his tone more tightly-clipped than the box hedge in the castle’s knot garden. “Will you be staying for some refreshments before you return to your people with my son?”

“Just long enough to give the boars a breather,” Vilugh said with easy diplomacy.

The other warriors he’d brought with him were the older, one-armed orc I’d skittered away from as a child, and a female I didn’t recognise but who had the most incredible, blue eyes I’d ever seen. Vilugh must have caught me admiring her in the great hall because he leaned in close and growled without real sting, “Stare too long at my sister and she’ll most likely cut out your eyes, princeling.”

“I was just admiring hers,” I yipped quickly, regretting the rather boyish note to my usually hoarse tenor. “Blue eyes are not so common in these parts, that’s all. I meant no offence by it.”

Seated beside him at the table, she leaned close to her brother and barked something in orcish at him. He looked briefly back at me, and then responded in the same. They conversed for a moment and I sat there with my spine dead-straight and my jaw clenched. When Vilugh turned back to me, he grinned. “Rhana says that if the pretty human princeling wants to stare at her, he can, but he’ll have to answer to her wife when we get back.”

“Far be it from me to come between an orc and her wife,” I chuckled anxiously.

When Vilugh translated, they both laughed and Rhana reached behind her brother and cuffed me on the shoulder hard enough that I was almost sent reeling off my seat and onto the floor, which got another laugh out of them and drew a glare of daggers from my unnerved father. Good. Let him be baffled that I was already getting along with these warriors like soldiers in the barracks. He’d clearly not expected me to have any idea how to behave around them, but while I didn’t spend my spare time in our own guards’ barracks, I observed the way everyone in the castle interacted with each other. It was what I’d been trained to do, after all: notice things and remember them.

All in all, the orcs didn't linger long, and we were on our way within an hour.

The pace of the first few hours of the ride alternated between a brisk walk and trotting, though my mare jogged excitedly for the first hour of that until I finally convinced her that we were in it for the long haul. The grooms kept her fit and well-schooled since I couldn’t step away from the castle regularly enough to do it myself, but by the end of the day, even my indomitable Starling was beginning to flag. I patted her neck and murmured that we’d probably break camp soon, and, sure enough, we did.

Once a small fire was lit, with the dry twigs of plains brush-scrub, and carefully warded in a low pit to stop it spreading across the arid plain, I drew out my rations from my saddlebag and Vilugh shot me a look of mild surprise.

“What?” I asked, nervous that I’d committed some inadvertent transgression by digging in before they’d started eating.

After a moment, the orc heaved himself down onto the ground beside me, long, black plait thwacking against his back at the motion. Then he said almost conspiratorially, “You’re not what I was expecting.”

Unwrapping the bread and hard cheese from their waxed linen wrappings, I frowned. “Just what were you expecting, might I ask?”

He shrugged a massive shoulder and drew out a similarly wrapped parcel - much larger - with dried meat and a hard looking biscuit that I thought would probably crack my own teeth before it broke. “Honestly… going off the last time I saw you, and from what your father said of you in talks with my mother… I thought you’d be a fragile little bird. You’re not.” He looked at me, dark eyes glittering in the fire like polished onyx and added, “You are skinny as a bird, but you’re not weak.”

“How would you know?” I scoffed. “I could be too weak to draw my sword. It could just be strapped to my waist for show…” In fact, it was now unbuckled and lying behind me with my saddle and bags, while Starling was hobbled nearby and looking rather disdainfully at the slim grazing afforded by the scrubland where we’d paused. Finest high-summer hay, it was not.

“You move like a dancer,” he said, and I immediately choked on a breadcrumb.

He had to slap me on the back and offered me a skin of water. I washed the offending clog down and gawped at him. “What would you know about human dancers?” I asked without thinking.

“I’ve travelled to the cities on the coast,” he said. “They dance in the marketplaces on festival days.”

“Oh,” I said. And then my cheeks flushed. “I’m not… You know… those dancers are… uh… paid to do more than dance… shall we say.”

It took Vilugh a moment to catch on, but he seemed embarrassed at his mistake. “I meant no insult by it,” he said. “They’re very beautiful.”

“That they are,” I admitted. My father had tried to entice three of them into bed with me after one evening spent in the company of one of his duchesses, but when I’d shown more interest in her library than her twittering prostitutes, he’d given up. Apparently the finest courtesans in the land weren’t going to make me proper man in his eyes, so it wasn’t worth trying.

Vilugh must have seen my memories swirling across my face, because he didn’t bring it up again, and we ate in a rather awkward silence after that. The orcs drew lots for the watch, and Vilugh drew the first and insisted that as their guest, I should not be expected to deprive myself of sleep. Plus, apparently, the next day’s riding would be harder and he didn’t want me falling out of my saddle when I dozed off. Also orcs’ eyes were more like cats’ eyes in the dark, I discovered, when I looked up and saw Rhana’s glinting at me from across the fire and nearly had a heart attack. She laughed and wished me pleasant dreams.

Taking their well-meaning jibes in my stride, I nodded and bedded down in my humble bedroll. It was the type that hunters used, made of breathable buckskin and lined with fleece to keep off the chill of the plains, and although I’d only spent one or two nights in it in my life, I slept better that night than I had in years, not waking until Vilugh's surprisingly gentle touch at my shoulder stirred me not long after dawn.

Over the course of the next few days, Starling developed a comical rivalry with Rhana’s boar, the two taking every opportunity to bite or scuffle with each other, though it never seemed to get truly vicious enough for either of us to worry about, so we let it play out to our amusement. Perhaps because of that and perhaps because I just simply liked them for their gruff honesty, by the time the wooden palisade walls of the orcish war-band’s permanent stronghold drew into view on a wind-blown hilltop, I felt relatively comfortable with the three orcs who had been sent to fetch me.

The older one with one arm was called Rhakak, and was apparently Vilugh’s cousin. He was taciturn and unflinching, watchful and grim, but not aggressive towards me. I still gave him a wide berth though.

But if I’d thought Rhakak was intimidating, it was nothing to Vilugh's mother.

I remembered her from her visit to the castle, but nothing could quite have prepared me for the sheer presence the matriarch had amongst her own people. She was standing waiting for us as we rode up to the walls of the stronghold, and even though Vilugh had told me that Khraxh wouldn’t hold me to the same etiquette as she would a visiting orc, I still nearly shat my pants in fear when I got off Starling’s back and found her surveying me with a distinctly unimpressed look on her weathered, beautiful face.

She really was beautiful. Her body was honed and muscular, but her movements were sleek and efficient, and in much the way a war galley cuts through the water and bristles with power, so she moved with the dormant power of a life-long warrior. Her long, thick hair had turned grey in the intervening decade since I’d seen her, and she’d lost half a tusk too, but the way the gathered orcs arranged themselves around her reminded me of a wolf and her pack. She commanded absolute obedience in them, and unyielding loyalty. In that moment, I did feel afraid, and suddenly very much not up to the seemingly impossible task I had been set.

With a rather endearing patience, Vilugh had taught me the phrase to speak in orcish upon meeting her, and once I could finally get my tongue around the complex vocal gymnastics of the orcish language, he said I would not be flayed alive for completely embarrassing my tutor.

Thus, upon our first meeting, I nearly sprained my jaw, but I gained perhaps a modicum of respect from the veteran war chief. As the three orcs sent to the castle to fetch me had now bowed, neither did I, but I did incline my head as I spoke. There was no need to act like a prideful brat after all.

If my father was expecting me to make enemies of these people and inadvertently lure them into killing me and sparking a war, then I was bloody well going to do the opposite. I wasn’t a warrior, but I had my mind, and I was damned if I was going to fuck things up and go down in history as the skinny little prince who kicked off the orc-human conflict all over again.

Humble but not meek, studious but not annoyingly curious, polite but not obsequious, opinionated but not obnoxious… I began to feel my way through the stronghold’s hierarchy, and miraculously survived my first week there without insulting anyone.

One week down, twenty three more to go…

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[nottheleavesarecinders]

ACOFS Prythian Map Appreciation Post

So, the fandom is in a bit of an unrest right now, so I’ve decided to offer you the best distraction I could think of: an appreciation of the Prythian map that came inside ACOSF, since it is absolutely GORGEOUS and I don’t feel like we talk about it enough!

One thing I’ve always loved about the ACOTAR maps it’s the fact that every single book there are new details included in them, either due to an stylistic choice or to portray new locations that become relevant in the book. With time, more and more things have been popping up, leaving us with the work of art that is the ACOSF map.

For those of you that may have not seen it yet, this is the map! Look how pretty it is!

I’m going to leave my fangirling after a read more because this will be very long!

So, first things first: obviously you can see Hybern, Prythian and The Continent, with the Mortal Lands and Fae Realms portrayed where they are. There are a ton of little details added to them, mostly portraying different locations, so let’s look at them more closely!

First there is Hybern. As you can see, there is a little crown and a castle drawn in it! The crown probably symbolizes the fact that Hybern is ruled by a King instead of High Lords, so it’s a way to show the influence of royalty in that land. The castle signals... yeah, the castle we went to in ACOMAF. I don´t really think its location it’s accurate, since as fas as I remember we weren’t really told were it was... but to be honest, it being near the shoreline DOES sound familiar, so probably it is a good approximation of its real location. Also, let’s take in how many mountains there are, it gives Hybern a very wild feeling that I think fits it REALLY well!

Now, let’s switch to Prythian! As you can see, The Wall is clearly signaled with a thick, black line, but my favourites are the borders between the Courts (divided by The Middle, with the Seasonal Courts below it and the Solar Courts above)- shown as thorny branches, which really portray the feeling of nature that suits the Fae so much. There is one interesting detail, though: the only missing border is the one between the Day and Night Courts. Maybe it’s because they are already divided by a mountain range? Hmmm I wonder...

So, I’ll talk first about the Mortal Lands and the Seasonal Courts, then about The Middle and Solar Courts!

The Mortal Lands don’t have a lot of detail in them, but you can see a tiny drawing of Feyre’s village under The Wall! It’s obviously not in scale, but I love the level of detail you can find in it- specially the tiny tower that seems to belong to a church! It really gives the “kinda-medieval-village” vibes Sarah seemed to want to portray in ACOTAR, and that little tower just makes it perfect!

Then you have the Seasonal Courts!

First there is the Spring Court. There is one detail I personally find REALLY interesting about it, and that’s the fact that the Manor doesn’t appear- in fact it hasn’t shown up in any of the maps we have seen so far. You would think that such an important location would be shown, at least with a little skecht like Hybern’s Castle... but no, it’s missing. I wonder why... One of it’s features that has appeared since the beginning is its eastern river, which hasn’t appeared in the books so far. I wonder if it’s going to become relevant at some point or if it’s rather an stylistic choice. It seems there is a river in the UK near the same place, so maybe it’s simply based on it.

Next up it’s the Autumn Court! My favourite! Yay! There is something I absolutely LOVE about how it appears in this map, and thats the fact that it has the most amount of forests by FAR, which I think really fits it. Another detail I find charming is how we can see the Forest House and then a drawing of some kind of big cottage or almost farm house representing it. Knowing what we know about the people in the Autumn Court, I’m pretty sure they would resent seeing their home shows as just a “simple” building. There is something else than I like, and thats the fact that, except from the mountains in the north that separates it from the Winter Court and all the forests, the rest of the terrain is flat, which makes sense knowing that they have lots of fields. I simply love this Court.

Now let’s focus on the Summer Court. This one doesn’t have tiny drawings of castles either, but you can see Adriata and one arrow showing us where it would be. As you can see, its placed next to a river’s delta, which makes a lot of sense taking into account the huge ammount of emphasys the Summer Court has in ships and sailing, it’s natural that its capital is not only in the shoreline (as we saw in ACOMAF), but also near a river they could travel in too. I also love how you can see a spatter of forests in the east and some mountains near Adriata and in the North, but the rest of the terrain is flat. I feel like it has a very summery vibe, clear but also with a little bit of everything else.

Lastly, the Winter Court. This is the Seasonal Court we know the least from, at least when dealing with geograhy. The only thing we have learned is that Viviane held a small city during Amarantha’s Reign, which sadly doesn’t appear in the map, not even with a small drawing. What we can see it’s really close to canon, tho. We know that there is a mountain range between the Winter and Autumn Courts, which it is indeed shown in the map. On its north side there is The Middle, which means mountains as well, and there are also represented here. The rest of the Court seems to be flat, which again makes sense, taking into account the short description we get from Feyre in ACOWAR, when she’s running away with Lucien from Eris and his brothers. The idea of flat, icy fields and lakes surrounded by snow capped mountains REALLY fits winter, so I really like how this map transmits it!

Now, this is probably my favourite detail about the Courts: all of them have symbols drawn in them that symbolize their nature! In the case of the Seasonal Courts, they are flowers! They used to appear in random spots inside their territories, but this map has moved them so they frame the Court’s names! Please, feel free to correct me if I mess up with any of the flowers, but in this map I think they are: lavender for Spring, oak leaves and acorns for Autumn, magnolias for Summer and Holly for Winter! 

Let’s go North now. The Middle and the Solar Courts: Dawn, Day and Night.

In The Middle you can see Under the Mountain and the Weaver’s Cottage (I just noticed I cut the name out Oooops). The Mountain is suitably big- there is no way you can mistake it for a normal mountain. I also love how much sharper it seems compared to the others near it. The Weaver’s Cottage is... a cottage. I would have liked to see the forest surrounding it and the Bog of Oorid, though. Maybe they’ll show up in the next book?

The Dawn Court. We get another tiny drawing: a castle (signaled by its own arrow) which looks suspicioulsly medieval-looking (it even has a tiny flag on top, which is unbelievably cute). I wich it were a little more stilized though, since it doesn’t fit at all the image I had of the Dawn Court Palace in my mind. I mean, Feyre was almost jelaous of the decoration, there is some fancy stuff in there. Appart from that, there are a bit of trees and several mountains. It’s likely that the entire territory is mountanous, but we cannot see that because they need a blank space so we can see the court’s name, same thing with the Day and Night Courts. Mountains everywhere seems to be a theme in the Solar Courts. It looks very similar to the Day Court, which i guess makes sense, taking into account that they are sibling courts. The Night Court does look different but... I mean, we already knew that.

The Day Court! Again, no drawings and no cities and no nothing, which makes sense because that’s the exact ammount we know about this Court, since it’s the only one none of the POV characters have been in. I cannot wait to travel there in a future book, Helion is the best and it’s pretty sad there are no noteworthy features in its map. If in the next book there isn’t at least a tiny pegasus drawn somewhere I’ll riot.

Then the Night Court. Of course, since it is the court version of the Main Character, it is the one with the biggest ammount of stuff in it... except for Ramiel, or a mountain in The Prison. I’m still salty about this, I would have LOVED to see Ramiel portrayed as a huge mountain, with a slender monolith on top and three starts crowning it. This would represent the Night Court perfectly as well, and I’m sure it would have looked GORGEOUS. And I’m noy going to lie, I would have also enjoyed having the three sacred mountains protrayed at the same time, mainly to draw lines between them and feel like a investigator. Anyways, what we DO have is the Court of Nightmares, Velaris and The Prison. I think there are no drawings of castles or houses here because they wouldn’t really fit, but I do appreciate that you can see that Velaris is near the sea- and quite away from the Court of Nigthmares. It would have been lovely to see the Sidra and the location of the Cabin as well, but I guess there are just so many locations in the Night Court that it’s impossible to fit all of them.

This Courts also have their own symbols next to their names! A sun peaking out for Dawn, a full sun for Day and a bunch of stars for Night!

Nooow to finish off the locations, let’s go to the Continent! Compared with all the info we know about Prythian, they show very little. We can see Scythia in the Mortal Lands, the home of Vassa. Then, in the Fae Realms the territories of Montesere and Vallahan are clearly marked (with simple lines, not thorns like the Courts in Prythian. I approve, since there is no denying Montesere and Vallahan cannot compete with our beloved Courts in seer amount of DramaTM, so it’s a fitting choice). Then Rask is also shown offmap with an arrow. To recap (I had to look this up because my knowledge of this territories is shaky at best): Montesere is one of the territories that allied themselves with Hybern with the goal to defeat Phythian. There is nothing else noteworthy about it for now. Vallahan was also part of this alliance, and it’s the place where Ianthe was born and run away from. This is also the country Mor spends a huge ammount of time in during ACOSF. Rask also allied itself with Hybern... and I think we know nothing else about it.

What IS interesting about this map is that it shows what I think it would be fair to agree it’s Koschei’s Castle. There is a huge lake in the middle of that mountainous-and-forestal formation (which I think looks eerily like South America, which I’m sure you cannot unsee now), and on top of that the drawing of a tall, narrow castle. How cool is this??? I think it was featured in the ACOWAR map as well, which I LOVED. This only seems to further confirm the importance of this place in future books, and I honestly cannot wait to see more of Koschei and this continent.

I also need a map with all the Mortal Queens’ territories asap, I would LOVE to see their borders!

Now, to put an end to this Map Appreciation post, I want to point out some details that I think really complete it, are very fitting and also absolutely gorgeous.

The first one it that over Hybern you can see a very simple compass Rose (it shows only the north), but in this map it is The Cauldron! It’s tilted and pouring water, so at first it looks like something melting inside a circle, but when you pay attention to it it’s clear that it represents the Cauldron, maybe in a moment of creation! I LOVED this detail, it’s so perfect!

Also, now that I,ve brought your attention to this image: on the left there is a column, and on it you can see symbols of the Summer and Spring Courts, represented with a wave and a rose and shining oh so bright. In fact, every single Court appears in the map like this! I also love how they are surrounded by roses, it’s SO beautiful!

This is the other side of the map, where you can see the Autumn (acorns) and winter (snowflake) courts. Again, with the roses running up the column and the light rays around it. UGH SO GOOD.

But my favourites are the Solar Courts, which appear in the center of the map and let me tell you, I almost feel like using this as a screensaver because it’s sooo beautiful.

You have the Sun (Day court) shining bright in the middle, with its rays influencing the entire map, another Sun rising from clouds (dawn court) at the bottom, and it looks just so soft and ethereal, and lastly the Moon (night court) at the top, surrounded by stars, which you can see at the top of the entire map. I seriously love how this combination looks, it’s just so beautifu!

So, that’s all I have to say about this map! I hope you discovered details you may have not seen before, and if you have noticed something that I haven’t ttalked about PLEASE let me know, I would absolutely love to hear about it! I hope you enjoyed the Post!

[owakoblack-portspa]

(APH PortSpa) African Holiday

APH fan fiction. I do not own the characters.

Pairing: Portugal/ Spain, Spain/ Portugal

Pedro is the nation of Portugal and Antonio is the nation of Spain. For convenience, I use their human names instead of names of nations in this fiction. Pedro and Spain meet at Ceuta, a city in Africa.

African Holiday

On a very quiet night, a long-haired little boy was sleeping alone on a large, soft bed. Such a huge bed was more suitable for at least two boys lying on it, and sure enough, this boy lied on the right side of the bed, as if saving a place for somebody to sleep on the left side.

Suddenly, a knock on the bedroom door broke the silence, causing the boy in bed to wake. He did not get up at once, but simply turned onto the other side.

 “Disculpe, may I come in?” A sweet voice of a little boy called out beyond the door. Both the boys had dark-brown hair.

 The boy in bed reached out for a spare pillow lying on the left side of the bed, and pressed it upon his ear, trying hard to continue sleeping.

 “I can’t sleep, can I sleep with you?” The child outside the door raised his voice, and knocked more loudly.

 “How old are you? Can’t you sleep alone? It’s time to grow up!” The boy in bed finally replied.

 “Lo siento.”

 Since then, the boy outside the door never came again.

 In Ceuta, a harbour city on the northern tip of Africa, you can find everywhere talkative Spaniards, logos written in Spanish, products from Europe, flags in red and gold colours, and you feel there is no difference from Andalusia on the other side of the Mediterranean Sea. However, Africa is not Europe after all. It is much more significant to travel from continent to continent, rather than to travel from province to province, or from country to country.

 A barbería on the opposite of the port has no difference from most of the barberías on the Spanish mainland either: right now inside the barbería where Enrique Iglesias’ dancing songs were playing, a barber with a big beard was sweeping away hair left on the chair, while swaying to the music, cheerfully. It is a mystery that the Spaniards can keep excited all the time, perchance because of lovely sunshine, perchance because of the blue sea–it is a happy nation after all.

 As the wind chimes on the glass door of the shop rang merrily, the door opened, a cool sea wind blew in, and a tall young man walked inside. His long dark-brown hair was tied into a pony tail, a caramel jacket rounded his slim waist, and a pair of goggles hung on his well-built chest.

 “¡Buenos días! ¿Tiene una reserva?” As soon as the barber straightened up to see the young man’s face, his smile turned into a surprised look, “Dios mío, did I just trim Señor’s hair? How come it grows back even longer than before within a blink of an eye?”

 “Don’t worry, Señor Peluquero, I’m still here. I just paid at the counter.” Another young man touched the back of the barber from behind, and put both of his hands in front of his face to form a picture frame, “after trimming my hair, I’m as cool as a breeze!” The short-haired young man winked his light green eyes while smiling brightly, and incredibly, some stars fell out of the frame.

 “What a coincidence, Antonio. I just arrived from the port, and spotted you inside this barbershop.”

 “Isn’t it Pedro? I’ve never expected you here!”

 The confused barber turned his head to look at the picture-framing, short-haired young man, and then turned back to see the long-haired young man who just walked into the shop. He found that both of their faces and bodies exactly the same, even the colours of their hair, eyes, and skin the same too, as if God conveniently used the same colours from his colour palette to paint these two , except that He dotted a beauty spot under the right eye of the long-haired one, in order to distinguish from his twin. “You two are twins!” the barber exclaimed.

 “We are not twins!” the two young men protested in one voice.

 “So…you two are brothers who look much alike?”

 “We are just neighbours!” two men, one voice again.

 “Are you really just neighbours? I can tell from your appearances that you two are related by blood!” The barber stretched out his strong arms to bring both of the young men close together, and shouted to a girl at the counter. “Isabel, don’t you think they look much alike? Mira, mira,” the barber turned Pedro’s face towards Isabel, “when his pony tail couldn’t be seen from the front, even their hair styles are los mismos!”

 “Even so,” Isabel shrugged her thin shoulders, “los amigos have told you they ain’t bros, so they ain’t bros, are you thinking of helping people recover their long-lost familia?”

 “I see, it’s a matter of hair style.” Pedro mused, “por favor, Señor Peluquero, could you make a new hair style for me?”

 Half an hour later, Pedro’s long dark-brown hair was trimmed thin and made more stylish, which reached down his prominent collarbones.

 “Listo, as cool as a breeze!” Imitating Antonio, the barber put his hands to form a picture frame in front of Pedro, but this time there were no fallen stars, for Pedro did not wink, but instead smiled mildly to his mirrored self. “In this way, you two don’t look the same any more!” the barber admired his masterpiece happily, “Señor looks so handsome, bueno, guapo!”

 “Gracias, but I’m a navigator, it’s better for me to tie my hair while sailing at sea. However, today I have a holiday, and Antonio is beside me, let me forget the pony tail for a while.” He brushed gracefully his long hair with his hand, satisfied.

 After leaving the barbería, Pedro and Antonio walked leisurely in the direction of the old town. Pedro’s caramel jacket was again tied around his waist, and despite the hot African weather, he wore short black gloves. He and Antonio both wore short-sleeve shirts, and their opening collars revealed deep shapes of their chest cleavages.

 “Pedro, why are you in Africa?” Antonio walked a step ahead of the quiet young man, turning around to look at the other with his bright green eyes.

 “Me chame de Pedro, faz favor. In Portuguese, you should pronounce ‘Pedru’, instead of ‘Pedro’.” Pedro spoke in Portuguese–even though he had spoken fluent Spanish at the barber’s, he had got used to speak Portuguese to Antonio whenever they were alone.

 “Todo bien, ‘Pedru’. You know although I can understand Portuguese, I don’t speak it well.” Antonio continued to communicate with Pedro in Spanish, while the other spoke Portuguese.

 “Our ship is heading to a tall ship festival in Marseilles. When we crossed the Strait of Gibraltar, I thought of our past in Ceuta, so I stopped to visit here.”

 “Our past in Ceuta? You mean yours and mine?”  

 Pedro nodded slightly.

 Antonio began to feel anxious, deliberately avoiding Pedro’s gaze.

 When they were approaching the gate of the old town, they saw a huge coat of arms of the city which looked very similar to the Portuguese national coat of arms: in the middle of the red shield are five blue mini shields, surrounded by seven golden tiny castles.

 When they were about to cross the street, Pedro stopped short.

 “In Spain, you don’t have to wait for traffic lights all the time…” Antonio wanted to push him, but he found the Portuguese was gazing on a sculpture in the middle of the round-about. It was the sculpture of Prince Henry the Navigator.

 Pedro kept silent, but his emerald eyes spoke for him. In his eyes, there was a mixture of worship, nostalgia, and sorrow. Such a beautiful, bright young man was suddenly shrouded by sadness, just like the sun shadowed by dark clouds, and a cool breeze laden with salt.

 “Disculpe, I suddenly remember I have some important thing to do, can I leave?” Antonio tried to escape, but was stopped at once by another.

 “Don’t you go, you should be my tour guide.”

 “Even though you wish so, there is not much worth tour guiding…”

 Much against his will, Antonio led Pedro to a bastion east to the old town gate, which is one of the landmarks in Ceuta. An edge of the bastion extended gracefully into a moat circling the city, where deep blue seawater turned into emerald, and a big school of small fish attracted the attention of several migrant birds. Above the top of the bastion, a flag of blood and gold was flying proudly.

 Antonio noticed that Pedro was becoming more and more moody. He felt so guilty that he wanted to climb up the bastion to tear down the flag, if he could.

 At this moment, a pair of Asian twin girls went towards them.

 “Excuse me, do you speak English?”

 Antonio was not confident in his English, so he eyed Pedro for assistance.

 “How can I help you, beautiful ladies?” Pedro replied in British English, and later, according to these girls’ request, took photos for them. Antonio chuckled quietly, because he knew that Pedro had kind of “yellow fever”, for he had a particular passion for Asians, which had been one of the secret reasons why he had ventured so far away to Asia during the Age of Discovery.

 “May I ask if we could take photos together? We are all twins!”

 “Pero nosotros no somos gemelos…” Antonio tried to deny without a second thought, but these Asian girls did not understand his Spanish.

 “Certainly! Antonio, come here!” Apparently, Pedro was afraid of making the shy Asian girls embarrassed, so he did not deny he and Antonio being twins, and pulled the Spaniard to take photos together.

 “Can we ask a question about history?” the girls asked carefully.

 “Ask away, darlings.” Pedro winked, smiling.

 “Doesn’t Ceuta belong to Spain? Why are there so many Portuguese emblems here then?”

 “Umm, as for this question, it’s better to let Antonio explain, for he’s the local tour guide.”

 Antonio felt stressed, for it would be a challenge for him to explain the complicate history related to both Spain and Portugal in his “broken” English. It was obvious that Pedro wanted to make fun of him. However, if he cast the task back to Pedro, when recalling the past, would Pedro become sad again? Antonio did not feel like seeing that sorrowful face, so he began to explain slowly in English:

 “Ceuta was a part of Morocco long time ago. In the year of 1415, Prince Henry of Portugal conquered this military fortress…”

 “Excuse me, who was Prince Henry?” the girls asked.

 “He was a great navigator who started the Portuguese Age of Discovery. From then on, Portugal gradually discovered new sea routes. The new route to India discovered by Vasco da Gama was in fact the continuation of Prince Henry’s sea routes. In other words, if there were no Prince Henry, there would have been no Vasco da Gama, or even the Portuguese Empire. Perhaps Prince Henry is not as famous as da Gama worldwide, but for Portugal, he was the most important person.”

 The twin girls began to admire this prince, “How brave are the navigators to discover the unknown world!”

 “He is also a navigator.” Antonio pointed to Pedro, who was smiling in the shade of a tree. “Let me continue the history of Spain and Portugal. After the conquest, Portugal rebuilt Ceuta, so the city coat of arms contains Portuguese emblems. Between 1580 and 1640, Portugal was ruled by Spain. Many Spanish people migrated to Ceuta, so even after Portugal’s independence from Spain in 1640, Ceuta still sided with Spain. Finally in 1668, Portugal ceded Ceuta to Spain. Therefore, you can still see Spanish flags flying on the African continent today.”

 After the twin girls had left, Antonio and Pedro found all museums closed at noon. As the sun was becoming hotter, they had no choice but to sit down at an ice cream parlour by the seaside.

 It seemed that Pedro was exhausted by the hot weather, for even ice cream could not cheer him up. He kept silent and ate quietly without looking up at Antonio, which made Antonio unbearable. Finally, Antonio broke the ice:

 “Pedro, I want to say that I am sorry, for I have taken up the place you had cherished.”

 “Which place?” Pedro tucked his long hair behind his ear, and had another spoonful of ice cream.

 “This place, Ceuta.”

 Pedro fell silent again for a moment. Then, his head turned slightly towards Antonio, a pair of scorching eyes stared at the Spaniard fiercely behind long hair, and he said: “Now you know that you’re sorry, you know that…” he covered his mouth with a hand, as if trying hard to suffocate his moaning, “…you already know that Dom Henrique was the person I had most respected, most loved…and this place had been the first step where we began to explore the world…and yet, you…!”

 “Pedro…”

 “You were too strong, too powerful–so powerful that you swallow up everyone who were close to you…Aragon, Navarre, Granada…being your neighbour, you had no idea how hard I had tried to survive…and you still don’t know why I want to keep distance from you–you’ve never cared about others.”

 “…lo siento.”

 “…that’s why I set my knights guard against you on borders.” Pedro added.

 Antonio did not know how to reply, and Pedro lost the interest of continuing their conversation, so these two kept silent while watching the blue Mediterranean Sea and eating ice cream. After a while, two identical cats approached them for food, and they gave the cats ice cream respectively. Later, the cats curled up to sleep under their legs. It was time for siesta. The two young men bent on the table and fell asleep too.

 When Antonio woke up, he found himself alone, a caramel jacket covering his back.

 “Señor, did you sleep well? Your brother has already paid the bill.” A waiter came over and smiled at him.

 “When did he leave?”

 “About half an hour ago. He went in the direction of the port, perhaps to board a ship.”

 Hearing this, Antonio grabbed Pedro’s jacket at once, and ran towards the port.

 There were countless vessels from all over the world at the port, but Antonio had some clue for finding out Pedro’s ship.

 Sure enough, before long, he spotted a huge sail ship with three masts. Upon the white sails, there were red crosses of the Order of Christ.

 “Disculpe, is Pedro on this ship?” Antonio stopped a sailor who was about to board.

 “Which Pedro? We have many Pedros on the ship!”

 “He has long hair, and a spot under his right eye.” Antonio panted from running.

 “Let me think…” the sailor looked baffled.

 “Alright, he looks very much like me!” Antonio finally confessed.

 “Ah, I see!” the sailor turned around and shouted to the top cabins of the ship, “Captain, your little brother has come to see you off!”

 “I’m not his brother,” Antonio said quickly, “and I just come to return his jacket.”

 “Thank you for returning my jacket,” Pedro went down slowly from the ship. He wore a set of deep blue navy uniform, his long hair tied neatly behind. “By the way, I do recall that you had called me ‘mi hermano’ when you were a very little child, didn’t you?”

 “It’s not true, I had only called you by your birth name…it’s you who had called me ‘meu irmão’.”

“I’d never done that.”

 “Yes, you had.”

 When the siren was blown, Antonio knew that Pedro’s ship, Sagres, was about to set out. He raised his hands high in the air and waved happily towards Pedro, who was standing on the deck, watching him whom was down below.

 “¡Adiós, Lusitania!” Antonio smiled, brighter than the sun.

 –Lusitania, isn’t this Pedro’s birth name? Suddenly, some long-lost memory flashed back to Pedro’s mind.

 On a very quiet night, he was lying on a large bed sleeplessly. Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

 “Lusitania?” a sweet voice of a boy called out.

 “Sim?” he replied lazily.

 Knowing the boy in bed was still awake, the boy outside opened the unlocked door, and went in.

“Can I sleep with you, Lusitania?” a pair of light green eyes was looking innocently at him.

 He opened his arms to the boy, and smiled mildly, “claro, meu irmão.”

 Long long time ago, Pedro had indeed called Antonio “my brother”, and only Antonio had called him by his birth name. Are they really not related by blood? They look so much alike, they had been so close, and nobody could understand them better than they understand each other. What made them separate from each other?

 Looking at the young man waving on the quay who had the same face as his, Pedro suddenly had an urge to touch, to embrace, and to merge with him–his brother. Before the ship started moving, he dashed down to the quay, and jumped onto Antonio.

 “Lusitania?”

 Pedro held Antonio tightly in his arms. Back lighted, his bright green eyes had never seemed so profound before, as if trying to convey millions of words. However, Pedro chose not to say a single word, but to kiss directly on Antonio’s petal-soft lips.

 Basking in orange light of the African sunset, the two brothers embraced and kissed each other for a long while, until eventually, Pedro broke the kiss and left silver saliva on his brother’s lips. Antonio looked at him, confused, intoxicated.

 “If we’re not brothers, I think it’s fine to kiss you.” Pedro smiled mildly.

 “Claro, we’re not brothers at all.” Antonio blushed, and kissed Pedro again.

[alectology-archive]

SJ/M’s unacceptable and lazy usages of real world places/cultures

I’m aiming to make this the most comprehensive list of SJ/M stealing bits and pieces of world history and pretending like she came up with them. Feel free to comment down below or send an ask if you can think of anything.

The addition of adaptation of names from some real-world places is included either because of insensitivity (Hybern and Prythian) or mostly because SJ/M doesn’t try to represent any of the cultures she takes from.

Note that this post will keep getting updated as I discover more evidences of unacceptable usages of cultures. Also note that there is every possibility that some resemblances are purely accidental and/or unintentional. So take it with a grain of salt.

T/HRONE OF GLASS

- Most of the cultural activities mentioned in Tower of Dawn are rip-offs of Mongolian culture and seem to resemble the Dothraki from Game of Thrones very closely.

- Pagan holidays mentioned in the books:

Yulemas* is celebrated in Erilea despite there already existing an established religion consisting of 12 gods and goddesses.

Samhain* is a festival celebrated by Irish and Scottish people.

Beltane* is a festival celebrated historically in Ireland and Scotland.

- Nehemia is probably derived from the Jewish leader Nehemiah who helped rebuild Jerusalem. Instead of trying to work that into Nehemia’s narrative, SJ/M killed off Nehemia to serve a white woman’s narrative.

- Mycenae is a historical site in Greece.

- Illium is an actual Greek city as well.

- Ravi in KoA is named after a Hindi word which means “sun”.

- Strangely enough Ravi’s brother is named Sol after the Roman god of the sun.

- Suria, where Ravi is from, is also a synonym for sun in Hindi.

- Mab is from the story of “Queen Mab”.

- Maeve is a sexual goddess in Irish mythology who was actually raped. So making Maeve a rapist in the books was hurtful.

A/COTAR

- Nagas belong to Hindu/Indian mythology included in a book that’s clearly a very western fantasy and has little to no PoC representation. 

- Illyrians were an actual indo-european tribe with close relations to modern day Albanians. S/JM is not the first person to feature them in her work but other authors have used versions of the name like “Illyria” by Shakespeare, “Ilirea” by Paolini, “Valyria” by GRRM etc. which are acceptable.

- Calan Mai is actually a celebration of spring in Welsh culture. As @gemorsedd put it so eloquently, SJ/M turned it into a festival about Tamlin being unable to control his hormones.

- Hybern is derived from the classic latin name of Ireland which is “Hibernia”. 

- Prythian is a modified version of the ancient name of Britain “Prydain”. COINCIDENTALLY, Prythian VERY closely resembles the UK. It’s also possible that she plagiarised the name from Anne Bishop’s Daughter of Blood.

Note for further reading: Read @blakeseptember’s about why SJ/M was especially insensitive in including Prythia and Hybern in the ways she did: https://blakeseptember.tumblr.com/post/187088853587/hybern-as-ireland

- Bharat is actually the Hindi name for India which is mentioned in ACO/TAR. Not only is it mentioned that Feyre’s father was sailing to Bharat to trade in cloth and spices (which was exactly what British colonialists and traders did when they sailed to India), it’s also said, quite clearly, that Feyre’s mother died of Typhus while her cousin died of Malaria (IN BHARAT). By doing so SJ/M is blatantly promoting a very colonialist view of India. 

The Malaria mention: “My mind was void, a blank mess of uselessness. Could it be some sort of disease? My mother had died of typhus and her cousin had died of malaria after going to Bharat. But none of those symptoms seemed to match a riddle. Was it a person?”

The Trade of cloth and spices: “I swallowed. ‘Eight years ago he amassed our wealth on three ships to sail to Bharat for invaluable spices and cloth.’”

- Myrmidons feature in A/COWAR. The Myrmidons is actually a nation from Ancient Greek mythology (led by Achilles in the siege of Troy). 

- Harem pants which are worn in parts of South and Middle-east Asia feature in the books where they’re introduced into a court consisting of white people only.

- F/eyre’s floral tattoos are very reminiscent of mehendis which are very important to Indian, Arabic and North African cultures but it’s a trait given to a white woman here. Read this post.

C/RESCENT CITY

- Danaan is from Tuatha de Danaan (celtic mythology) / Danaans is another name for Greece in the Iliad, used interchangeably with “Argives” and “Achaeans”.

- Avallen is Avalon (the legend of King Arthur). Ruhn’s story also bears a very close resemblance to the legend.

- 6 point star = Star of David

- Lehabah = a word in Hebrew meaning "a flame" (להבה)

- Mount Hermon = an actual mountain place in the northern part of Israel.  In Hebrew: הר החרמון.

- SPQM’s full form is Senatus Populusque Midgard. Which is awfully close to the SPQR of the ancient Roman empire which is Senatus Populusque Romanus

- The river Tiber mentioned in CC is actually a Roman river.

- Midgard, in Norse mythology, is the home of mankind. In Norse mythology.

- Sandriel: Comes from the angel Sadriel, the angel of order. S/JM added an “n.”

- Orion “Hunt” A/thalar: First name is pretty obvious, Orion as in the hunter which is where his name “Hunt” comes from. Probably from the god Attar called Athtar in Southern Arabia. Attar is sometimes considered a storm god explaining his lightning powers, but also linked to the Morningstar aka Lucifer. No explanations are given regarding as to how the constellations of our world are the same as that of SJ/M’s fantasy AU.

- Shahar Daystar: From the dawn deity Shahar. Also linked to Lucifer.

- Jesiba Roga: A Croatian respelling of Baba Yaga. Jesiba Roga, is quite literally just a combination of Ježibaba (a figure closely related to Baba Yaga in West Slavic folklore) and Baba Roga (the Croatian version of of Baba Yaga). 

- Danika Fendyr: Danika is a Slavic dawn deity. Fendyr comes from Fenrir a wolf in Norse mythology. 

- Isaiah: Taken from Isaiah 14:12-15 which details the fall of Lucifer. It’s also easily accessible from Shahar’s Wikipedia page (which may imply that SJ/M uses Wikipedia for research and just steals/lazily incorporates whatever she finds along the way.)

12 “How you are fallen from heaven,

O [a]Lucifer, son of the morning!

How you are cut down to the ground,

You who weakened the nations!

13 For you have said in your heart:

‘I will ascend into heaven,

I will exalt my throne above the stars of God;

I will also sit on the mount of the congregation

On the farthest sides of the north;

14 I will ascend above the heights of the clouds,

I will be like the Most High.’

15 Yet you shall be brought down to Sheol,

To the [b]lowest depths of the Pit.

- Fury Axtar: Hunt is likely related to Attar or maybe even Ishtar or Ashtaroth. It’s unclear right now. Ishtar is sometimes linked to Lucifer as well. It’s possible that she’s named after the Furies in Greek mythology, deities of vengeance.

- Micah Domitus: Micah is a prophet in Judaism.

- Syrinx: A chimera in this book, a nymph known for her devotion to Artemis.

- Urd: The god of flame and shadow possibly the name comes from Urðr one of the three Norns in Norse mythology.

- Luna: A Roman moon goddess

- Cthona: “Chthonic”, in English, describes deities or spirits of the underworld, especially in Ancient Greek religion.

- Vanir: The Vanir are actually group of Norse gods.

- Asphodel Meadows: A section of the ancient Greek underworld where ordinary souls were sent to live after death.

- Hel: Hel is a goddess but also a location in Norse Mythology for the dead. Depictions of Hel depend on the source of the information. It’s strange that Hel and Asphodel Meadows belong in the same place, translating to lazy world building on SJ/M’s part.

- Midgard: In Norse Mythology basically the plane of existence of humans.

- Laconic Mountains: Named after Laconia the administrative capital of Sparta.

- Nidaros: Where Bryce grew up. It’s the ancient name of Norway’s capital when the Christian kings ruled. It’s now called Trondheim.

- Istros River: Taken from Istros of Ancient Greece

- Valbara: Taken from the super continent Vaalbara

- Pangera: probably Pangea, the huge supercontinent on which dinosaurs lived

- Crown of Thorns: In reality it’s a symbol of Jesus but in the book it’s branded onto the foreheads of angels who rebelled in a war some decades ago.

- Keres: Phillip Briggs’s terrorist gang is named after the Keres who are “goddesses who personified violent death and who were drawn to bloody deaths on battle fields.”

- Sailing: A Norse funeral custom for Vikings as seen in movies like How To Train Your Dragon 2 and Thor: The Dark World. Here’s more information on it, but it seems SJ/M got it wrong. Most Vikings were usually cremated and it was mostly used for Kings and Chieftains (Danika might fall into the Chieftain category).

- 33rd Imperial Legion: Could be a reference again to Jesus who was 33 at his death.

- The Ophian rebels (of which the the Keres rebels are a subgroup of) are named after Ophian, and elder Titan in Greek mythology.

Sources I’ve derived some facts from so far:

- Sapir Englard on Goodreads via @spaceshipkat’s tumblr post using Hebrew in CCity.

- @bittenwrath for basically everything in crescent city. 

- @blakeseptember’s tumblr about Hybern’s origins.

- An anon dropped by with “Hel”

- @chenmighty and @tavithelibrarian pointed out the Illyrians.

- @sylphene and @omourningstar for Prydain

- @ok-boomer pointed out that Yulemas, Samhain and Beltain are all pagan holidays.

- @gemorsedd For pointing out Calan Mai

- An anon pointed out the Norns, Danaan and Avalon.

- @mimiofthemalfoys for the Bharat, malaria, typhus, spices and cloth mention.

- @kryingkardashianz for Danaans being another name of Greece and Myrmidions.

- an anon pointed out Nidaros

- @shurislut for mehendi and harem pants

- @sanktaalinaa for Jesiba Roga

- @croissantcitysucks for the Ophian Rebels

[nicolesophia]

WORLD LITERATURE

     World literature is used to refer to a literature being circulated outside the country where it was published, and it’s pretty sure that everyone nowadays is very familiar with literature, because, who isn’t? People these days lives their daily lives with literature, surely, it surrounds our lives. Ever wonder if there’s an occurrence one day in our life, a day without literature? Will we able to live with it? Well, I don’t think so, after all, literature is our life. Now, before we go to the topic, lets have a brief introduction about when did the literature began.

     The literature began early before 17th century, and ever since that time, it had a big impact from all over the world, it almost had taken up the whole world, a world of literature, indeed. And since the literature continues to expand, its dominant themes and styles of each literature around the world, expands, as well. And of course, up until today, there are still many more surprising notions about the literature all over the world!  

     Today, I’ll show you different dominant themes and styles of literature from Southeast Asia, East Asia, South and West Asia, Anglo-America and Europe, Africa, and Latin America. I hope that in the end, you’ll learn something new about the different themes and styles from around the world.

1.       SOUTHEAST ASIA LITERATURE

     Southeast Asia consists of 11 countries in total, these are Brunei, Cambodia, East Timor, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam. All of these countries were colonized by the other countries, except Thailand, that’s why most of their literary works were mostly influenced by the countries who colonized them. Just like in the Philippines,  The Philippines were colonized by the Spaniards, Japanese, and Americans; however most of the literature here in the Philippines were predominantly influenced by the Spaniards for they colonized the country for 333 years.

      The Southeast Asian literature’s dominant theme are mainly diaspora (diasporic) theme. Diasporic theme focuses on stories outside the country where the writer is, it also talks about the experiences of an immigrant in a foreign country. Some example of a diasporic theme literature is “Banyaga: A song of War” by Charlson Ong, the story is about how Ernesto (protagonist) struggles living outside the country he came from, and fun fact, the author Charlson Ong’s relation with the main character is that they shared the same experiences! It’s like the author tells his very own life story in the presence of Ernesto as the character. “Banyaga: A Song of War” as well, portrays the Filipino culture, as the author being half Filipino.

2.       East Asia Literature

     East Asia consists of 8 countries in total, these are China, Japan, South Korea, North Korea, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Mongolia, and Macao. Without a doubt, East Asia is the most popular region in the whole world because of the countries it consists of. Mainly, the East Asia literature were mostly influenced by the Chinese writers; commonly, the China is the building block of the counties in the East Asia, on a fact that most of the East Asia country were colonized by the Chinese. With all of the 8 countries, the Chines and Japanese literature is the most prominent among the East Asia literature.

     However, the Japanese literature has a different style, too. Their literature is mostly fond of ambiguous theme, wherein it has a deep meaning and sometimes, the reader wouldn’t get the meaning of it if you are from other countries or city in Japan. The Japanese literature is also well-known for its Haiku and Tanka poems.

     Some example of the East Asia literature is Seol Gongchan-jeon (The Tale of Seol Gongchan), korean literature written by Chae Su, the novel was written during the early Joseon era and was originally written in classical Chinese text. The story of said novel is about a person being possessed by the dead spirit who tells story from the underworld. But, the said novel was banned during its era of publication.

     Other example of the East Asia literature is a Tanka poem from the Japanese literature. Tanka poems are mostly commonly written as an expression of love and/or gratitude, it may, as well a self-reflection poem.

Narukami no sukoshi toyomite

(A faint clap of thunder)

sashi kumori

     (Clouded skies)

Ame mo furanu ka?

     (Perhaps rain comes)

Kimi wo todomemu

     (If so, will you stay here with me?)

Narukami no sukoshi toyomite

     (A faint clap of thunder)

furazu to mo

     (Even if rain comes not)

warewa tomaramu

     (I will stay here)

imoshi todomeba

     (Together with you)

3.       South and West Asia Literature

     The South and West Asia consists of 17 countries, mostly the Middle East region, these countries are Armenia, Azerbaijan, Bahrain, Cyprus, Georgia, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, and Yemen. Apparently, the South and West Asia is commonly known for their own films, “Bollywood” rather than other literature. However, they do, of course have a unique styles and themes of literature.

     Literature from the 21st Century Middle East circumscribes a lot assortments of genres, it, as well talks about human experiences oftentimes through a realist manners. Also, what makes their literature unique is that they have or includes their own traditions and practices of their culture.

     One example of South and West Asia Literature is “White Tiger” a novel written by an Indian author named Aravin Adiga. It talks about the life of an Indian in the light and darkness, although most part of the novel focusses on India of darkness.  Also, the novel has a darkly humorous perspective of Indian’s struggles in life.  Here’s some excerpt from the novel “The White Tiger”

“In fact, each time when great men like you visit our country I say it. Not that I have anything against great men. In my way, sir, I consider myself one of your kind. But whenever I see our prime minister and his distinguished sidekicks drive to the airport in black cars and get out and do namastes before you in front of a TV camera and tell you about how moral and saintly India is, I have to say that thing in English.”

4.       Anglo-America and Europe Literature

     The Anglo-America is a large region that covers up 14 countries in total, these are Canada, United States, Belize, Antigua and Barbuda, Bahamas, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada, Jamaica, Guyana, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, and Trinidad and Tobago. And as we all know, Europe is a large continent that consists a lot of countries, well, we’ll not go to far with mentioning all those countries. The Anglo-American literature is closely linked to traditional English, since the American was colonized by the English, they adapted their literature, as well and was influenced by the English writers. However, the history of their literature is too wide, it covers up from the Old English until the Contemporary era.

     In spite of that Anglo- American combined literature, the American literature is imposing to be separated to the Anglo (English), but why? The American literature has a distinct characteristic which evolves through eras and such; them, too have their own unique feature, themes, and styles of literature. In short, they have their own, so, for them, what is the essences of being together with the Anglo?

     One of the greatest author in the Anglo-America is who we all know, William Shakespeare. With his one of the famous works “Romeo and Juliet” we can mirror the traditional style of Anglo-America literature that somewhat related to their culture, as well. Here’s some excerpt from the classic story “Romeo and Juliet”.

”’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.           

What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,         

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:

]What’s in a name? that which we call a rose       

By any other name would smell as sweet;           

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,     

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title. Romeo, doff

 thy name;         

And for that name, which is no part of thee,

Take all myself”

     On the other hand, European literature includes writing for some dialects; among the most significant of the cutting edge composed works are those in English, Spanish, French, Dutch, Polish, German, Italian, Modern Greek, Czech and Russian and works by the Scandinavians and Irish. Significant old style and archaic customs are those in Ancient Greek, Latin, Old Norse, Medieval French and the Italian Tuscan tongue of the renaissance. Moreover, the literature was written with regards to Western culture in the dialects of Europe, as a few topographically or verifiably related dialects. Various as they seem to be, European literature, as Indo-European dialects, are portions of a typical legacy having a place with a race of pleased countries which brag any semblance of Homer who composed Iliad and Odyssey, Virgil who composed the Aeneid, Dante who composed Divine Comedy, Chaucer who composed Canterbury Tales. These, and other abstract works of art structure part of what we call as Western Canon.

 5.       African Literature

     The Africa consists of 54 countries in total, however, the African literature has a unique theme and styles. Their literature often to be relevant to its colonial background, and also connected to their traditions and culture, which makes their literature more unique. In addition, their literatures are often known as subversive and expressive contents.

     Moreover, oral and composed narrating conventions have had an equal turn of events, and from multiple points of view they have affected one another. Old Egyptian recorders, early Hausa and Swahili copyists and memorizers, and contemporary scholars of famous novellas have been the conspicuous and essential momentary figures in the development from oral to abstract customs. What occurred among the Hausa and Swahili was happening somewhere else in Africa—among the Fulani, in northern Ghana among the Guang, in Senegal among the Tukulor and Wolof, and in Madagascar and Somalia.

     One of the most famous African novel is entitled “Things Fall Apart” written by Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart exhaustively envisions how the Nigerian Igbo people group worked preceding expansionism. The divisions in this network go with the deplorable fall of the legend, Okonkwo, whose chivalrous however careless remain against expansionism closes in a forlorn self-destruction. Achebe's astuteness is adequate to move perusers past recriminations or authentic fault, since the Igbo people group adjusts to oblige Christianity and new types of pioneer administration. Similarly as the novel's title cites Yeats' sonnet The Second Coming, Achebe's African way of thinking of equilibrium in everything runs after a millennial association with Western innovation. Here’s some excerpt from the novel “Things Fall Apart”

“The drums beat and the flutes sang and the spectators held their breath. Amalinze was a wily craftsman, but Okonkwo was as slippery as a fish in water. Every nerve and every muscle stood out on their arms, on their backs and their thighs, and one almost heard them stretching to breaking point. In the end, Okonkwo threw the Cat”

6.       Latin American Literature

     The Latin America is generally consists of all the countries in South America, in addition to Mexico, Central America, and the Islands of the Caribbean, indeed, there’s also a lot of country in the Latin America region. The Latin American mostly adapted their literature from the Aztecs and Mayans, two of the great ancient civilizations of our world, also, the themes of their literature are usually characterized by mysticism, magic, uniqueness, raw creativity, and wonder. Them, too give way and introduced “magical realism”.

      Magical realism is a classification of writing that portrays this present reality as having a propensity of sorcery or dream. Mystical authenticity is a piece of the authenticity classification of fiction. Inside a work of supernatural authenticity, the world is as yet grounded in reality, however fantastical components are viewed as ordinary in this world. It is different from what we know “fantasy”.

     One example of a magical realism novel is ”House of Spirits(La casa de los Espíritus)” written by Isabel Allende. The novel was published in 1982, Isabel Allende's presentation novel narratives the violent political occasions of post provincial Chile, through the lives of four ages of the rich Trueba family. The extraordinary is available from the start, with Allende portraying the supernatural capacities of one of the novel's principle heroes, Clara. Expect ghosts blended into the consistently, time shifts in the story and signs being figured it out. A genuine show-stopper, of the sorcery authenticity classification, yet additionally of women's activist and Chilean writing. Here’s some excerpt from the novel ”House of Spirits(La casa de los Espíritus)”

“That was Marcos’s longest trip. He returned with a shipment of enormous boxes that were piled in the far courtyard, between the chicken coop and the woodshed, until the winter was over. At the first signs of spring he had them transferred to the parade grounds, a huge park where people would gather to watch the soldiers file by on Independence Day, with the goosestep they had learned from the Prussians. When the crates were opened, they were found to contain loose bits of wood, metal, and painted cloth. Marcos spent two weeks assembling the contents according to an instruction manual written in English, which he was able to decipher thanks to his invincible imagination and a small dictionary. When the job was finished, it turned out to be a bird of prehistoric dimensions, with the face of a furious eagle, wings that moved, and a propeller on its back.”

          With all of that, it may be seem that different regions from the world has their very own unique way in terms of literature, all of the literature around the world is really fascinating and amazing. Now that I’ve shown you the different dominant themes and styles of literature from Southeast Asia, East Asia, South and West Asia, Anglo-America and Europe, Africa, and Latin America. I hope that you’ve  learned something new and surprising thing about the different themes and styles from around the world!

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Gaiden: Chapter 3

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We’d held hands in the darkness. The only proof that we were alive had been our body temperature. Whenever she’d say that she was scared, I’d reply with, “It’s all right”. “Your Big Bro will do something about this,” I’d tell her.

The one who’d affirmed my existence was my little sister. I’d managed to get courage from the fact that I could be relied on. That, yeah, I was an older brother. That she was no good without me, so I had to keep on living.

But I didn’t remember. I didn’t know.

Had someone broken me? Had I broken on my own? I didn’t know.

Still, she definitely existed. If I met her someday, I’d know it was her for sure. Even if I had forgotten, even if I couldn’t remember her, I’d recognize her if I saw her. I wished the same to be valid for her.

That feeling alone stayed inside me like a bonfire.

Whether the continents scattered around the world were big or small made no particular difference for the people living in them. Any place was the same should there be humans living in it. They would plow and grow. Harvest, build and color. Create and fail. Hide, interact, destroy, starve, succeed. Become depressed. Shed tears, coerce. Sparkle, act immoral. Repent, depart, worship. Acclaim, breed, mourn. Become idle. Become nostalgic. They would love each other and kill each other.

And so would he.

Back when a certain continent put an end for once to a war that had extended for a long time, the “Continental War”, battles continued happening in another continent as if it were natural. On the topic of occupations that had deep ties with so-called “wars”, there were mercenaries.

Although there existed different types of them, the mercenaries who wandered that continent were in majority freely warriors who would join any faction depending on the pay. They would head east today and west tomorrow. It did not matter if, for instance, a fellow mercenary with who they had drank together turned into an enemy. They would also not care for whatever happened to the head of the lord whose favor they had earned, or to the village of the woman they had slept with, depending on the money.

And right now, too, a single mercenary was being led to the death that would certainly come to many others.

“So cold.”

Sandy blond hair swayed in the wind mixed with ashen dust. A man with looks that would be a waste should he perish in such a place lay collapsed the way he had been born. His ivory skin, in which golden hair stood on end, was exposed mercilessly to natural threats. The man groaned amidst his clouded memories, asking himself how on Earth things had turned out as such.

——Three days ago, I was killing. Two days ago, also killing.

He recalled several battles that he had surrendered his body to joining in a spur of the moment.

——Yesterday... that’s right, I was in the bar of a small highway town dancing with women, drinking...

The man could more or less understand what had happened. He had extravagantly squandered to his heart’s contentment the reward he received for surviving wartime fire and spent the night with an absurdly fine woman, who had taken notice of his lavish feasting. His lodging and the drinks he had consumed were arranged by said woman. She had most likely administrated some sort of drug into them.

“I feel sick... oeh...”

The fact that all of his belongings had been stripped off him, that the bounty he had earned at the cost of his life had been snatched away, and that he had been left to chance in such a place without anyone bothering to finish him off could not be called anything other than misfortune. Only that his body was not tied up was good luck, but even if it were, he would not have moved. It seemed he had by no means the energy to stand up.

“Some...” he attempted to say, but closed his mouth.

——Even if I call for somebody, there ain’t anyone around. Who even is “somebody” to me, anyway?

The man did not have comrades or family to aid him in such a time.

That was what it meant to live as one pleased. He would make his baggage as light as possible and simply move forward to wherever he saw fit. If he had some sort of grandiose goal, it might lead him to good results. A lukewarm existence would sometimes turn into a hindrance for life decisions. Those who had nothing could probably see a world far broader than those who had everything. However, having no one to grieve for them when tasting such final moments was lonesome.

A pain ran through somewhere in the depths of his chest – the spot that was called “heart”.

“Nope, I ain’t dying.”

The pain ran through, but the man did not have the spirit of someone who obediently perceived fate as fate. He balled his fists, exhorting his body and attempting to stand up somehow.

“As if I’d die... As if I’d die; as if I’d die!”

Perhaps because that roar had been the last of the strength he had left, from head down, the man collapsed onto his back once again after just yelling. Buried by sand, he lost consciousness. In his primary circumstances, he would have died there. Nevertheless, there was a certain number of individuals beloved by the Goddess of Fortune to the point of it twisting their destinies. The fact that a motorcycle was transiting the road-less way and that he met a passerby with a good heart who stopped upon finding him were all the work of the Goddess of Fortune.

The man opened his eyes again after few hours had gone by.

“Who... are you, seriously?” Due to the surprise, but also because he was sitting up, his voice was hoarse.

“I’m Hodgins, a veteran in the middle of a trip. I’m the one you owe your life to for picking up your butt-naked self from the desert.”

He was a bit of a rich man, an easy-going one who could easily chime in with others, extremely calculating and intrigue-loving, who scored a large profit in war gambles and had an upstart. He was an entrepreneur currently in the middle of stablishing his business. That was the man’s first encounter with Hodgins, his lifesaver.

“Why’d you help me, Old Man?!” his harsh voice echoed throughout the interior of the shop.

The two were in an open-terrace restaurant located at the first floor of an inn to which the man had been heading. It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. The man was conspicuous. After all, no matter how one looked at it, he was dressed in baggy, obviously borrowed shirt and trousers.

“Ah, I’m sorry. This kid is a bit ill-mannered. Yes, he’ll quiet down... Hm? Wait a minute. ‘Old man’...!? Me...?” Hodgins opened his eyes wide and leaned closer to the man.

That was what he was going to react to?

The youth and the overly cheerful man were a mismatched combination inside the refined inn. It was inevitable that the gazes of the customers would gather upon them in a natural manner, but at a growl of, “We ain’t for display!” from the young man, everyone looked away.

“Old Man, listen to me.”

“No, no, more importantly, how about we clear up the issue of whether or not I look like an old man? I’m indeed past my twenties already, but I’m younger than the people from my generation who are married, my stomach doesn’t stick out yet, and more than anything, I’m a fine man, right? Do I really seem like an old man? Not a big bro? How about you try thinking it over? Ready, set—”

“OLD. MAN!”

As if stabbed in the heart by his words, Hodgins clutched his chest and moaned. “What is it... young man...?” Even his voice was pained.

“Why’d you help me? You’re even treating me to food... What’cha after? I’m telling you I’ve got no money.”

It was true. If the man were billed for a meal in that place now, it would be the end of the line for him.

In contraposition, Hodgins waved his hand to the side. “Nah, I’m not after anything.”

“Then you want my body?”

“You’ve... got too much confidence in yourself. Well, when I first saw you, your body was buried in sand and I couldn’t properly see anything other than your face... so, I thought you were a naked pretty girl who had passed out.” After glancing fleetingly at the man, he turned his head to a different direction, eyes far-off. “When I lifted you in my arms, I noticed you had something extra there... but you were still alive, so I brought you back to the inn with me, stroked your body since you were with hypothermia... and when I realized, it was morning. I knew you had no money just by looking. You had nothing with you.”

This time, the one with an aching chest was the man. “My bad. For... not having anything.” As his voice tone changed quite a bit, perhaps what had been rubbed was a very sore spot.

“Young man, why were you asleep in that place?”

“‘Why,’ you ask...?”

Albeit hesitating to discuss his misfortune, he talked about his situation in a summarized way. Hodgins had listened seriously at the beginning, but from the middle onward, he turned his face to the side and his shoulders trembled as if he were holding back laughter.

“If you wanna laugh, just do it...!”

“Eh, can I? Ahah! Ahahahah! You’d finally earned some and lost all of it?! That’s too pitiful! My stomach hurts... Ah, hold o—hold o—wait up. How about you stop lifting that chair? Let’s calm down? It was terrible, wasn’t it? You’re hungry too, right? Eat up, eat up. Speaking of which, I didn’t ask your name either. Young man, what’s your name?”

Silence.

“Hey, hey, no matter how badly behaved you are, you should at least give your name.”

Pouting, the man muttered curtly, “Ain’t got it.” Seeming to have been made from the colors of the summer sky and blown into a glass ball, his remarkable eyes clouded over, and he defiantly spoke one more time. Crossing his arms, he rested his feet on the table. “I ain’t got a name. I might’ve been given one, but I don’t have any. Call me whatever you want. My registration name from when I used to be a mercenary was ‘Blue’. Since I dunno my name... I went with my eye color.”

Hodgins showed agitation for the first time in front of the man, who had turned into a lump of displeasure. “‘Don’t have any’... What do you mean?”

“Amnesia. My memory’s got nothing but what happened starting from a few years back. I dunno where I was, what I was doing, where I’m from or who I was before this. When I came to, I was lying on a riverbank at the borders of this continent. Back then, I was wearing an armor and a cape... If I hadn’t been picked by a woman gypsy, I’d have died just like that.”

Hodgins at last realized his own words to have been a verbal gaffe.

“You don’t remember anything? Not a single thing?”

Silence.

“Is there something you do?”

That might have been important to the man enough to make him falter even at putting it into words. After showing an expression of hesitation, he finally opened his mouth. “I probably... had a... little sister.” His attitude was almost that of confessing a sin. “Still, I don’t remember her. I just have the memory that she existed, and I dunno what kinda person she was. But she was definitely there. I remember that.”

Hodgins wound up gripping his own shirt at the chest area.

“I tagged along with the gypsies for a while, learning from them how to sing, dance and stuff. Then, in the end, I changed jobs to mercenary. Looked like fighting fit my nature better, y’see. ‘Battle-Hungry Freak’ is my nickname. I’m famous in the mercenary world.” Upon saying so, the man shrugged. “Well, that ain’t a name, though...”

He did not know who he was. Just how worrisome was that for him? The man did not seem to have a commendable personality at all, yet he was apparently concerned about not having a name.

“Hu~n... that so? So, you... were a mercenary, yeah?”

“That’s right. Is it bad?”

“I’m not saying that it’s bad per se. But even so, you got no money, no name or anything at all?”

“No”, “no”, “no”. The man’s rage towards his own life was present at the many sorts of “no”.

“You wanna get killed, Old Man? Just saying it, but I don’t have any sense of moral obligation, so if I don’t like someone, I’m fine with beating them up.”

“Yep, you’re like that. Not a single ‘thank you’. But I... don’t hate insincere guys like you.”

“What’s with that?”

“Also, you see, I have an acquaintance... it’s a girl who resembles you... Even though I’m her legal guardian, I left her with other people and went on a journey as if running away. I sort of got the feeling I couldn’t leave her by herself.”

——Someone who resembles me?

Was there any such person in the world?

“What kinda fella is she?”

Not answering the man’s question, Hodgins gave breadcrumbs to a dove that lay in waiting at his feet for his meal’s leftovers to fall down. Whatever he was thinking, he stayed quiet for a while and suddenly rose from his seat, chasing after the dove. The other doves could not stand his imposing action, batting their wings and fleeing into the sky.

“Hey, what kinda fella is she!?” his angry shout overlapped with Hodgins’s innocent laughter and the sound of bird feathers.

With the town that the doves had flown toward at his back, Hodgins turned around. His eyes seemed to be looking at the man, but were not.

“The strongest and weakest in the world.” As expected, Hodgins was smiling, but his eyes did not form an arc. Regardless of whether the person he referred to was evil or good, the air around him transmitted the fact that she was someone important.

The man frowned.

——What’s that...? A riddle...?

He became even less able to understand the lifesaver in front of him.

“I also have to just go and face her already.” Hodgins had said he was in his thirties, but he seemed older than that as he talked about the “strongest and weakest in the world”. “I can’t tell her... that it’s hard for me to look at her face when she seems sad.”

Eyes crinkling, the man thought:

——This dude... he pretends to be decent but something’s up with him.

He sensed a twist from the laughing other man. The latter spoke a lot at first, but he had seemed to be giving vent to his thoughts rather than having a conversation. Was he not burdened with some sort of enormous problem? One that he truly could do nothing about, no less.

“It’s settled.” Hodgins pointed an index finger at the man and snapped one of his eyelids closed. “If you aren’t anything, won’t you tag along with me?”

“Meaning... you’re gonna hire me?”

“That’s right. You lack too much of everything. Come to my place earn money. You need cash to search for your sister and to get revenge from the guys that threw you naked into the desert, don’t you? In exchange, can you lend me your life for a bit?”

“Hah?”

“Right now, you only have your life, yeah? I’ll buy that.”

At those words, the man’s heart started making astir sounds. He was supposedly used to having his life bought with money, but when asked for it face-to-face, his breathing felt as if it would stop.

“How much is it?”

Upon being asked so, the man was at loss for an answer.

Afterward, the man acquired a name.

“Benedict Blue”.

He also secured a profession and a place to sleep.

The CH Postal Company.

He had a lifesaver who was dear to him.

Claudia Hodgins.

He obtained comrades as well.

He had treaded a long prologue, but that was his story.

Benedict Blue

“The rough explanation ends here. The client who made this request just wants the letter sent definitively. Little Violet will do the ghostwriting. Benedict will do the delivery. It’s a sudden commission, but it’s good that you two were going to work in the same place. I can also count with Benedict for seeing off and meeting on return with Little Violet. I’ll give you a few days’ break when you’re done, so do your best. How’s that? Does it seem okay?”

Benedict observed the golden-haired girl who immediately answered, “Yes” with blue eyes similar to hers. They sat next to each other on a sofa in Hodgins’s room. It was a languid early morning. Work was about to begin that day as well.

The climate, atmosphere and food of Leidenschaftlich, which Benedict was once not used to due to having come from a different continent, now penetrated his body without any sense of displacement.

“Fine.”

He had no reason and was not in the position to refuse. The one in front of him was his lifesaver and superior. He did not show respect for the latter, but felt familiarity from him. Most likely, of the highest degree.

“V, don’t make your luggage too heavy. It’ll weaken my beloved bike’s movements.”

The girl beside the amnesiac Benedict was an individual who had only just appeared into his short life. From the time they had first met, to Benedict, she had rooted herself in the classification of people whom he “somehow could not leave on their own”. She was a stunning Auto-Memories Doll. Her impudence aside, she was an ignorant child unknowing of the ways of society. In the beginning, he had doubted that such a machine-like person come from the military would manage working in the service business, but she was currently the most popular figure of the CH Postal Company.

“That is true. I shall reduce the firearms to the minimum equipment. My body weight is also heavy due to the prosthetics, so it will increase the burden on Benedict’s motorcycle.”

Her fine appearance had always stolen the eyes of whoever looked at her, but lately, he had the feeling that her charm had increased. It was as if spring had been born from within her cold beauty.

“Even if the equipment is scarce, if I am with Benedict, I will probably not struggle in case of emergencies.”

She had become able to smile faintly on occasion.

The biggest incident amongst the ones that they had just recently experienced in person – the Intercontinental Train’s hijacking – crossed Benedict’s mind. And so did a man with an eyepatch, who had showed up embracing Violet sideways as she had lost an arm, and taken his leave.

He had not heard everything about the past of the two, but Hodgins had told him the general story afterward. They were in love with each other. There was no room for anyone to come in-between. Their colleague, Cattleya, had said that the two apparently started seeing each other on off days. “I’m glad,” Cattleya had laughed.

Benedict did not deem it as good.

That was probably the reason why looking at Violet felt somewhat unamusing as of late. He suspected that she was being deceived by a much older man who had conveniently vanished and come about once again.

Putting it positively, he was worried.

Benedict tautly flicked Violet, who had no idea about his feelings, on the forehead with his fingertips. “Not really; you’re light. It’s just that your bag’s heavy. Old Man, you ever lifted V’s luggage? Swing that thing around and it’s like a normal blunt weapon; a blunt weapon. There’s a ton of weapons in it under her clothes.”

Hodgins made an all but deplorable face. “Little Violet... you buy guns with your salary, right...?”

“They were distributed to us back when we were in the military, but now I have no option except purchase them myself. I can only take Witchcraft when President Hodgins grants me permission, after all. I have recently purchased a long-range shotgun. My hands are actually more accustomed to wide-swing maces, however...” Perhaps due to having a desire to acquire large weaponry, Violet moved as though wielding the real thing, staring fixedly at the imaginary weapon.

“No can do, no can do. I’ve gone through the trouble of getting you a cute look, so don’t take stuff like that with you aside from emergency cases.”

“Stop, stop. Giving you a ride would get even heavier.”

Completely shut down by the two men, Violet put on a disappointed expression, as if disheartened. “I am prepared to explain the advantage points of the mace, though...”

Without her having the opportunity to give said explanation, the two were set to depart in haste. Seen off by Hodgins and after Lux, who was on phone duty, waved at them, Benedict and Violet left the agency.

The blond duo swayed on the motorcycle towards wherever.

Autumn had ended, the seasons changing into winter. Leidenschaftlich usually did not witness snowfall, yet icy winds were blowing. Gloves, scarves, hooded coats – even if the protection measures against low temperatures were appropriate, cold was cold. As the one driving, Benedict had no choice but simply endure the chilly gusts head-on. Violet’s artificial arms around his torso were gelid as well. The heat from the part of her actual body that was in contact with his back was the only warmth. He could feel the hold of her arms more firmly than when giving her rides back in summer. Was it because of the coolness or because of her trust in him?

Feeling an itch, Benedict sneezed, “Achoo!” While vigorously speeding up the motorcycle over the vast land, he initiated a conversation for no particular reason, “It’s cold!”

“Yes.”

“V, your prosthetics okay? Ain’t there any downsides or something if they get too chilled?”

“It is bad if the joints freeze, but that will not happen as long as the coldness is not extreme.”

“Hu~n.”

“We mostly roamed around northern lands during the Continental War, so I am knowledgeable of the protections against cold.”

“Well, the place we’re going to – Lontano – is inside Leidenschaftlich, so for starters, it won’t be snowing there this time of the year. As long as the weather isn’t abnormal, that is. There’ll also be no obstacles to my delivery duties.”

“Yes. This is reassuring.”

“Hey, don’t say that.”

“Why not? The climate is stable. The one who said that there would be no obstacles to the delivery duties was you, Benedict.”

“That’s not it; it’s ‘cause you’re with me. When you say stuff of the sort, it feels like something will happen instead.”

“So the weather will become abnormal because of what I said?”

Benedict knew that Violet’s eyebrows were furrowing even without looking at her. He laughed aloud. “Stu~pid. You’ve got it wrong. I’m saying that ‘cause it’s easy for some kinda problem to happen when I’m with you. To make up for your luggage being lighter, we got ready to manage at least an interception if anything in general goes down, but... Lontano is a pretty big city, so there’s lots of thugs. Flashy towns also got many dark sides.”

“What an issue...”

“You got picked by some weirdo and it was fight on; you were attacked by a bandit and it was fight on; the motorcycle broke and we got stuck in some field. Also, what else...? You raise one small thing and there’s no end to it.”

As if to protest, Violet alleged, “I cannot agree with this. Benedict, the fights that you started one-sidedly are also included.”

“That so? Might be bad for me to get teamed up with you.”

After a short pause, Violet objected again – to the part about teaming up with Benedict being a “bad” thing, “I cannot agree with this either... Indeed, I can assume there is a factor in us that makes it easy to bring about some sort of conflict. However, we were able to deal with them. We, the two of us... can deal with it if something happens again.”

It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, and she might well have been merely protesting against the negative reputation of her own abilities. Still, Benedict somehow heard it as something other than that.

“Heheh,” laughter leaked from him in a natural manner.

Her breath coming out in white puffs behind him, Violet added as if just recalling it, “This applies to times of war and not to times of peace, but... we would have even less enemies if Cattleya were included,” she whispered intermittently and Benedict smiled.

“If that happened, there’d really be no match for us,” he chuckled.

From that point onward, the way to their destination took a couple of hours.

The place that the Auto-Memories Doll and postman from CH Postal Company headed to was Lontano. Small in comparison with the capital Leiden, it was the most prosperous city amongst the neighboring ones. The houses formed circles as if to surround an old castle sitting on top of a slightly elevated hill that extended itself for about a hundred meters, a river with the same name as the country flowing nearby.

Enshrined within a solemn atmosphere, said old castle was a famous attraction of the city. While holding the rights to it themselves, the clan that formerly owned it had handed its management over to the city, and the city allowed people to tour inside of it for cheap admission fees. The old castle had become a grandiose touristic spot, for the one who had built it was a well-known architect.

Places with renowned attractions that had cultural value were easy to turn into the aspired cities of young artists. Not an exception to this, Lontano had art and history museums, theatre venues and a market of ancient books, making the urban area into one where lovers of such things would be unable to help themselves just from strolling through it. Before entering the city gates, one could overhear music as young people played instruments by the road, and walking a little into the city, one would find bookstore after bookstore. The vicinities of statues and fountains were packed with people drawing sketches. It was city of gorgeous structure, yet gloomy and easy to get lost in if one wandered into an alley. Albeit a small ward, there was also a red-light district, which was more popular amongst those who had no interest in arts.

“Now...”

Benedict dropped Violet off at the city’s entrance. She would then rush over to the customer who lived in that city and ghostwrite for them. Benedict himself had several packages to deliver around the city. Once the work there ended, they would return to Leiden, where the submission of reports and delivery of more letters would be waiting for them. That was why Hodgins had ordered the two of them to go to that city. It was more efficient than going through the trouble of having Violet use public transportation, as it there was no fare and took less time.

The current time was right before noon, the tourists gradually forming a lively crowd.

“Where. Should. It. Be?”

Benedict’s sky-blue eyes traveled about in search for a good meeting spot. There was a bank, a bakery, a souvenir store, and a statue of a naked woman carrying a child. The bakery also seemed to have a café, and people could be seen enjoying the apparently warm interior and freshly baked bread from the glass windows.

“It’s settled. V, let’s make the bakery our meeting spot. No matter who arrives first, we wait inside.”

Violet nodded curtly. “You want to eat bread, right?”

“I do. That bakery’s bread is tasty. I never went inside to eat it, though. But it’s delicious enough that making sure to buy something there and bring it over if we have deliveries to do in Lontano is almost common sense among fellow postmen. That one with melted cheese on it... let’s make it a souvenir for Old Man.”

Hearing Benedict talk about purchasing a souvenir, Violet blinked. “I comply. But Benedict, did something happen?” Her reaction all but asked if he had gone crazy.

“You’re being the rudest possible to me with that, y’know?”

“I apologize... Well, did anything happen?” Benedict’s act of buying souvenirs for Hodgins purely out of goodwill seemed unbelievable for Violet. Therefore, she uttered her concern for a malfunction in either his body or mind.

Benedict struck the top of her head with a light knife-hand in an expression of sympathy. “Nothing’s up! You just don’t know it, but I sometimes give the Old Man souvenirs! Even Auto-Memories Dolls buy souvenirs to the agency if they go to some exotic place, right? It’s the same as that. The Old Man treats me to food and stuff before payday too... Like lunch, well, pretty often...”

“President Hodgins tends to give Benedict a special treatment.”

——Don’t wanna hear that from you who he treats like a daughter, Benedict thought.

He spoke while turning to the other side, “Welp, he went as far as taking in an amnesiac like me and giving me a name... He might be special to me, and I to him.”

He accidentally, unintentionally voiced it.

“Is that so?” Violet threw in an interjection quite like normal and Benedict was taken aback.

It was not as if he were hiding the fact he had amnesia or that the name “Benedict” had been given to him by Hodgins, but he had never talked about it to his work colleagues. That was because he had until now no trials of explaining he had amnesia in which he had received a decent response. He would either earn uncalled-for looks or have condolence-like words of pity spat at him. Whichever it was, Benedict was the kind of person who would end up irritated at the other party.

He already had a name and social position. No longer was he the “Blue” who had nothing. He did not want to feel ashamed of back when he had lived by his eye color’s name.

——I wonder...

He was not proud of it either.

——I wonder how she’ll react.

She would certainly not make a big scandal, but would probably say something annoyingly depressing. While embracing uncomfortable feelings, Benedict waited for her response.

However, no matter how long he waited, there was no reaction after that.

Their blue eyes repeatedly exchanged stares. A prolonged silence ensued between them.

Finally, Violet tilted her head slightly as if to ask, “Is something the matter?”

Benedict wound up delving into it without thinking. “Hey, anything to say on me having amnesia?”

Violet’s golden eyelashes batted. “‘Anything’...?”

“There is, right? It’s amnesia we’re talking about. That’s rare, ain’t it?” Saying it himself was somewhat embarrassing and pathetic.

Did that mean she was not too interested in his past? He felt a little let-down.

“That is not true.”

The next words he heard changed his feelings.

“It is indeed uncommon, but in my personal subjectivity, this is not odd.” Violet susurrated with a tone that sounded somehow happy, “I also do not have any memories from before a certain point in time. I did not know how to speak, either. Major bestowed me with the name of a flower goddess. Benedict, what meaning was yours given with?”

——That’s right.

It seemed that Benedict having amnesia was not a big issue for Violet.

——That was it.

The girl so-called Violet Evergarden also used to be not even a person, but a weapon, during the time she had no name. And she spoke of it without any pretension. She did not think of it as a shame.

“This is President Hodgins who we are talking about, so he must have given it with some sort of meaning. The two of us can be said to be very fortunate, right? If I had been used by anyone other than Major, I do not know what would be of me as of now.”

If anything, she thought of it as merely a process for until meeting the person she loved most.

“Oh.”

Violet, who was innocent and indeed lacked something somewhere, felt sorrowful and precious.

“So, what is the meaning of your name?”

“I forgot!”

“Then, let’s ask President Hodgins when we return. I want to know.”

“No, no, no! Don’t ask! Well, I’ll go do the deliveries, so you go to your client too! See ya later!” Benedict mounted the motorcycle once again and waved a hand at Violet.

“Understood. I shall leave the name matter for later as well.”

“You’re stubborn.”

Thus, the two headed to work, each on a different direction.

Benedict’s deliveries did not take too long. One house received a package with an assortment of supplies from a mother living in Leiden to her son working in Lontano. Three buildings received documents exchanged between offices. Five residences received letters. In case of absences, he would have a little bit of work either taking the delivery back with him or asking the person’s neighbors about where they had gone to, yet he finished earlier than he had presumed without the need for such things.

He soon entered the meeting-spot bakery, taking a seat from where he could see the situation outside through the glass and drinking coffee. It seemed Violet’s ghostwriting job would still take some time.

——Guess I’ll pick the souvenir first, then.

He was not able to imagine Violet enjoyably choosing a gift, so picking one by himself was probably more efficient. Thinking so, Benedict selected a few items that he had deemed savory from his own experience eating them. As per a request to the clerk, he had Hodgins’s part of the bread wrapped.

“Is this all?”

Sensing the plainness in color of the goods that he had chosen, Benedict tilted his neck. “Hn~, anything else you recommend?”

“How about a pie or tart? Also, these aren’t bread, but I recommend our cookies as well. There are people who come here just to buy them.”

“Ah~...”

“They’re popular among girls. The ribbons are cute, too.”

One woman surfaced in Benedict’s head.

“I’ve got someone who’d like them, but she’s far away now. All right. Just add this pie.”

In the end, he had an apple pie as addition. He then returned to his seat and calmly savored the coffee.

While observing the packet in which he had requested it to be wrapped, he faintly wondered if the person on the receiving end would be pleased with it. He was soon able to imagine Hodgins smiling broadly and taking into his hands the souvenir offered by his brusque self. He could picture the other being a little surprised, and then slowly breaking into a smile after being told what it was. Even the other saying, “Thanks, Benedict”, and himself turning to the side while replying, “It’s nothing”. He would have also been glad to take money out of his deserted wallet for the cookies if there were anybody to receive them, yet...

——She’s hella far away right now, huh.

The one who came to his mind was a girl of dark hair and purple eyes, Cattleya Baudelaire. Much like Benedict, she has been a colleague from since CH Postal Company’s foundation day. She liked sweets, was bad at dealing with hardships, was a scaredy-cat despite looking daring and fearless, and had a childish side as opposed to her appearance.

——Well, guess she wouldn’t be too happy if she got them from me.

They would quarrel as soon as they saw each other. Enough to turn it into a common occurrence within the CH Postal Company. It was easy to tell just by looking that they did not actually do it due to truly detesting one another, however...

——I wonder if she hates me.

...they could not tell it so easily themselves. Although they were in the same agency, they had different occupations, therefore missed each other often. Theirs was a repetition in which dawn would break after the previous time they had fought, and they would forget that the fight had happened and start another fight yet again. Regardless, they would end up talking to one another on sight, unable to ignore each other, and so he thought of pleasing her with something.

——I don’t hate her, though.

For Benedict, the sense of distance between himself and she, who was worthy of being considered a new breed of human being, was something complicated.

——Things just kinda don’t go well with us. I can’t treat her like other women.

As he had never experienced a proper romance, he had no way of knowing what that meant.

After he reflected on all sorts of things, a big yawn left his mouth. He stretched both arms towards the sky with a jerk and arched his body like a cat. And then relaxed once more. Thinking of taking a break from work had all of his strained feelings and body slackening up.

——I’m getting kinda sleepy.

As he had to work since early in the morning and his daily duties had overlapped, the sense of satisfaction from having a full stomach and the gently warm room caused his eyelids to naturally lower. His body was slowly, slowly stolen by drowsiness and he wound up unable to keep his eyes open. The scent of the shop’s interior was fragrant, people’s conversations sounding fun. The elements composing an atmosphere that could be understood from one’s heart loosened Benedict’s caution.

——Even though... V’s coming...

A golden-haired girl surfaced in Benedict’s head.

——If it’s her, well, guess she’ll soon find me.

The café inside the shop was crowded. Still, he believed that, since it was her, she would come to that place at full speed.

——She’ll... look for me.

After he became amnesic, no matter whom he asked, there was no one who knew him.

——It’s okay if I nap, right?

No one had looked for him.

——It’s okay, right?

However, Violet Evergarden probably would. Thinking so, Benedict closed his eyes. He yawned sudden and widely, falling asleep altogether as if he were dead. Consciousness distant, his line of thought floated into the air. He forgot what he was thinking about midway, invited into the realm of dreams.

Calling them “dreams” might be a faulty form of expression. In his case, they were reproductions of memory fragments that he had ended up shutting down. Once released from the real world, the past would come chasing after him and softly tap on his back.

A film that felt like an old friend returning from far away played in his mind. “Why, welcome back, my mate who no longer remembers his own name,” it said. The film would repeat itself over and over inside Benedict’s head.

His reunion with his friend named past would begin with a night sky.

It was a beautiful nighttime, in which a full moon had appeared. His memory version crawled out of an extremely, extremely dark place, and so he was startled at the bright light of said moon for an instant and shuddered.

There was a sandy beach under his feet. Stomping onto it, his shoes were blemished with mud and bloodstains. The dull ache in his entire body was agonizing. He might have earned himself a serious injury. Nevertheless, his legs moved without him being able to mind the pain.

His hand was holding onto something. Something smooth and small that had body temperature.

He looked back. A little girl came into sight. The girl had blond hair much like Benedict, but of a slightly different shade. Her hair was bundled up in a black velvet ribbon.

As their eyes met, she nodded as if to say, “I’m fine”. After confirming so, Benedict ran faster. He trusted the girl following him.

Eventually, his gaze moved ahead. A single boat was fluctuating on the surface of the sea.

——There, we can escape with that, he thought.

He did not know what they were fleeing from. However, if it was something frightening enough to scare him, whether it was someone horrifyingly strong or a large-numbers-against-small-numbers situation, their circumstances were that they had to run away. But that was not the issue.

Benedict turned around and said, “We’re escaping on that thing,     ”

As if having erased it, he was unable to hear her name.

“     , you’re coming too?”

He also could not hear his own name as spoken by the other.

“That’s right. I won’t abandon you. We’ll end up ————. ‘Cause that’s ————’s way of doing things. Without that drug, you ————.”

The color of her hair, eyes and lips – he could see those splintered things.

“But... But even if you ————, even I stop recognizing you as my little sister, even if you stop recognizing me as your big brother, it’s fine. We’re siblings, after all.”

But he could not see her face.

“Even if we forget, I’m sure we’ll recognize each other on sight.”

He could not tell how her face looked. The hues of her ribbon and orbs were fragmented.

“Isn’t that right? If we’re together, even if we forget, we can remember each other as many times as we need. If you find a man that you like or something, you can forget and throw me away. But until then...”

The shades of her hair, her voice and intonation – he could only tell those kinds of things apart.

“...don’t let go of this hand no matter what. If you do that, we’ll really end up forgetting everything,” the past Benedict said as if making a threat.

“I understand,     .”

The two boarded the boat and started rowing toward the open sea.

At last, things would always end at a point where he was looking up at the boat from the bottom of the ocean. And so, he would think that, aah, they had failed.

His body convulsed with a start. The film reproduced inside his head did not go for more than a few minutes, yet Benedict awoke accompanied by a sense of fatigue, almost as if he had gone on a long journey.

Eyes half-open, he looked about the surroundings. Violet was nowhere to be seen. He checked the shop’s clock. Not even ten minutes had passed since he had begun drinking his coffee.

Poising himself calmly, he took the only slightly cold coffee into his mouth. Upon drinking a mouthful of it, he became unable to settle with just a little and downed it in gulps as if it were water.

“One more,” he asked for another of the same thing, raising his hand to one of the shop’s waiters. He had wanted the bitterness of reality, enough for him not to be invited by sleepiness anymore.

——You’ve seen this so many times, yet you’re still scared of it?

Although he had been thinking until just a moment before that she did not have to come, he now wished to see that blunt girl very much.

——It’s fine.

Not even he knew what was fine exactly, but he told himself so.

——It’s fine.

He needed those words.

——I’m... fine. Ain’t that right?

He himself did not give an answer to the question asked.

Benedict wound up sneering. He did not use to be so agitated even back when he worked as a mercenary for the first time.

He looked around again. Nobody was a target of dread. Nothing was currently happening. It was not as if he were rushing through a battlefield in order to earn money either, nor had he been abandoned in a desert completely naked. He could tell as much even without sorting out the situation. He was blessed now and nothing was terrifying. Things were finally peaceful. Too peaceful.

However, Benedict did not know that, the more peaceful times were, the more often would the pain of the scars marking him end up coming back.

——Ever since he took me in, haven’t I grown weak?

Oddly enough, be it mental or physically, wounds were not curable. Their visible parts would heal. However, even if they healed on the surface, just by the atmosphere and the people and things involved when the injury happened overlapping with one another, the truth that “a wound was earned” would return. The figurative scars would chase after people forever like the Moon floating in the sky. And they would ache.

Even if the injury took but an instant, the truth that one had been wounded was eternal.

——When... will I get to remember everything?

The scar from forgetting the one person that he absolutely should not have forgotten was causing Benedict’s heart to self-mutilate without him realizing. If the replaying of his memories had already happened thousands of times, then for those thousands of times, Benedict had been attacking himself.

Without knowing why he would become so flustered, he reproduced his recollections again. They were a repetition of the previous ones. As seen from the sidelines, things were obvious to those who knew of his circumstances.

A new coffee was brought over, but he did not feel like drinking it in that warm place. It was Benedict who had come up with the arrangement, saying that one should wait for the other inside, yet he had decided to wait in front of the shop mounted on his motorcycle. Breathing in amidst the coldness, he calmed down a little. The perfectly clean, icy air within his body cooled down his head. Even if his body shook, it was because of the chilliness.

Suddenly, Benedict looked straight to the side. It was due to him feeling a stare for some reason.

A short-haired blonde girl was standing there. Hers was an unnatural shade of blond, so it was most likely a wig. She was dressed in a milky white satin dress similar to the tone of her skin under a black trench coat. She seemed like the kind of woman who led a life of having her praises sung by men in that city of artists. With a cigarette between her fingers, she blew tobacco smoke out of her bright red lips. Being in a bar surrounded by men all around and laughing elegantly would suit her. The front of a bakery was not fitting of her...

“Y-You—” the woman mustered out at Benedict, with an aspect that seemed to say she had done so unwittingly. Her voice was husky.

Benedict returned her gaze. The woman gave him an odd feeling of déjà vu. Had they not met somewhere before, his sixth sense whispered.

Subconsciously, his eyes went to her hair. If that sister of his had grown up, was a woman with such appearance too old to be her? Still, women could change the age suggested by their looks however they wanted with make-up and clothes. Benedict knew the morning-to-night faces of the women he had spent time with until now. Should he not discard the possibility that she was his younger sister?

Perhaps because the glint in Benedict’s eyes had sharpened, the woman took a step backward, and then threw the cigarette away, leaving the spot. At first, she walked slowly, gradually going in small trots.

“Hey,” when he realized it, Benedict had hopped off his motorcycle and was calling out to her. “Hey, wait.”

He pursued the woman as she ran, grabbing her arm by force. Not liking it, the woman attempted to shake free from him, but Benedict bound her arms behind her back. As she smelled of sickly sweet perfume, it felt as if he was about to suffocate.

“Let me go!”

“You know me, right?!”

“I don’t!”

“You definitely do, don’t you?! No, I... I...!”

——I feel like I know you.

“You... Are you...”

He might have been jumping to conclusions. He was fine with it being a misunderstanding. However, if that was not the case, then he certainly did not want to lose such information by mistake.

“Are you... my little... sister?”

Upon being asked so, the woman covered her mouth with her two hands.

The way back was extremely quiet on that day.

Having finished the ghostwriting for her client, Violet called over to Benedict, who was exhaling white puffs outside. It took him a few seconds to react back, and his face looked almost as if he had seen a ghost. She noticed he had nothing in hands despite having said that he would buy Hodgins a souvenir, and as they went back into the shop, the clerk was looking after it. As Benedict said nothing, Violet was the one to thank her.

Even as she told him, “Well, then, let us go home,” while mounting on the backseat, he was out of it and did not take off.  And even as the motorcycle finally moved, he stopped driving without as much as one minute passing.

“V, my bad. I’m... feeling awful right now. I might cause an accident and get you hurt.”

Violet did not ask if something had happened. As he was certainly pale-faced, Violet changed seats with a, “Then, I will do the driving”, adapting to the necessities of the moment. She had learned how to ride horses and vehicles to an extent during her soldier days. Even as it had been a while since then, she had confidence that she could do it.

“Benedict. You will fall like this, so please hold tighter.”

“My bad...”

“No, if you feel sick from the swaying, I will stop. Please say it.”

“Aah. My head’s kinda hurting a lot. Can I... close my eyes for a bit?”

“That is all right.”

After saying so, Violet looked up at the sky. As dusk approached, the sky was shrouded in clouds, but it did not seem as if rain, snow or abnormalities in the weather would occur.

It was awfully rare of Benedict to candidly bask on people’s goodwill and apologize. Since he was feeling unwell, it was impressive that he had not yet lost only his judgement of having her replace him as the driver. However, the fact that Benedict, who normally had but a big attitude, stayed silent the whole trip, clung onto a girl younger than him and sat on the backseat would be considered a state of emergency by the staff of the CH Postal Company if they saw him.

Of course, Violet Evergarden also understood that it was an emergency.

Somewhat tired as he might be, drowsy as he might be, that man would never let someone else drive his beloved bike. It was a personal vehicle given to him by Claudia Hodgins when the latter was starting his business.

Violet merely spoke to him dispassionately, “Benedict, were you talking to anyone before I had arrived?”

“Yeah.”

“I have good ears.”

“Yeah, you’re like a wild animal.”

“‘I want to run away from here’. ‘I want you to buy me time’. ‘I want you to help me’ – things like that?”

Rather than being a poor talker, Violet was not as proficient at conversational skills as most people, and so she did not know the right way to speak to him at such a time.

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” Benedict replied coldly in a low voice that sounded as if he were repelling her.

As the talk ended there, a curtain of silence descended upon them once more.

Violet was deep in thought. She almost never put effort into conversations. If she was told not to speak, she would not speak. When asked a question, she would answer. She would inquire what was necessary. That was what conversations used to be about. For her, at least.

However, the grown-up Violet now understood things could not be that way.

She spoke to Benedict again, “That lady called you her brother, Benedict, but you have amnesia, right? Is that person your younger sister? Rather... did you really have a younger sister?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I was observing from nearby as you were binding that woman’s arms behind her back. I learned from President Hodgins that no one should intervene on male-female relationships. Therefore, I stood in waiting on the spot and watched over you, so as to mediate if it were necessary.”

“What’s the Old Man doing...? Speaking of that, this kinda thing’s called ‘eavesdropping’.”

“Was that person your younger sister? Your appearances when you were side by side did not strike me as...”

The motorcycle passed over a rock while she was speaking, and so the vehicle’s frame floated buoyantly for an instant. It landed roughly and started running once more.

“She did not seem to be your younger sister to me. This is but my assumption, but I believe she is older than you are. To begin with, you have amnesia, so even if you did have a younger sister living separately from you, is there no need for further investigation since you do not remember her?” Violet was much too indifferent. Without any compassion or curiosity regarding whatever was happening to Benedict, she levelly stated her conclusions. Even if should it rub Benedict’s nerves the wrong way.

“Shut up! You don’t know that! She might be the one!” Benedict hit Violet’s back with his fists. “I have a little sister! I have memories of her! That’s the only thing I’m definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely, definitely sure of!”

“How come? You don’t have memories.”

“I can tell!”

“How?”

When asked so, he had no choice but speak sentimentally.

“‘Cause I feel love for her!”

Violet dry-swallowed curtly at the word “love”.

“It stayed in me! Even if I don’t have my memories, I have this!”

It was embarrassing and foolish.

“It’s the only thing that’s definitely, definitely not a lie!”

He normally never spoke of love, yet he desperately resorted to it only for now.

——I mean, we held hands in the darkness. The only proof that we were alive was our body temperature. Whenever she’d say that she was scared, I’d reply with, “It’s all right”. “Your Big Bro will do something about this,” I’d tell her. The one who’d affirmed my existence was my little sister. I’d managed to get courage from the fact that I could be relied on. That, yeah, I was an older brother. That she was no good without me, so I had to keep on living. Still...

“I had a sister, and I don’t really get it, but I was protecting her! I was thinking about protecting her no matter what, no matter what...! I don’t know why I’m living by myself like this...! Memory—I don’t have memory!”

——I don’t remember.

“Protect her from what...?”

——I don’t know. Did someone break me? Did I break on my own?

“I don’t know! Could be anything... That’s—That’s not what’s important to me! I don’t care about how I used to live when I was a brat... I supposedly used to have a sister, and the fact she’s not here is a problem for me! I’m amnesiac, and when I woke up, my sister wasn’t by my side; I’d turned into an idiot who didn’t know anything about myself or my sister! I have nothing! But...!”

——I don’t know. But...

“But, I definitely... have a little sister.”

——She definitely existed. If I meet her someday, I’ll know it’s her for sure. Even if I forgot, even if I can’t remember her, I’ll recognize her if I see her. I want the same to be valid for her.

With that thought, all along, he had lived on as if praying.

“That woman said she knows me... I’ve also—I’ve also seen her before somehow. I don’t know whether she’s my sister or not. But even if she isn’t... when that time comes, I don’t wanna have regrets!”

After saying so, Benedict had his face slammed against Violet’s back. That was because the motorcycle came to a sudden, abrupt stop. Benedict’s nose, neither too high nor too low, was smashed, and he anguished for a brief moment.

Violet, the driver and the cause of his pain, turned backward and reached a hand out to Benedict. Their faces were close enough that her golden hair, burning against the madder red sky, brushed the tip of his nose. Violet gripped Benedict’s shoulder as if to tell him, “Don’t run away”.

“Benedict.”

Her eyes – her blue orbs – pierced him like a blade.

“Please listen. I have told you before that I am also an orphan, was taken in and raised, and do not know who my parents are, right? From my experience, individuals who ‘tend to presume on their memories’ will come in contact with vagabonds attempting to do inexcusable things. Those who invited me into the dark by claiming to know me and proposing to discuss it in detail were neither one nor two people.”

Violet Evergarden desperately trying to convey her own words to the other party was just as unusual as Benedict entrusting his beloved bike to someone.

“During my days as a soldier, Major always bore the full brunt of it and protected me.”

That was precisely why, with her rapid-fire speech, Benedict could not seal her lips using stern persuasion.

“After growing up, I was almost murdered by a cultist organization that claimed I was not a human being but a demigod. I know nothing of my past, so even if I am told such things, I find myself thinking that they might be true. Benedict, are you not the same as me in this aspect? There are probably many women who know you. The women that you have dated, the people you have spent the night with until now – do you recall every one of them? You and President Hodgins are similar. In the past, President Hodgins came to the hospital room where I was hospitalized in a state of having drunk his regrets away and talked torrentially. Have you never done something like this? Even if you leave out the likelihood of being deceived by that person... if you are still thinking about doing something...”

Violet’s words were not gentle in the slightest.

“Benedict.”

However, within her own possibilities, she was thinking, thinking and thinking.

“Benedict, do you need back-up fire?”

Currently, she was attempting to do whatever she could to the maximum degree.

“I do not... know whether or not I am your friend. Lux seems all right with being my friend. Cattleya called me a friend too. Benedict, I do not know about you. We spend a large amount of time together, but even now, I still cannot say for sure what definition I should give to others. To me, the people who have told me that I am their friend are my friends as of late.”

What lay between the two of them was their time spent together. From the moment they had first met until now, they had built a relationship of trust.

“That is why, for me, even if you are not my friend, in case there is anything troubling you...”

Just as the forgotten nurturing between Benedict and his sister, it was something precious.

“No, regardless of what the definition of our relationship is, I... I... if there is something causing you to be like this... and if... it is an enemy that I must fight...”

Even if he did not have a past, Benedict had a present.

“...then I will attack it with everything I have.”

He had an ally named Violet Evergarden.

Under the dusky sky, the still young duo lay themselves bare to each other and made one decision.

“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” the low whispering of birds staged the night as something somewhat eerie.

The evenings at Lontano were like those of night-less cities, in which the lights of bars did not turn off even in the dead of the night. What a place so resplendent needed were attention-grabbing buildings, high-grade alcohol and beautiful women. Until the men went to sleep, the women hired to entertain them could not sleep either.

At present, a lone woman was coming out of a bar that still had its lights on, clad in a black trench coat that could as much as melt into the nightly darkness. She was a captivating blonde beauty.

“Where you going?” asked a man who stood by the entrance of the bar with a fierce look.

The woman showed him an empty box of tobacco that belonged to a regular costumer of the bar. “Cigarettes.”

The women who worked in bars had to report everything they did. Their bodies themselves were the merchandize. Unlike normal goods, bodies could walk on their own will.

Should they disappear somewhere, there would be no business.

“Linda’s store is still open. I was told to go buy more. If you don’t hurry and let me go, you’ll get scolded for stopping me.”

She had intended to speak nonchalantly, yet her frame trembled underneath the trench coat. The man eyed her body from head to toe.

“It’s nighttime. That’s not like the middle of the day. I’ll go. Can’t let you go by yourself.”

“I want to smoke outside for a bit.”

“You, it can’t be that you’re planning to run away again, right? You were almost killed before, weren’t you? If you haven’t learned the hard way after that, you’re an idiot. Until you pay your debts, you’re the same as livestock.”

The woman’s lips trembled at being called “livestock”. “It’s not my debt.”

“It’s your man’s, right? He’s the worst kind of bastard who sells women from a continent he never even walked on.”

“I don’t care about him anymore.”

“Even if he no longer comes to see you, you brought this upon yourself. Got no choice but make up for it. Don’t go thinking of stupid stuff... Hitting women ain’t our thing either.”

The woman thrust the empty tobacco box at him as if to hand it over. “I really was asked to get the cigarettes. If you think it’s a lie, go ask about it inside. If you believe me, you can come along. Then I can breathe the air outside a little, and you don’t have to worry about me running away. We’re settled with that, right?”

The man clicked his tongue at the provocative wording, yet seemed to have complied. He asked another employee to take over his post and made an agreement.

“If you take too long...”

The woman waited stiffly as the men talked. Eventually, the two started walking down the stone-paved road illuminated by streetlights.

The woman observed the man. She was there due to being sold by the person she used to be in love with, but she suspected that the man was also being made to work in that shop because of some reason. She might be wrong.

Even if that were the case, in her present condition, she did not have the compassion of others. If she wanted to break free from her current state, which, as the man said, had unfolded from something that she herself had done...

“It’s cold... Aren’t you chilly?”

...she had to act on her own. Even if she was counting with the assistance of a savior, since she had devised the plan by herself, it was her own power.

The lights of the tobacco store became visible. Just a bit more and they would reach it.

——Please, please, please, help me, God.

“You can smoke one cigarette, but we’re going back as soon as you’re done.”

——Help me, help me, help me!

The reason why the woman firmly squeezed her eyes shut was to deliver her wish to the God that resided somewhere out there, but even if she were not doing so, she surely would have closed her eyes either way.

That was because someone had abruptly come running from an alley and whispered, “Yo, the meeting spot was here, right?”

Since the one who had spoken was of a much shorter stature than the man, the kick lunged at him crushed his nether regions, and so the former immediately put a hand over his mouth. As she recognized the face of the person applying force so that the man would not let out a single scream, the woman said, “P-Please! Stop! He’s not a bad person!”

Until a while before, she had not cared for the other, but upon actually seeing something terrible happen to him, that feeling flew off the nest. Perhaps listening to her plea, the lout who had appeared so suddenly took her hand and vanished into the alley from which he had come.

The golden hair of the man running in front of her shone glisteningly even at night, within an alley that did not have illumination. Unlike her wig, it was a natural sandy-blond.

“B-Big Brother,” the woman called the man going ahead with a tone mixed in rapture.

However, what she received in return was gunfire, “Drop it; that’s gross.” While running, the lout – Benedict Blue – clicked his tongue. As the woman was slow at running, he pulled her forward roughly.

A shoe came off the woman’s foot. It was a high-heel one. She wore it because it made the shape of her legs seem bewitching and pleased men. It was not suited for running.

“My shoe came off!”

“Take off the other!”

Being yelled at, the woman did as told and took off the other pair while crying. They were shoes that gleamed silver of which she was fond. However, at the moment, she did not need beauty. She resumed running with all her might.

“H-Hey. W-Why... are you being so cold? You’re going to help me, right? I’m your sister, after all.”

At the question asked with restraint, Benedict answered with a disappointed voice, “Ah, about that: it was my misunderstanding.”

After taking off her shoe, she was fast at running. The woman increased her speed, as to be side-by-side with the one pulling her arm. “Eh?” Her voice reversed to her original one in lieu of the extreme course of events.

“I kinda thought I’d seen you before... but my colleague told me to trace back the few memories I have of my life, and when I tried doing that, you were there. I did know you. But you ain’t my sister.”

Silence.

“You’re the one who ripped off everything I had on me and threw me away in the Inkar-usi desert, aren’t you?”

Still silence.

“I remember until the point where I slept with a fine woman. I don’t recall her face. But, this... blond hair that looks fake... tangled in my fingers big time when I stroked it; that’s the only thing that stayed in my memory. I was mad drunk, wasn’t I? I’d earned the biggest amount of reward money until then, so I guess I got cocky.”

The woman tried to halt on the spot. However, Benedict forcefully pulled her along.

“Don’t stop! Run!”

“I don’t want to! You’re telling me you’ll make me yours next!? I won’t be anyone’s any longer! I hate men! I don’t want to live through being used by someone anymore! I want to go back to me homeland!”

There were tears surfacing in the woman’s eyes, but Benedict was not the type of man to falter at such a thing. He grabbed the woman’s dress by the collar, and after snapping his head backward at once, he followed the momentum and head-butted her.

The two writhed in pain.

“That’s why I said I’m taking you back! Who needs someone like you, shithead!? It’s not like I’ve forgiven you! If I hadn’t been picked up by one hell of a good guy after that, I would’ve killed you a long time ago!”

“If you’ve found out about my lie, then why...!? I pretended to be your sister and asked you to break me out, y’know!?”

“I just told you, didn’t I!? Thanks to you abandoning me in a desert, I’m the most blessed ever now! If I hadn’t met that guy back there, I wouldn’t even have a name and would be sleeping with women somewhere and waking up completely broke! All because I ended up scoring a fate good enough to rewind my life until that point from a shitty goddess like you! It only so happens that you almost tricked me, but I felt like saving you! Okay?! I hate you, so keep just that in mind! Once I help you out, be careful of the roads at night!”

After spitting out abusive language again with another “shithead”, Benedict made the woman run. The woman could not believe it. Up until now, she had told countless men who had slipped into her body about her personal history and attempted to earn their help. However, she had no one.

“You’ve got a terrible look in your eyes, huh. Mine’s pretty terrible too.”

She had no one.

“I have amnesia. I used to have a little sister... but I can’t remember her.”

She had no one.

“Hey, your hair reminds me of my sister’s; can I stroke it?”

She had no one.

“I’ll raise your pay if you stay until morning, so be here. It’s been a while since the last time I wasn’t alone.”

She had no one, and so, she had thought it would be all right to deceive somebody.

Her tears poured incessantly. They flowed down as if to block her mouth and nose. It was hard to breathe. Even so, she had to say it.

“I’m sorry!” while sobbing, the woman apologized to Benedict.

“Aah!?”

“I’m sorry for lying to you! I’m sorry for those two times!”

“Shut up! I told you I wouldn’t forgive you, didn’t I!? Those two times! I won’t forgive for the rest of my life!”

“But—But, I’m sorry! Sorry for pretending to be your sister!”

In the middle of passing through the alley, they heard gunshots from behind for some reason. The ones who monitored her – a merchandize – had probably come chasing the two. Benedict took a peek backwards, but continued running without minding it.

“They’ve come after us!”

Benedict was already replying to the woman’s shouts with a, “Shut up!” as easily as breathing.

Bullets went past their feet and sides. However, the gunning that was intense at first gradually diminished as the two rushed through the alley. Benedict shot back behind his shoulder as a diversionary action, but did not attempt to hit the other party at all.

Once they reached the end of the alley, Benedict kicked off the half-open lid of a skewer route and opened it fully. “Now, fall!” He kicked the woman into it. He did hear her scream, but having climbed the way up, he was aware that it was not too great a descent. Before going down as well himself, he looked at a certain direction. “V...”

Beyond his gaze was a comrade of his, who had promised to hit his enemies with all of her power as an interceptor.

She was on the top of a tree far away from the current position of Benedict and the woman. Violet Evergarden, who was sniping the group that chased after them, had taken aim upon confirming that gunshots were coming from said group. She targeted the firearm in their hands and pulled the trigger. The perfect trajectory of her bullets passed by Benedict and the woman’s sides, hindering the people that obstructed their way.

Realizing that his own gun had been flicked away by someone, the man who had fired the first shot raised his voice in astonishment, “You’re kidding me, right!?”

While he was in shock, the unseen sniper continued attacking. One of them attempted to target and shoot at the back of the woman, who was falling behind as she ran, but also had his weapon destroyed before he fired, and although he was attacked, he was easily able to defend himself against it.

“Don’t shoot without thinking! We’re under aim!” another yelled, but on such a dark night in an alley like that, the panic of having someone snipe only their weapons so precisely caused the men to lose their normal nature.

“STAY AWAAAAY!”

A legend of the battlefields, unknown to those who lived in cities through making women into food, was making them insane. They blindly faced the sky and shot at random. Bullets came flying to Violet’s direction as well, but did not as much as touch her body.

Guns had something called “effective range distance”. The guns used by the men were not suited for long-range shooting. Things also depended on the skills of the person using it, so differences in distance occurred even with that type of gun.

With a long-range rifle adopted by the military, Violet was taking aim from her position on a tree that the men absolutely could not see. “Target seized... Fire.”

The sounds of shooting echoed.

From far away, she could see someone’s gun falling down from his hand. “Fire, hit.” She moved mute and quickly, as if carrying out a simple job. “Fire, hit, fire.”

It would be fine if her face distorted in pain from the impact of shooting.

“Fire.”

However, Violet’s facial expression bore no emotion.

“Fire.”

Eventually, as everything became quiet, while exhaling a deep breath, Violet ceased to shoot and descended to the root of the tree. It would seem that the long-range shotgun she had bought just recently with her own salary had done a satisfactory work for her.

As she succeeded at the “back-up fire” in the literal sense of the term, she immediately left the spot.

The shooting battle that took place in the city of Lontano over the night turned into a much bigger occurrence than Benedict and the others had imagined, and the situation got to the point of the military police being dispatched. It so happened that people other than the woman behind the scandal had blended with the confusion of the turmoil and fled the city from the shadows, but those were stories unknown to Benedict and Violet.

A few hours had passed since the troublesome escape feat.

“Ouch!”

“Shut up! Hurry and put them on!” In a world wherein flowed the light of dawn, Benedict threw the shoes he had been wearing on the woman’s face.

While muttering complaints about him flinging the shoes at her, the woman tied them on. She had been running around the whole night and shaking off their chasers with Benedict, so her feet were injured and wet with blood. The pain was severe, but the exhilaration of managing to escape allowed her to feel as if it did not matter. Moreover, as she put on Benedict’s shoes, although they were too big, it became easier for her to walk in comparison to when she was not wearing anything on her feet.

Benedict was shoeless instead. He had cut wounds in his entire body. His clothes were ripped everywhere as well.

“Hey, why?”

“Shut up... Don’t ask so many times.”

“But, it’s just... I keep wondering why. Until now, nobody had helped me out, so it’s very strange to me.”

At those words, the face of Claudia Hodgins crossed Benedict’s mind. His good-natured employer and lifesaver. He, too, had bestowed Benedict with clothes and shoes when the latter was naked.

——I also kept asking why, I guess.

People who had never been treated kindly would think of unconditional love as the beginning of something terrifying. They firmly believed that everything others would bring them was either reprimanding or abuse.

“I told you, didn’t I? It’s ‘cause I was picked up by a good guy. That’s why.” A small smile escaped him.

“Benedict.”

His name called from behind, Benedict turned around.

With leaves on her head, their accomplice of the day, Violet Evergarden, was holding out tickets for the first train of the morning, which would now depart. “Also, take this as well.” Together with the ticket, she left in the woman’s hands a bag of freshly baked bread presumably bought in a nearby shop.

The woman eyed the bread and Violet alternately, tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Be careful on your way...”

“You’re the one that had least to do with this... Thank you, really.”

“No. It has to do with me. I was his ‘back-up fire’, after all.”

Hearing that, Benedict laughed loudly. When she had talked about being his back-up fire, the connotation was simply of lending a hand, and he had not thought she would actually put it to practice.

As Violet and Benedict were the only ones who knew the meaning of that, the woman tilted her neck. “Benedict... you too.”

“Use ‘Mister’.”

“Mr. Benedict, you too, thank you very much...!”

“Again, be careful on the roads at night,” Benedict replied with a threat incorporated to it.

The time of depart had still not come. The duo, having decided to leave her there and disperse, finished their farewells with a “see ya” and started walking away.

“H-Hum! Mr. Benedict.” Perhaps still having something to say, once Benedict turned around, the woman was smiling, her blond hair fluttering in the morning wind. “You see, I had an older brother... I haven’t seen him for years now, so I can’t remember him, but when I was a child, I used to call him ‘Big Bro’... I really did have those feelings in mind when I called you that.”

“So what?”

“If I were your little sister, I’d definitely search the whole world for a big brother like you!”

“You ain’t her, though.”

“I’m not! But one day, for sure—!”

One day, you will find her, the woman smiled faintly.

At that moment, Benedict’s sky-blue orbs opened wide. An indescribable, strange feeling rushed throughout his body. If so-called memories were provided to people by traveling across not only their souls but also the particulars of their bodies, and if they could be remembered through a small trigger in case something was forgotten, it might turn out as that sort of feeling, like a tingle from an electric shock.

The woman waved, still smiling. He did not tell her to shut up.

“Stu~pid.” His voice trembled. Turning roundly on his heels, Benedict started walking.

Violet followed him from behind.

——Aah, I…

His vision was shaky.

——Why? Why did I think she was my little sister?

He could now clearly tell. She was not at all like his sister. Firstly, although both were blonde, the shades of their hair were completely different, and although his sister was also fine-looking, she and that woman had different characteristics.

“Benedict?”

Yes, his sister was not such a lustful beauty, but instead had more of a fickle appearance. She had a well-behaved voice tone and demeanor, and was not the kind of person who would refer to others as “you”.

“Benedict, please wait.”

To begin with, she rarely ever called him “Big Bro” and mostly called him by his name. He did not remember that name, but he remembered her calling it.

“Benedict, you will trip if you walk like this.”

——Aah, out of all things... out of all things...

“Benedict, why are you crying?”

Out of all things, he just had to remember his little sister because of a smile from the woman who had knocked him off into hell.

“My, welcome back, my friend who no longer knows his own name.”

——She was a crybaby and a scaredy-cat. She’d always hide behind my back and follow me in trots. I liked the most when she’d come running at my direction after spotting me. That’s why I’d make her look for me on purpose sometimes. The times when we were together were happy, and he rest was hell.

I did have a little sister. She was there all the time. That’s for sure.

In my oldest memory, she was by my side. It was really cold when we woke up. We were in a place that was like a stone tower. She was the closest to me, and was shivering too. The adults hadn’t given us any blankets, so I called her over and the two of us clung to each other. When I asked, “Who are you again?”, her face looked like she was about to cry and she said, “Don’t forget me”.

I was told afterward that she was my little sister, so I thought, “That’s right”. She said I was in a pretty bad condition. That I’d almost died because of a head injury that apparently I myself had earned. That I was quick to want to die when my ego blew off. I’d get disposed of if I went crazy just one more time. That’s why she cried to me, begging me to stay sane.

My sister remembered a lot more than I did. We actually didn’t live in that place and we did have a family. But people would forget things little by little in that place. When I asked if she was certain that I was her older brother, she replied that she was. “You’re forgetting stuff too, right? How do you know?” I asked. When I pressed with a, “That’s right, how can you know?”, she cried even more that, “I have the feeling of love left in me, so we’re family”. She had a weird personality, but after those words, I thought I just had to protect my sister.

The adults called the tower “home”. At “home”, small children were recruited to do adult works. There were all kinds of jobs. Like delivering things, or retrieving them. Jobs in which someone would die when I performed that sorta labor. Those who were good at work were also ordered more direct stuff. It seems I’d gone nuts when they piled up. If you failed your duties, your little brother, little sister, older brother or older sister – the smallest numbers of each of our family members – would get killed. The people that knew and loved us were hostages. Well, that does make people go mad.

“Home” was like a tiny military unit. We always went to different places. From what the adults would say, “home” was a temporary employee placement livelihood. They were preparing human resources able to endure any type of battle mission from scratch. Come to think of it now, they’d give me medicines and incense without a break every day for some reason.

My sister, myself and the others, who were forgetting a lot of things, were apparently human resource pupils. From what my sister told me, in that jumble of children, I was the most apt for those jobs. It seemed I was the one who took the biggest amount of medicine, so my forgetfulness was pretty bad.

Could humans be created from scratch after being made to forget everything? On top of that, could they be raised into the strongest human resources? The answers were “yes” and “no” – you could say both.

We’d end up going crazy at just one cogitation. We were quick to become suicidal. There was no meaning in soldiers who couldn’t be used for long. I was probably insane but pretended to be normal for my sister’s sake.

The adults would say that they’d hire us once we grew up. That, for the moment, we were livestock.

It seemed that the adults monitoring us had lived like us in the past. “Aren’t there only idiots here?” I thought. They hadn’t learned anything even after those horrible things were done to them.

I decided that, if we had to become adults in that hell, we’d better run away. My sister was crying. If we tried to escape, the adults would come to kill us for sure.

The feeling of wanting to die had always been in me. If I was gonna die anyway, I’d wanted to die for my sister. Whoever did something to her that she didn’t want to was shit. I wanted to kill them.

She was the only pretty thing in that pathetic world. I don’t know if she was really my sister. But even if we just happened to have the same hair and eye color, she was my everything. She was the girl I’d wanted to protect the most in the world. Even though she was all I had...

“Your Big Bro will protect you,     , okay?”

Even though she was all I had... I’d surely failed to set my sister free.

Tears poured from Benedict’s eyes.

“Shit…”

The tears that poured from them flowed continuously, eventually penetrating the earth and disappearing without fulfilling any purpose. They would nevermore return. Never would they go back to the eyes that had produced them. Similarly, the important person who had poured out of Benedict’s life would surely not return.

——Life... is shit.

In his memory of taking her by the hand amidst the night, running away and, lastly, watching the boat from the bottom of the sea, if his sister was on that boat, just how would her young self have survived afterward? Had she drifted and been picked up by some kindhearted person? Had his overprescribed sibling survived just fine after forgetting about him and about herself? Was she living well somewhere under that same sky even as they were unable to see each other?

That was but a dream story.

The world seemed filled with happy stories, but they were actually very few. Stories and real life were...

——I didn’t need a life like that.

At the very least, Benedict’s life tasted of the sea. It was too salty and undrinkable. Such was it even now. The tear droplets that spilled down his cheeks, passed by his lips and dripped from his chin had the flavor of the ocean. Benedict’s past was chasing him and strangling his neck, so as to kill him from sadness. He wanted to scream and break into wails, asking, “Why?”.

——End it right now. God, why’re you doing this? End it right now. God, there’s no salvation for me. Please help me. End it right now. God, I can’t breathe because of the pain in my chest brought by this sadness. Hurry, as soon as possible, right now, bring this life…

“Don’t go crazy; don’t die,” she had asked of him.

——...to an end...!

Yet he chose death. After all, surely, his sister had already died long before.

He had always fled from such truth. He had merely forgotten about it. Things such as wishing that he would not die in a desert and thinking about eating bread with someone had stemmed from his made-up other self. He was simply a fake that had pretended to be sane and survived somehow. Even if he was in the past, his original self had yearned to die for a long time. It was false of him to be currently living and showing gratitude to somebody. He certainly had forgotten what should not have been forgotten because it was easier that way.

The painful and the easy. When sorting them out, he had picked the easy. There was no mistaking that he had wanted to try forgetting everything and live freely.

He was cursed for it.

“Was it fun?” If he were asked so, he could answer that it was great fun.

——Yeah, all of it was fun.

In his new life, after meeting that man, the humidity and temperature of the of the continent he was brought to upon being picked up were different, and everything was fresh. The motorcycle that he was granted in place of holding onto a gun or sword had showed him many worlds.

He merely delivered things. He had thought it was only that, but upon seeing it for the first time, being a postman was difficult. Every day, he was at loss from being scolded by the clients or receiving excessive gratitude. It was strange for someone like him, who had never gotten a letter, to be delivering them.

Oddly enough, whenever he saw the smiles of the people on the receiving end, he would feel as if he were doing an extremely good deed. He had found it weird that a postal agency had been chosen for starting a business and was unused to it, but he had come to understand that the reason for being of such job was to perform labor.

It was simply delivery. If one was able to walk or to ride a motorcycle, be it a woman, man, child or elder – anyone could do it. It did not have to be him. It was not a work that only he could do. However, he thought that this mere delivery was not bad. He deemed it as fun. Deliveries in which he was able to please others were enjoyable.

No matter what he did, the sights he would see were unlike the ones from when he was a mercenary. The small discoveries that he would find during a delivery – minor things such as there being a delicious bakery or going faster by taking a certain road – were fun. But more enjoyable than anything else was that he had a place to go back to, no matter to what part of the world he went. Even as he returned in tatters, once he opened the office’s door, there was someone who would say, “Aah, welcome back, Benedict. Good work”.

In the world where he had started walking as if he had suddenly been born, ever since he had met that man, yes, it did seem foolish, but the world had gained colors as though he had met his fated woman.

——It was fun, it was fun, it was fun, it was fun, it was fun. I shouldn’t have enjoyed himself, and yet, I had so much fun. What have you been doing? Why were you enjoying it? You weren’t in position to. You’re a person who should’ve died without knowing what “fun” was. Be over, be over, be over, be over. Everything should come to an end. Let’s end this version of me now. Ain’t that better for everyone? There’d be no harm for anybody if there was one less person like me, with no family or lover, in the world. I’ve had enough fun. As for the people who’ll be sad for me, it’s enough if I can count them with one hand. I’ll erase myself and make this dirty world clean in the end. You shouldn’t be having fun. What you gotta do is just one thing: go face your sister, who’s smiling inside your head.

That was why Benedict impulsively searched for his gun with one of his hands.

Surely, people died that way. Sorrow would seal their throats and they would die unable to breathe. They would die from having more sad moments than happy moments.

He felt that he would not be able to live even if for another second. It was not that he wished to die. Rather, he was taking a decision for himself that he had to die.

Was there any living being that wanted to die as soon as it was born? Most of them supposedly wanted to live. Yes, they wanted to live. Live a wonderful life, if possible. A life that would make being born worthwhile.

However, it by no means went well all the time. Life was not something that one would prepare beforehand.

“Ugh... uuugh...”

As a result of choices made, there were countless changes. There were times in which only grievous things would happen. A series of things such as regretting being born.

Hardships were like gelid rain that God would pour over anyone. It would be great there was a place to take shelter from it or an umbrella, but there were times when one could not find them. The prolonged rain would cause one’s body to grow cold and the roots of their teeth to shake. For people, it was something difficult to endure. When it became impossible to withstand, people...

“Sto... p.”

...would crave death.

“St... o...”

When living became hard, they tended to look for what was easier. It was nothing strange. What was wrong with running away? The least amount of pain was better. The shortest suffering was better.

The purpose of living creatures was something that they decided on themselves.

“Sto... p.”

Still, yes...

“Stop.”

...the same had happened when he was in that desert.

“Stop it; why...?”

A certain number of people, beloved by the Goddess of Fortune, were able to filter out of such instance. If one thoroughly prodded into it, they would find it was but the result of something that had been piling up.

The work of the Goddess happened in a vivid way. If one were to ask what exactly that was...

“V...”

...it would be somebody showing up to hold whoever’s hand when they attempted to die.

At the cliff of his life, the one who had acted as his back-up fire appeared.

What the Goddess brought about was different for each person. For Benedict Blue, in the present moment...

“Benedict.”

...it was Violet Evergarden.

——Why’re you holding my hand, out of all things?

Just as the older brother who had grabbed onto his younger sister’s hand in the darkness, Violet gripped Benedict’s. Upon squeezing it once, she changed her hold into that of lacing fingers together and walked on, guiding him. “Benedict, let’s go home.”

Even though he had been unable to take a single step, he wound up walking.

“That is no good.”

He could not take his gun while she was holding his hand.

“If you are crying, you cannot see what lies ahead.”

Although he wanted to shoot a bullet into his head, he could not.

“I will pull you by the hand, yes?”

Upon being told by that girl, who resembled his sister, to return home…

“Let’s go home.”

...he wound up thinking that, aah, he had to live.

“V...”

The reason why he had not been able to leave her on her own one way or another from the first time he had seen her was that their appearances were similar. Both had golden hair and blue eyes, and were somewhat lonely. He felt as if he had always, always made of her something like a substitute for his sister.

“V... I...”

He was unable to take his eyes off her and even referred to her by a nickname.

“I... probably... killed... my little sister... I’ve remembered it...”

Although he had forgotten his sister, some part of him ended up thinking that, if she were alive, she would have turned out that way. His tears became unstoppable at his own idiocy. He would wonder, “Why did my past self fail if she was so important to me?”

“We abated halfway, and I got separated from her... U-Uugh... It’s... It’s like I killed her...”

Violet clasped his hand even tighter. “You do not know that yet, right?” Rather than like a younger sister, she was like an older one. “Just as that person said, you might meet her again one day,” she whispered as if to admonish him, as if to soothe him.

“Impossible... Impossible... I was definitely the only one... the only one who survived... I... I was...” He shed too many tears, the words cut off by his weeping. It was suffocating. He wanted that suffocation to end.

“Benedict, nothing is definite. My Major was alive too. Who can 'definitely’ say that your sister is dead?”

The hand that she had joined fingers with throbbed. However, were it not for that pain, it felt as if he would soon let go and kill himself.

“But... But y'know...”

“We have dealt with quite a lot today. We can deal with it from now on too. Is that not right?”

“I was... I was... better off dead...!”

Crying that way, just like a child, was foolish, Benedict thought. There was no turning back anything anymore.

“I was better off dead!”

Even if he cried, he had already lost her. He had no idea where in the world to look for her either. Should joined hands let go, if the other party was not nearby, they could not be joined again.

“Benedict.”

Violet’s legs stopped completely. Did the crying Benedict look like a little boy to her? She came closer, forcing his head over her shoulder. “Let’s go back, Benedict.”

“Where to?”

“To the company. You and I only have that place.”

Silence.

Indeed, they did not have anywhere else. The people who would wait for them and hold their ground without going insane were indeed nowhere but there.

——But is it okay for me to go back?

“I’ve... done horrible things in the past. It’s just nobody knows that I... when I was mercenary...”

“Yes.”

“I did a lot of stupid stuff. It’s not forgivable just ‘cause I was a kid.”

“Yes.”

“I... But...”

The face of Claudia Hodgins crossed his mind.

——I shouldn’t... go back.

The sense of exhilaration as he walked for the first time with the loose-fitting shoes that man gave him. The jokes the other would tell while spewing complaints when hanging out with him. The laughter from when they would drink and make a ruckus together.

——But...

His eyebrows lowering whenever he was troubled. His back arching whenever Lux was angry with him. The sweet voice he used only for women. The strength he showed to him. He was the only good-natured person in the world that could become attached to an amnesiac man who had nothing.

——I do wanna go back.

He wanted to return to that good-natured person so, so keenly that it filled him with tears.

“But even so, you will live, right?”

Benedict dry-swallowed. Those words almost felt like a bullet shot into his chest. He was so surprised that he became wordless. She was normally a taciturn and did not use decorated words. But she would sometimes boldly bring the truth to light.

“You will live, right?” A little bit of pleading was mixed in Violet’s voice.

The hand that Violet had joined with his. Her artificial fingers.

“Let’s count the things you have done and the things you will do from now on, so that you shall not forget.”

They were proof of the things she had lost and the things she had broken. As well as a symbol of regeneration. Such fingers delicately laced him in place.

“Until you die someday.”

The girl in front of him had accepted that agony much sooner than he had, without running away or averting her eyes from it, and simply stayed amidst the sadness.

“Today... For today, let’s go home.”

That was Violet Evergarden.

“Now, let’s walk. Do you recall that our shift was only until morning and that our day off would start at noon?” Gradually, but still by pulling his hand, she guided Benedict. “Yesterday, we wound up going back to Lontano without finishing our reports. We had promised Lux that we would submit them today without fail. We are too tattered to go to work looking like nothing happened. Surely, if we show up to work like this, there might be a huge scandal, right?”

As Benedict was told so, they surfaced in his head – his quarreling comrade from the founding day, Cattleya; Lux, who had been picked up from an isolated island; their colleagues from CH Postal Company; the city of Leidenschaftlich; his own past; his current occupation; his new name and the man who had given it to him.

“I wonder if Old Man will be mad...”

Claudia Hodgins. The man who gave him everything he had now. He wanted to see the other very much. As he reminisced to the other’s voice and face, his chest seemed about to burst.

In Benedict’s life, his past included, Hodgins had been the only adult to provide for and protect him.

“You were able to meet President Hodgins because you were alive. You can find your sister as well. Surely... People like us are no good if we do not believe so, Benedict.”

He had enough strength to live by himself, no matter where.

“Today was very tiring, right? Let’s go home.”

However, the warmth of having a guardian changed Benedict, who used to loathe ties of obligation. The CH Postal Company, which Violet said to go back to, had already become his place of return.

Benedict looked at the sky. The Sun was rising. Behind him, the shadow that the night had melted into was now reflected richly. The road ahead was brightly illuminated. Just like the past and the present.

“Hey, V.” As Violet asked what the matter was, he muttered while wiping his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, “The thing about me crying is a secret between us two.”

The figures of the two as they walked on holding hands probably looked like that of siblings who got along well.

   “Right now, your life is all you have, isn’t it? I’ll buy that.”

At those words, the man’s heart started making loud noises. He was supposedly used to exchanging his life for money, but he seemed about to stop breathing at being asked for it face-to-face.

“How much?”

Upon being asked, the man was at loss. “Dunno.”

As he answered seriously, Hodgins laughed, “What a fool; give a high price.”

“Why?”

“You could give a sum that I can’t pay for, so that I’d have to hire you for the rest of my life.”

For an instant, he had not understood what was said, and so he answered after a moment, “Don’t wanna! Whatcha saying!?”

“I mean, you have nothing, right?”

“Don’t keep saying 'nothing’!”

“We’d be like a family if we’re together, even if we aren’t related by blood. Just give a price that I can’t pay.”

“Hah?”

“Like I said, we could be like a family. Well, that’s fine. More importantly, your name.”

“No, no, hey, you’re definitely a weirdo, right?”

“It’s come to me!”

“Old Man! It’s like you’re not listening to what I say, ain’t it!?”

“All right. Listen ve~ry well.”

“You listen well!”

With an extremely happy-looking face and little shyly, Hodgins said, “It might be a bit pretentious. I understand his feelings now. Ah, no, y’see, it’s my own feelings, so to say. I’m putting into it my wish of wanting a young one like you to be this way.”

At that second, the only one in the world who witnessed the shine in those blue eyes was Claudia Hodgins.

“It means ‘blessed’; how about ‘Benedict’?”

He knew for the first time the joy of having his life blessed by someone at that moment.

“Let’s take it after the god that administers divine protection. Leave ‘Blue’ to be your surname. The name you gave yourself plus my ‘Benedict’. ‘Benedict Blue’. Yup, it’s a good name. Nice to meet ya, Benedict.”

Even as he became hurt when replaying his memories, he would be blessed whenever someone called his name.

“Stu~pid.”

 He did not want to let go of that blessing ever again.

“Aah, Benedict and Little Violet. Welcome ba... Hey, this isn’t okay! What happened...!? You two come here! Little Lux, the first-aid kit!”

Albeit a little long, that was the story of Benedict Blue.

[alexsmitposts]

It is All about Race, Awful Hypocrisy Hypocrisy to Say it’s Not! While I am following closely various discussions on Western mass media and social media, simultaneously engaging in several direct exchanges, one overwhelming leitmotif that I see is clearly emerging: “What is happening in the United States (and the UK, France and other parts of Western Empire) is not really about the race. Let us protest peacefully, let us not allow ‘rioting’ to continue, and above all, please let us not single out the white race, Western culture as a sole villain. Let us have peace, love each other… Then things will miraculously improve; terrible occurrences will soon go away.” I have worked and lived on all continents, from far away island nations of South Pacific (Oceania), to Africa, the Middle East, Latin America, and Asia. Of course, I lived in Europe and North America, too. Colonialism, neo-colonialism, imperialism – these are all my topics. Seriously! I have been studying them, investigating them; I wrote and made various documentary films about them. On several occasions I came very close to losing my life, confronting them. My conclusion after all that I saw and experienced and survived? You can probably guess it: “To claim that the race is not what has been, for centuries, dividing our Planet, is outrageous hypocrisy. Or deranged wishful thinking. Or something much worse: it is calculated blindness that serves only the ruling, white group of people.” To make it blunt: Our Planet has been reduced to only two races: White and “the other”! On top of it, the color of one’s skin is not always identical to what the West, in general, perceives as the Caucasian/white race. To be “white” is the state of mind. It means: belonging to the culture which perceives itself as “superior”. The culture which sees itself as ‘exceptional’, and somehow ‘chosen’ to judge and advice the entire humanity. It also means ‘a state of indoctrination and obedience, as well as lack of intellectual courage’. All this, in exchange for the privileges; fabulous privileges! “Plunder the world, and live well above your means; live grotesquely plush life! And while you are living it, do not forget to whine, demand more, and keep repeating that ‘you are also exploited and, actually, a very poor victim’”. Denying the privileges is part of racism, too, as it demonstrates unexpectable spite for the real victims! Or, perhaps, self-imposed blindness. Citizens of some countries, such as Russia, Cuba, and Turkey, may look mainly ‘white’, but they are actually not. They are not invited to the ‘club’, because their mindset is different because they are not submissive because they think on their own. *** Such conclusions may not be popular in New York, London, Paris, or Berlin. Especially not now, when the United States and the entire West are in turmoil. The culture which was built on blood, bones, rape, and theft, ‘culture’ shaped by more than 500 years of colonialist terror, is now turning, twisting, and trying to justify itself. It tries to survive while staying in a driving seat. Countless editorials penned by both ‘conservative’ and so-called ‘liberal’ scribes are carpet-bombing the pages of newspapers at both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Fear of perhaps mortally injured beast – Western regime and its citizens – is delectable by its repulsive stench, and it stinks for miles. Suddenly, most of the so-called ‘progressive’ publications do not want to hear from those writers and thinkers who are shooting powerful projectiles in the form of highly uncomfortable truth. Actually, in the West, there are hardly any true “left-wing” sites or magazines left, of course with some shining exceptions. What is really progressive these days? I don’t want to name the sites or publications here, but you are most likely aware of which ones I am talking about: they almost exclusively carry the stuff written by the Western/white men, for other white men’s consumption! They never cross the line: their criticism of the Western white-dominated world is half-hearted, “peaceful”; in short cowardly. A white man is an individual who has been brought up and indoctrinated in a certain way, who thinks, speaks, and writes in a manner that is expected from him or her by the Western regime. And all these ‘non-whites’, all over the world, including the minorities in the Western countries, are expected to sit on their asses, shut up and listen to him or her, but mostly him. And of course, to obey. Or else! Or else: they will be verbally attacked and humiliated, eventually, they will get sanctioned, their governments were overthrown, countries invaded. There will be corpses all over, the stench of burning flesh, overflowing mass graves. And ‘at home’, in the West? Bullets shot at their eyes, or necks squashed by military or police boots. So, what actually happened a few weeks ago to Mr. George Floyd, has been constantly happening to non-white people all over the world, to the entire communities and countries. Then, suddenly, people, all over the world, had enough! Almost everywhere, not just in China, Russia, Venezuela, Cuba, Iran, Libya, Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. Enough of being treated as some lower, subservient races. Enough of being treated like a scum; brutalized, killed like Mr. Floyd! *** Now, in the West, both liberal and conservative media is making noises, claiming that Mr. Floyd was “not a saint”, that he used to serve some time in prison. What can I say? People, in general, are not saints. People and countries. Very often, circumstances make them behave in a very nasty matter. But if you are raised as a second-class citizen, if you are beaten, day and night, by your own regime, are you expected to turn out to be a romantic poet? Get real! Our countries, non-Western ones, are not always behaving like saints, either. But they are still better, much better, than those that have been murdering hundreds of millions in their colonies! Don’t they understand, in Washington, London, and Paris, why those millions of people, from Tokyo to Buenos Aires, from Africa to Asia, are now marching in support for the African-American people? It is because all of us, outside Europe, North America, Australia, and New Zealand, are somehow related to Mr. Floyd! Yes, we read those phony essays. We observe those cynical little smiles on the faces of the people who are denying racial and racist division of the world. Individuals who are defending the status quo, the rule of that tiny minority over the planet, so they could maintain their advantages. Some defenders of status quo are now going as far as claiming that the rebellion against the white rulers is actually some sort of dark conspiracy theatre, triggered by the well-concealed business elites, or that it is connected to COVID-19; but above all, that it is not spontaneous at all. It is clear, where they really stand and what they want to achieve. It is never “them”. It is always somebody else. They keep pointing fingers at some invisible bankers, or the minorities in their own countries. You know precisely what I mean. As long as it is not them! But it is all much simpler: most of Europe and North America are constructed on white racism. And so is imperialism, colonialism. Citizens in the West are voting right-wing scum, voluntarily, and consistently. Can you imagine a genuine North American or European “internationalist”? Maybe a few. Perhaps 1%. Not more! So, the proverbial gold keeps flowing in. And billions of non-whites are rotting alive, in all corners of the globe. My friends, my comrades, all over the world, are now opening their eyes, realizing what is happening in the United States and its colonialist daddy: Europe. Many of them, of course, already knew. At least they knew something. But those who did not, are now wide awake, getting well aware of the brutality of the Western regime, as well as of the racist nature of the “global arrangement”. Those who were, for centuries, manufacturing consent, justifying and glorifying colonialism, imperialism, racial discrimination, as well as Western supremacy, can suddenly do nothing to stop the avalanche of awareness. This may be the beginning of the end of segregation, of global apartheid. Just the beginning of the true struggle for equality. A knee of a beefy white racist cop in Minneapolis, which had cut the supply of air, killing an African-American person, somehow managed to trigger that avalanche. Nobody wants to live like this. Oppressed nations do not want to be threatened this way by those white Western cynics and nihilists: like Clinton and Trump, Navarro, Pompeo, and others. What a hellish troop of third-rate violent people! Oppressed minorities inside the empire, be they of African descent, Hispanics or Chinese, are sick of the vicious and repulsive racism. Mostly, they are frightened to speak. But now, day by day, they are gaining courage. *** The United States of America has been built on the genocide of the non-white people. The great majority of native folks had been slaughtered so the small number of the first and brutal European settlers could thrive. This is “to some extend” known fact, but learning in-depth what really happened to the original inhabitants of ‘America’ has been thoroughly discouraged. Word ‘genocide’ is hardly ever uttered, in connection with the first chapters of U.S. history. Actually, it is taboo. Slavery has been turned into folklore. Millions, tens of millions of broken, methodically destroyed human lives, is hardly ever presented in its real, nightmarish authenticity. People in Africa were hunted down like animals, tortured, raped, killed, and shipped like cattle to the so-called ‘free’ and ‘democratic’ “New World”. Does a country constructed on such macabre foundations have really any moral right to call itself ‘free’? Can it be allowed to police the world? It is as if you would allow that murder cob who killed Mr. Floyd, to run a nation! And those states which are now forming Europe? Their citizens are the descendants of those who were hunting down millions of human beings. Offspring of those who perpetrated and then got rich on such mass-slaughters as those of the Namibians, or people who used to inhabit what is now known as Congo. When dragged to the broad daylight, it is all very, very uncomfortable, isn’t it? Better to sweep the truth under the carpet, and talk about “love”, “goodwill”. And then keep robbing and murdering as before, far away from the cameras! This way, nothing would ever change. Repeating over and over again: “race does not matter; it is actually all about class”, could make those who are in control of the world feel good about themselves, even sometimes sorry for themselves, which is actually their favorite state of mind. But it is a terribly hypocritical and deceptive position. And it has to be unveiled if there is ever to be justice! *** On 3 June 2020, UN News, published an essay condemning the situation in the United States: “Voices calling for an end to “the endemic and structural racism that blights US society” must be heard and understood, for the country to move past its “tragic history of racism and violence”, the UN Human Rights chief said on Wednesday. “The voices calling for an end to the killings of unarmed African Americans need to be heard”, UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Michelle Bachelet said in a statement. “The voices calling for an end to police violence need to be heard”.” Ms. Bachelet, a Chilean, knows precisely what she is talking about! She knows what it is to have someone’s knee choking your aorta. Her father, an army General during the socialist era of President Salvador Allende, was murdered after the US-sponsored coup led by Augusto Pinochet. Ms. Bachelet herself was kidnapped and tortured. She looked ‘white’, but obviously not ‘white enough’ for Washington and its local assassins. What is truly significant is that even the United Nations (usually subservient to the US) is now unwilling to remain silent. *** Race ‘issues’ have to be addressed. Racism, inside the national boundaries, as well as on the global scale, has to be fought against, by all means. The depressing state of our planet is a result of racism. Look at the map of the world at the beginning of the 20th century, and you will see: a great majority of the nations were colonized by the West. Colonialism is one of the most evident forms of racism. It humiliates victims, it robs them of everything: of culture, dignity, land. To a great extent, most of the world is still being colonized. Even right now, as this is being written. Almost the entire Planet is brutally controlled by the racist West-centric education system, and by the mass media which is controlled by the White boy’s Western narrative. Things have been arranged, so that the people in non-Western countries have been ‘learning’ and ‘getting informed’ about themselves from the Western curriculums and the fraudulent sources disseminated by the US and British media outlets. That is grotesquely racist, isn’t it? Close to 10 million people have died in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), in just a quarter of a century. It is because they have coltan, uranium, and other essential raw materials, desired by the West. But also, because to the West, their black lives matter close to nothing. My film, “Rwanda Gambit”, is clearly addressing the issue. But who cares? In the West, they rather watch porn, instead of learning the greatest genocide of the 20th Century, which they helped to trigger! And who cares about the West Papuans, who are murdered with almost the same intensity by the Indonesians, on behalf of their Western masters? After all, the West Papuans are blacks, therefore matter nothing. On those millions, mountains of corpses, huge companies, and even entire countries are thriving, prosper. While their CEOs and Presidents are talking rubbish about some ‘corporate responsibility’ and love for democracy. And most of the white Europeans, Canadians, Australians, have to sacrifice very little, in order to live their obnoxiously luxurious lives. Isn’t this racist? The entire arrangement of the world is! Soon, it will be impossible to hide behind all those lies. I work at the frontlines. Where human bodies are crushed by all that “love” of the white colonialism and racism, directly but also indirectly. Racist violence is the most repulsive and the creepiest thing on Earth. I want it to end; once and for all. I don’t care if some shops get looted or trashed in the process. Peaceniks who are crying over them are mostly sitting in their plush living rooms, watching censored news. They do not see those tens of millions of victims of racism rotting in tropical heat, floating on the surfaces of polluted rivers, thousands of kilometers away! Images of Mr. Floyd being murdered, slowly and sadistically, is as close as they ever got to reality. For centuries, they did all they could in order not to see. Now they are running out of excuses. Not to see, not to fight against the endemic global racism is a terrible crime. A crime that has been taking place for more than 500 years. The crime against humanity.