#Story seems to be set in Germany which never comes up in the story at all but if VERY good to know

[cats-and-hydrangea]

😴💭🐑🤍👨‍❤️‍👨

[oldfashionedbooklove]

tell me about your favorite lm montgomery novel please <3

Okay this is SO hard because her books are amazing but I just have to admit Rilla of Ingleside is my favourite, which is saying a lot because I LOVE HER BOOKS, okay! I adore the Story Girl duology and I absolutely love the Anne series and Jane of Lantern Hill.

But Rilla. This book is a heartbreaker. And it’s so beautiful.

I don’t know if I can fully express how much is to be found in this book. I have been reading it yearly for many years, and always come away with new thoughts. As I grow older, and see more of the world, I relate and understand more, and another level of the book is discovered.

The setting—a small P.E.I. town carrying on through WWI. I’m pretty tough when it comes to war books, but I have to take breaks from this one because it is so raw and real. The agony is intense. I cannot even cry over it—my heart hurts too much for tears. This shows exactly what the Great War was for people. You sway back and forth, feeling the dread and terror. You know how it ends but you are broken anyhow. And when the end comes, you too can only rejoice softly. You feel as if you have paid part of the price yourself.

“‘We’re in a new world,’ Jem says, ‘and we’ve got to make it a better one than the old. That isn’t done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be. The job isn’t finished—it isn’t really begun. The old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be the task of years. I’ve seen enough of war to realize that we’ve got to make a world where wars can’t happen. We’ve given Prussianism its mortal wound but it isn’t dead yet and it isn’t confined to Germany either. It isn’t enough to drive out the old spirit—we’ve got to bring in the new.’”

The characters in this book—they are alive. Splendid Jem, brave and merry and true; Jerry, steady and dutiful; Walter, sensitive and courageous; Carl, cheerful and fearless; Shirley, honest and reliable; Nan and Di and Anne, all heart-wrung and smiling; Gertrude, tragic and grasping for hope; the Doctor, determined and self-sacrificing; Susan, simple and true—and Rilla, who starts out a silly, frivolous girl and ends a strong, mature woman. Then there are all the minor and side characters—the Merediths, Cousin Sophia, Jimsy, Ken, Irene, Whiskers-on-the-Moon & his family, Mary and the Elliotts, Norman + Ellen, and everyone else. They’re all so alive, so real, so funny and terrible and beautiful—I swear Glen St. Mary exists and all the inhabitants thereof.

The story follows the Great War, from the first days in August 1914 to the bitter Summer of 1919, where peace has come but normal will never return. As a child, this story was simply World War One—a faraway, long-ago grief and horror and agony. Now, in 2024, as a woman, I have experienced a slight taste of what the people of 1914 felt, and it has humanized the story of the War. This, more than any other book I have read, brings the War and the world of 1914-1918 to life, showing how they were people just like us. The heart is wrung by their suffering, and there is no escape, for the war must drag on for long bitter years. And the price! Walter has become the face of unknown, forgotten heroes, and Jem has become that of the scarred heroes who returned. Every November we grieve the young men who never came home, and for the ones who came home missing a part of themselves, physical or otherwise. I have wept thinking of the children of Rilla, Ken, Faith, Jem, and the others—children who fought in WWII and whose parents were forced to relive the horrible conflict of mankind.

“It has been such a dreadful week,” she wrote, “and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I never realized before—of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.”

And yet the book overflows with humour—real laugh-out-loud scenes and witty, clever banter on princes and politics. It is another aspect of the humanity—the part that cannot fully let go of laughing despite the drain. Another angle is the shrewd commentary on principalities and powers, nations and cultures, is thought-provoking, as is the remarks that show us how the war truly changed the world.

“There was a time,” she said sorrowfully, “when I did not care what happened outside of P.E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings.”

But the biggest things to me is the SPIRIT of this book. The spirit of perseverance, endurance, courage, and love. Of course, man is man, and there is suspicion, contempt, and a feeling of superiority—but this is not exclusive only to Anglo-Saxons. As someone who isn’t Anglo-Saxon myself, and actually of mixed cultures, I can attest every nation is guilty of such. World War One was a battle of good vs. evil—not of man vs. man, but Idea against Idea—the idea of civilization against militarism. Perhaps not on the part of the leaders—but when one studies the writings, letters, poems, and speeches of the everyday folks caught up in the war, one sees this distinction plainly. It was not a war of European against European, Anglo-Saxon against German—it was a war between an old, terrible Idea of Prussianism (Frederick the Great, anyone?) and the Idea of Respect and Peace.

“And you will tell your children of the Idea we fought and died for—teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.”

May we never forget.

A REMARK: I discovered that Rilla of Ingleside was abridged by about 4,300 words (~14 pages), so I searched for an unabridged copy. I definitely encourage you to take the extra trouble to find an *unabridged* copy. It is SO worth it! I’ve read both versions and the unabridged is so much fuller, with a great deal more humour and fun.

I just have to pick out my favourite quotes, too…

“We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting,” said Gertrude to John Meredith. “There have been many days in the past when I didn't believe in God—not as God—only as the impersonal Great First Cause of the scientists. I believe in Him now—I have to—there's nothing else to fall back on but God—humbly, starkly, unconditionally.”

“‘Our help in ages past’—‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,’ said the minister gently. ‘When we forget God—He remembers us.’”

Below her [window] was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.... Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

And I can’t leave without some humour:

“��The Germans have recaptured Premysl,’ said Susan despairingly… ‘and now I suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilized name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, ‘Ah yes, and they will get Petrograd next I have no doubt.’ I said to her, ‘My knowledge of geography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea that it is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.’ Cousin Sophia sighed again and said, ‘The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him to be.’ ‘Do not let him know that,’ said I. ‘It might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.’ But you cannot cheer Cousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. She sighed for the third time and groaned out, ‘But the Russians are retreating fast,’ and I said, ‘Well, what of it? They have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?’ But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like the situation on the eastern front. [But] Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.’”

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Interlude: I Promise

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: As Hugh comes to terms with loosing everyone he cares about, Gale finds himself in Germany with his war over, but he does find something he cares about very much.

October 16th 1943, Thorpe Abbott AAF base

Munster had been Hugh’s 25th mission. It was an achievement he could only have dreamt of when he first set foot on English soil. He had imagined celebrating the achievement with Gale and John, not sitting alone on the wing of his plane. It hadn’t felt right celebrating the evening of the Munster mission, not when they had lost so many. Hugh had arranged with Harding to push the celebration back until the weekend but his crew was becoming impatient and he couldn’t deny them their chance to celebrate.

The rest of his crew were celebrating in the mess hall, he’d been there for a good portion of the evening, drowning his sorrows in the corner. His crew couldn’t wait to go home to their families but Hugh… well he couldn’t bear the thought of going home without Hope. How could he leave her behind?

He sat precariously on the plane's wing, his legs swinging beside one of the engines as he took a long swig from the champagne bottle he’d stolen from the officers club. The liquor was foul, but then again Hugh did only really have a taste for the VAT-69. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of it right now. Hell, if only Bucky hadn’t stolen his 25th mission bottle from his footlocker.

Hugh slouched back, an elongated sigh leaving his lips. What he wouldn’t give to have Bucky sat beside him now. Damn, he’d give him the bottle just for some company. For some normality. Despite having bickered like an old married couple, Hugh missed Bucky more than anything, or was it the link that Bucky bought with him. Wherever Bucky was, Buck wasn’t far behind, which meant Hope wouldn’t be far behind him.

Hugh rubbed the single tear that slipped down his cheek, as he sucked in another mouthful of the cheap, nasty alcohol. He was surprised he had any tears left to cry, between losing Hope, then losing nearly all his friends, completing his 25th mission seemed so insignificant when no one was there to celebrate with him. Rosie had tried to reassure him, and Croz had sat with him for a long while as he cried, then again Croz had his owns demons to fight after losing Bubbles.

The sun would rise soon, a very bright, orange line appeared on the horizon, bringing the promise of a new day that Hugh couldn’t wait to see the back of. ‘Just fly your Goddamn plane and kill some Nazis’ he’d told himself when Harding had informed him of today's mission, ‘Do it for Hope.’

The rumble of an approaching jeep stirred Hugh from his thoughts and Ken Lemmons could be seen below, waving up at him.

“Good mornin’, Major,” Ken smiled cheerfully, but his face soon fell as Hugh waved back at him, bottle of champagne still in his hand. “Major, you been out here all night?”

“I don’t know, Ken. Honestly, I don’t really remember much from last night,” Hugh admitted, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag, admiring the way the smoke wafted into the early morning sky.

“That’s probably for the best,” Ken laughed, climbing up beside him, taking the cigarette from his outstretched and inhaling deeply. “You had quite the night.”

“Oh yeah, any good stories?” Hugh mumbled, he could barely remember reaching his plane let alone anything before that.

“Well, I can safely say that Pappy thinks you were a stripper in a former life.”

Hugh cocked his head, staring at Kenny as he waited for the punchline that never came. Ken’s face remained plain and stoic and Hugh realised that he was speaking the truth. He’d wondered where his jacket and shoes had gone.

“I guess I did have a good night then,” he mumbled, taking another swig from the bottle. He rubbed his hand along the Forts wing in admiration. “She sure is a fine one, Ken. Hope would be proud.”

Ken nodded solemnly, placing a comforting hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I really am sorry Hugh.”

“Ah, it’s not your fault, Kenny,” Hugh turned to face the young mechanic. “Hope was always a free spirit, it was only a matter of time until her luck ran out. I guess that’s what happens to us all eventually. Our luck runs out.”

“Don’t go thinking like that, Major. You’re coming back here in one piece and you're bringing this Fort back with you. Remember you’re a member of ‘Hope’s Heroes’ now, she’s looking out for you.”

Hugh chuckled at the Fort's name, it had been a surprise from Croz and Rosie after he’d completed his 25th mission. They’d had Ken and his boys paint over the original pinup and replaced it with a nurse with an uncanny similarity to Hope, paired with the name… well Hugh couldn’t have been more proud. He wasn’t sure what crew would be flying with him, his original crew had become family and it would be strange to fly without them. It didn’t matter really, as long as they did their jobs. Besides he’d be flying with his sister now so he’d never truly be alone.

“This one’s for you, Hope.”

He raised the bottle high, pouring the rest of the alcohol down onto the plane's wing, watching as it ran along the rivets, dripping down onto the tarmac below.

He nodded towards Ken who sent him a small smile in reply, helping him up and off the wing.

“For Hope,” he mumbled under his breath, glancing back at the plane one last time before reluctantly following the mechanic to the jeep. “For Hope.”

October 22nd 1943, Stalag Luft III

His whole body ached, each step felt like a mammoth effort as his sharp eyes stared up at the gates before them. The track through the pine forest felt like an eternity, and yet now when stood in front of the gates that sealed his fate, Gale realised he could have walked for miles if it meant not ending up in another camp like Dulag Luft. The large gates swung back on their hinges with a clang, shaking the barb wire along the fences. Gale could feel the eyes of guards on him from every angle. Large watch towers stood high above the camp, every area under intense scrutiny from the Luftwaffe guards. Demarco mumbled something beside him but he barely registered his copilot's voice, too preoccupied by the intense feeling of dread. He prayed Hope hadn’t ended up in a place like this.

The sea of prisoners moved as one, sweeping through the gates in a mass as the Kraut guards shouted at them. Everything had to be shouted, to be loud and unsettling. It was the way they worked. Gale shuffled onwards, keeping his head down and ignoring Benny’s protests from beside him. He glanced up when a few unfamiliar voices began to call out to them.

His eyes trailed along the barbed wire fencing, looking into the compounds on either side of him. Multiple wooden huts occupied each compound and people began to funnel out of them. The prisoners began flocking towards the new arrivals, moving as fast as they could in their incapacitated states. Their clothes hung loosely to their starved bodies, grime and dirt clinging to their skin. Gale winced at the smell as they enclosed around them, forming ranks against the wire fencing.

Their hands reached through the wire, grasping and shouting at the new prisoners. Some were dressed in the easily recognisable AAF uniforms, while others were RAF. Gale tried to keep his head low, moving forward one step at a time.

It wasn’t until Benny’s elbow dug sharply into his ribs that his head shot up. He glared at his copilot who pointed forward.

“I may be hallucinating but isn’t that Hope?” Gale’s heart leapt and he followed Benny’s outstretched finger to a small, dark-haired figure huddled near the end of the compound.

"Hope?"

The figure raised its head and he meant the unmistakable dark eyes of his fiancée.

"HOPE!" He rushed forward, ignoring the fact that he was breaking formation and he no longer cared. It was Hope, his Hope. She was alive.

As he reached her, he squeezed his hand through the fence, grasping hers. It felt cold and frail beneath his touch. What had they done to her?

"Oh Hope," the words fell weakly from his lips, his voice cracking at the effort of containing his emotions.

"Gale?" Hope whispered, her dark eyes looking at him tearfully. She weavedher hand through the fence further to grip hold of his jacket, "Gale?"

"It's me. I'm here," he reassured her, needing her to know that this was real. He pulled her as close as he could through the fence, craning his neck so he could place his lips to hers. Despite the awkward angle, their lips met briefly. It was the faintest and briefest kiss they had ever shared, and yet Gale knew it would be a kiss he’d remember for the rest of his life.

"I can't believe I found you,” he admitted, letting large tears rolled down his dirty cheeks. He didn’t care who was watching, it didn’t matter anymore. "I found you, just like I promised."

Hope opened her mouth but the shout of a guard behind them silenced her. Gale felt a hand gripping his back, dragging him back and inline with the other prisoners. Gale tried to stand his ground but the guard raised his weapon, prodding it into Gale’s chest as he shouted.

He threw his hands into the air, backing further away but his eyes stayed on Hope's. "I'll find you, Hope. I promise I'll find you," he shouted as he was moved further away from her. He couldn’t stand to see the pain in her eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her. His eyes remained trained on her small figure until she completely disappeared from view.

His heart sank and he felt Benny’s arm wrapping around his shoulder, encouraging him forward.

“It will be okay, Buck. She’s alive, that’s all that matters.”

Gale knew he was right but the image of Hope looking so distraught and broken was seared into his mind. How could someone so brave look so broken? Gale hated to think what his girl had to endure but he was here now and he wasn’t about to let her suffer if he could help it.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @beebeechaos @forsythiagalt @prettyinlimegreenboots @malarkgirlypop

[starlight-and-the-moon]

AHHHHHHHHH

gift for the @mcyt-halloween event for @a1sart

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG!!!!!!!

_______________________

He didn’t remember much of the accident.

He remembered chatting, talking, but about what?

His father turned around to respond, and in this moment- he could still hear the screams, could still hear metal crunching.

Ranboo buried his parents a week later. 

After this… incident, he was taken into foster care, sent to a strange town. Ranboo would survive, he had to, but at what cost?

Luckily, this cost would never be found, for his sister had come home from Germany.

Niki was a woman of many strengths. After their parent’s passing, she saved and saved so she could come back to the United States to take care of her little brother. A miracle came in the form of the house on Prime Path.

The real estate agent warned her of a haunting, mysterious incidents in the house, but why would she listen? It made the market value drop. 

So that was how Ranboo, aged sixteen, found himself in front of a single story house in the middle of nowhere.

“Okay, so, welcome to the place,” Niki said, trying to appear confident.

Her emotions were always, forever, present. And she let them be, because why would she not?

Ranboo could never, Crying hurt their soul in a way that bled.

Niki continued talking. “I set up your stuff in the attic, come take a look!”

Dubiously, Ranboo climbed the ladder to the attic. Surprisingly, it seemed… half decent.

There was a bed and a bookcase, with a wardrobe against the other wall. On the bed was a black, small book.

“My memory book,” they whispered. “Thank you, Niki. Really.”

Niki looked at him, and smiled. “THis is hard, but we will get through this, okay? I am here.”

Ranboo hugged his sister, overcome with emotions. Not the sad stuff, the happiness. Or maybe not that.

It was the feeling of driving by a childhood home. It was the feeling of reading an old favorite book, almost forgotten.

Wrapped in this feeling, neither sibling noted two little shadows, watching from the ceiling. 

ᯓ★

As Ranboo settled into the house, strange things would happen.

“Hey, Niki, did you see my notebook?” they asked one day.

“No!” his sister had shouted back. Ranboo and Niki had looked everywhere for the memory book, but they didn’t find it. It wasn’t on a random bookcase or on a counter, wasn’t in between the couch cushions.

Niki sighed. “Ran, maybe we should-” she slumped on the couch, then reached behind her. “Oh.”

In her hands was the little black book.

“That’s odd,” Ranboo whispered. “I could have sworn we checked there.” The irony of forgetting his memory book was not lost on him. But, there was nothing to be concerned about, so he slipped upstairs to the attic.

Another time, when Niki was out at her bakery, he’d made himself breakfast. 

“Where’s the milk…” he muttered. 

Cheerfully, a voice behind him shouted, “in the fridge, you menace.” He turned around to thank the voice-

-and then remembered he was home alone. Oh well.

These strange, recurring incidents came to a head on January 4th. Ranboo knew because it was all laid out in his journal- he’d stopped bringing it places in fear of losing it.

He had been rummaging for a letter he had received when he was young, needing to relive the memory. He reached up to the top shelf of the bookshelf-

-two pairs of eyes, one blue, one brown, met his. 

Excuse him for fainting straight away.

ᯓ★

“Tubbo, did you fucking kill him?’ a voice said above him.

HAnds on his wrist, hands on his face. 

“Nope, bossman. He seems alive.” 

Something slapped Ranboo’s wrist. He jolted up.

“Holy fuck, you can touch him!!!” the first voice yelled. Ranboo couldn’t quite make sense of it. “Does this mean-”

“No, I don’t think-”

The two boys fought back and forth while Ranboo observed their surroundings. The two boys seemed to be… translucent? One of them had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. When Ranboo tried to focus on him, his appearance distorted into green. 

The second boy, which was apparently Tubbo, was much shorter. Brownish eyes and brown hair. Both boys wore extremely dirty, tattered clothes. 

Ranboo cleared their throat. “Uh… what’s happening?”

The two boys craned their necks, turning around to look at him. 

“We’re your roommates, dumbass,” the blonde snarked. Tubbo elbowed him. 

“This ray of sunshine is Tommy,” Tubbo added. “I’m Tubbo. And yes, we are your roommates.”

“Wha- how?”

Tommy’s blue eyes appeared to cloud over. “S-sometime before, there was a man in the house. He liked to visit my brothers. One- one day, he was there, and the next… he found me taking a walk. I woke up and was like this. A spirit.”

Tubbo nodded. “Same here. I moved into this house, and one of the neighbor kids- he was coming towards me, and I woke up like this.”

Ranboo nodded. Then, a thought came to mind. “Prove it.”

Tommy stared, resembling a koi fish. But Tubbo stood. 

“As you wish.”

And, just like so, he walked through the wall.

Look, if he was going to faint twice in one day, he might as well do it with style.

ᯓ★

When Ranboo awoke, the sun was shining. 

“Get up, sleepyhead,” Niki said, standing on the attic to the ladder. “You have school.”

Ranboo’s blood ran cold. Ah, yes, the school. That was a thing. 

He had been good in school before the accident. After, he just couldn’t focus. It had been winter break, but now it was over, and with it came the greeting of a bell.

“Don’t get in trouble, Ranboo!” said Tommy’s voice from behind him. and Ranboo jumped.

“Tommy,” he said, voice patient. “You cannot do that.”

Tubbo faded in behind him. “Good luck in hell, bossman!” 

Ranboo’s brows knitted in concern. “Uh, why do you say that?” 

“I don’t know!” the smaller boy replied. “Now go!”

ᯓ★

The first day of school. to put it lightly, sucked. 

It was all a blur. 

“What’s your name?”

“Ranboo.”

“Alright, Ranboo, this is the class. Now everyone, pull out your notebook, we will be doing quadratic equations. If you fail, you will be executed.”

Or something like that. He might have exaggerated a tad. 

At lunch, he sat alone, picking at some questionable pizza. He made a mental note to ask Niki to start packing him a lunch.

“Yo, kid,” said a voice. “This is my table.” Ranboo looked up. The speaker wore a hoodie in the ugliest shade of green known to society, and his face was fully covered. 

Deflect, deflect, deflect. 

“...uh…”

“I said move!” the kid raised a fist, and Ranboo flinched back.

He did not need to worry, for the kid decided to punch himself in the face.

“W-what’s happening!” they screeched, before seeming to be yanked back.

Ranboo ate his lunch in peace that day.

ᯓ★

When Ranboo got home, Tommy and Tubbo greeted him.

“Hey-”

Ranboo looked at them. “Why did you follow me to school today?”

Both boys looked down, before Tommy spoke. “You’re literally the only one that can see us!”

Tubbo looked at the floorboards. “You have people, but we only have each other. We- we can’t risk it.”

What does it take, to be locked in a home on your own?

Suddenly, it all clicked for Ranboo.

Everyone would come and go, next to them but never able to see them.

No one could tell their story. No one could see them. No one but Ranboo.

What’s worse, finishing your story or writing more that no one will read?

“Oh…” he said softly. “Oh.”

The boys nodded. “Y-you’re the closest thing to a friend we’ve had in ages,” Tubbo explained.

Tommy nodded. “We’re sorry.”

Ranboo looked at them, in their eyes. Stared at them, saw past Tommy’s green static.

“No. Don’t be.”

And that was how a second beginning began.

There was a house on Prime Path once, where they said monsters lurked.

If you enter the house, you might see a woman baking. Climb the ladder, you’ll see a boy on the floor. He’ll be talking to someone, and you won’t see who.

It won’t matter. 

There is no monsters in this house.

And if things crash and break, and the lights flicker, just yell “I see you.”

Because anything looks like a monster if it’s shrouded away. 

[schraubd]

The Day After Hamas

The New York Times reports increasing "daylight" (to use an old term) between President Biden and Netanyahu regarding what the aftermath of the Gaza campaign will look like -- specifically, regarding the role that the Palestinian Authority might have in governing Gaza once (knock on wood) Hamas is defeated.  Paul Campos thinks this is reflective of the worries regarding "the administration’s up until now very muted response to the siege of Gaza, and the gathering human rights and public health catastrophe that it represents." I'm not sure that's quite right, though it's perhaps lurking in the background. The more prominent instinct, I think, is that Biden fundamentally agrees with Israel regarding the merits and necessity of destroying Hamas, but fundamentally disagrees with Bibi regarding "the day after". The more "the day after" becomes salient in our minds and we start thinking not in terms of the war's prosecution but its aftermath, the more we're going to see latent but always-present disagreements between Bibi and Biden come to a fore. One sees this dynamic particularly in how Biden relates his response to Bibi's claim that the allies "carpet bombed Germany" -- "I said, 'Yeah, that’s why all these institutions were set up after World War II, to see to it that it didn’t happen again.'" The former point is about prosecution of the war, the latter point is about how we handled the aftermath. For Biden, destroying Hamas has to be followed by aggressive state-building efforts meant to provide a real future (economically, socially, and politically) for the Palestinian people. The allusion to the Marshall Plan after World War II is clearly part of this, and other relevant players are also insisting that any plans for rebuilding Gaza credibly commit to a realistic pathway for Palestinian statehood. For Bibi -- well, I really have no idea what Bibi's "day after" plan is. I don't think he actually wants to fully reoccupy Gaza; but he also doesn't want the PA involved; or international involvement; and certainly Hamas is out the question; so ... where are we left? He seems much more interested in what he'll say "no" to than what he can plausibly say "yes" to, because at this stage in the game reality has become Bibi's unconquerable enemy. And Biden, in turn, isn't going to have a lot of patience for Israel post-war simply refusing to let Gaza rebuild itself or have any sort of self-governance structure whatsoever just because Bibi can no longer square the circle of "no formal occupation" and "no Palestinian independence" by building a castle around Gaza and then never thinking about it again.. Even if one accepts that Israel is pot committed to destroying Hamas, that doesn't obviate but rather accentuates the need to have a serious answer to the "day after" question. Anyone remotely serious figure understands that the war in Gaza is the middle of the story, not the end, which makes it unsurprising that Bibi wants to treat it as an end and just close his eyes to what happens in the aftermath. Biden is a more serious person, and so he's actually contemplating these questions.  via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/FUY0IK1

[chrisevansonly]

EXCITING NEWS I NEED TO SHARE WITH MY TUMBLR PALS/FAMILY🤍

You guys are like my family, you’ve constantly been there for me, checking in on me, as well as just providing so much support and love towards not only my work on here but towards me as well and there will never be enough words to thank you all for everything you’ve done for me.

Most of you know I graduate soon, June 14th I’ll be handed my degree, but i’m done April 12th, and i’ll be the first person in my family to graduate university. That has always been something i’ve wanted to do since I was little but always struggled to find my passion until I found Law and fell in love with everything it has to offer.

Another part of my story you all know or recently found out is i’m a survivor of abuse from my stepfather, and neglect from my mother which left me to fend for myself growing up, and looking after my younger brother as well who graduates high school this year and is moving to Germany. I never thought 1. I’d make it to 20 and next month i’ll be 24 and still here, still fighting for myself even if it hurts like hell. Watching my brother grow up to be strong, and resilient like me only helped pushed me to continue on with my journey, because I owed it to him to live my own life after looking after him for basically 18 years now.

It’s still crazy to me that I’m even here writing this news to share with you all because some of you genuinely have been with me through this whether it’s from tiktok or just tumblr.

BUT WITHOUT FURTHER ADUE…

Ive been debating this decision for a while, if you don’t know i’m british canadian, my father lives in the UK and I live in Canada, he moved back when I was little but since then he’s kept in contact with me everyday, and been a parent to me from across the world. I’ve had my eyes set on moving to the UK eventually, specially the London area to practice law and build my career and my life in a new place, a new city and a fresh start which I keep telling myself I deserve. So to stop rambling and being annoying, as I’m currently working on getting my British Passport, since both the UK and Canada recognize dual citizenship; the possibility and opportunity of moving is almost set in stone.

So basically it looks like i’ll be moving to London next year, and I couldn’t be more excited for this new adventure and for the sudden weightless feeling I have…i’ve always fallen behind and lost who I was and it just seems like everything is coming together and I couldn’t be more excited…my neighbours think i’m crazy with all the tears and dancing i’ve been doing all morning🥹😭

[historymakesmeangry]

Hogan's Heroes after the war headcanons

Carter:

I'm taking this from a fic I read (can't remember the name rn), but he would totally become a high school chemistry teacher- would be the students' favorite teacher for sure

Starts a family pretty soon after coming home, has a big family which he loves wholeheartedly

Tells stories of the war to his children and grandchildren despite it being classified, no one knows if he's telling the truth or not (and yes, he does both, he loves tell more tame, false stories to make the real stories seem more outlandish)

Goes partially deaf during the war from his explosions

Helps create the town's Fourth of July fireworks show, people come from all over the state (and sometimes surrounding states) to see it

Hogan:

Stays in the military afterwards - the higher ups wanted to make him a General but he reasoned he would be stuck behind a desk more often than not, so does as much as he can (read: gets into trouble) to stay a colonel

Stays in Germany, officially working in West Germany but takes frequent trips to East Germany as a spy (perhaps he works for the newly formed CIA with his military job being a cover)

Keeps in touch with Shultz and Klink after the war, mostly to bother them or to use them for a scheme of his. But makes sure they have enough food during the hard times (which isn't as bad bc they live in West Germany)

Marries Tiger a long time after the war, they both got busy and hardly ran into each other, but they knew they wouldn't find someone else better for them after years had past (they wanted to settle down before they did and both of their jobs didn't allow that)

Kinch:

I see him staying in the military as well, do know what he would do, but I don't feel like he would be stationed or work in Europe. Maybe he works as a translator

Keeps on learning new languages, he loves languages and tries to learn as much as he can

Boxes in his spare time, he's the champion of his category for a long time running, it becomes a challenge in his neighborhood to beat him in a fight

He keeps up with radios as well, taking in old ones to fix and resell and making some by scratch, never sees the interest in TV, the radio is all you need

Starts a good sized family, it was never a question on wanting to (as so many decide not to have kids to bring them into horrible situations the world can throw at them), he had his mind set on a family since he was a child

LeBeau:

Starts a successful pastry restaurant in Paris

Has enough money and respect to open another or even make his restaurant bigger, but denies it, wanting to have the smaller, homier feel

He tries to find Mayra to marry, but gives it up when he finds a woman much better than her (the rest of the team all gave a collective sigh of relief when he met his wife)

Rescues dogs to a point it becomes an issue that his friends had to hold an intervention

Newkirk:

Also inspired by a fanfic (which I also don't remember it's name), he goes into the BBC, first starting with radio, but when TV becomes popular he moves onto that - acting of course, but once and a while he'll help with the costumes when they are understaffed and out of time

Is asked by the government to keep on spying for them, but he never liked that stuff anyway, too many people getting shot

Does marry but never has kids by choice (he had a horrible father and doesn't even want the chance of becoming like him), he spoils his nieces and nephews instead

Goes without question that they all keep in contact, with Carter sending the most letters, and even meet up in one of their respective countries every couple of years

[regarding-stories]

When your backstory beats your story (Part 1): Aventuria

(This is going to be a bit of a crossover story between two of my blogs.)

You may not have heard of it, but Germany's best-selling role-playing game is called "The Dark Eye" ("Das Schwarze Auge"). Its first edition beat D&D to market in Germany in the early 80s and has been the dominant tabletop RPG there ever since - generating also several computer games, and finally an English edition that was able to create some hype in the US market, something which its publisher Ulisses increasingly targets (because more customers).

The game itself evolved from a very simplistic system that was fast to pick up over two more editions that revised and expanded it, only to become an overly complex monster in its 4th edition where most people needed a fan-made PC editor to create characters. I don't particularly like the system, which always tended to be "whiffy" (lots of rolling for little effect in combat) and has never been truly fixed, unable to let go of its poor game design legacy.

I have a soft spot for 1st edition, though. It's the first RPG I ever played. It's simple. You're not feeling like a complete idiot (like in many editions of D&D at the beginning). It quickly got you into playing. And there existed some decent adventures of the kind I like.

Sold by the stories

While I personally was more into dungeon-style exploration fantasy, Dark Eye adventures tended more towards stories. (I just happened to be led through an adventure of the style I loved when playing first.) The Dark Eye is probably the most-supported system on this planet when it comes to published adventures, numbering in the hundreds.

Most of these are story-based or focus on character interaction to a good degree, and in fact many Dark Eye gamers are kind of stereotyped as wanting to hang out in taverns and with nobles to have long conversations, invoke the setting gods in their exclamations, and generally be more like LARPers (Live Action RolePlaying - when you dress up). I've encountered way too many of them off- and online to disagree - just like D&D is known for its murder hobo power gamers for a reason.

But given the endless focus on dungeon adventures in D&D and saving the world, The Dark Eye can be a breath of fresh air for getting into well-rounded characters, finding solutions to complex problems, and generally, you know, actually role-playing your character.

You know, most of the things that these days make RPG streaming a thing.

A mixture of more low-key stories and various ideas certainly made it stand out compared to D&D, and to this day such preferences can make you chose one game over the other.

So it makes sense we're talking stories here. So why did the Dark Eye have a backstory problem?

Because it was like this

When you started playing in the 1980s, you basically came into a very settled civilization. There was a large "Middle Empire/Realm" which was the successor the original Empire, and it was a country spanning a big part of the map which was, politically, very static. So were most of its neighbors.

If you picked up the official zine of the setting you would hear of events such as the umpteenth "war" between two impoverished mini-states full of country bumpkins with long rivalries as a recent event. In the early 90s a part of the setting evolved towards the renaissance, but that made it seem even more static. (It was, in some ways, a mirror image of part of the history of the Holy Roman Empire of German Nation. The not-so-exciting parts, depending on your tastes.)

There were tantalizing hints that some much cooler place existed beyond the ocean, the Golden Land (or Myranor), but they largely remained hints back then. Years later, after I lost interest, it was published as an alternate setting for the game, IIRC. Think about hearing of it being hinted for a long time in the 90s and then finally starting to appear in 2000 onwards. It was just too late for me, personally.

Stoking desires but not fulfilling them was a hallmark of The Dark Eye for a long time. Because interesting things did happen, but they either happened somewhere else, far away, or outright unavailable (like Myranor, a discontinued Hollow Earth setting with Japan as inspiration), or in an even less reachable place - the past.

Splendor Of Days Gone By

There is a temptation for any fantasy author, especially authors writing setting books for players, to make up grand chronologies of past events. People generally blame Tolkien for this, given that he created a grand mythological setting with several long ages as backdrop for his "Lord of the Rings".

The reason the "Tolkien did it too" argument is rather weak (in my book) is, however, that Tolkien created his mythology as the backdrop to an engaging, much-beloved story. Compare how many people have read "The Lord of the Rings" with how many have read "The Silmarillion" and you can immediately see how Tolkien did not slack on giving us a good, dramatic story when we first heard about it.

Not so most fantasy authors.

Reading the Dark Eye's history of the setting itself, you have to wonder about the state of mind the authors. Here they put all those exciting events that almost none of their adventures contained:

A royal family of the Old Empire that fell to demon worship and incest.

A march of 1,000 ogres that razed the biggest city in the world.

Wars of conquest, rebellions, the formation of nations.

Several orc invasions.

A sorcerer-king that was in league with demons.

A magican and philosopher-king who ended that threat and ruled a looong time.

A viking era.

Etc.

I really remember reading this back in the day and, being the newbie I was, just being desperate about how boring the present was. Basically the backstory often kicked ass. It had movers and shakers, big dramatic events, and what the Chinese might call "interesting times."

Fixed After All

Eventually the makers of the game (the editorial board, as they are called), noticed themselves. Somewhere around the year 2000 games with meta-plots became a thing, especially in Germany, and big events kept changing their settings, keeping them interesting and preparing the ground for new adventures. And eventually Aventuria, the world of the Dark Eye, followed suit.

For example by bringing the sorcerer-king back and letting players be the protagonists influencing the events that end up bringing him down. What a novel idea...

Looking at the time-line since you kind of think that maybe these people realized they had buried all the excitement in their own, made-up history, because now there are events in there that are clearly inspired by what "came before" as the setting keeps marching forward.

Why it took them up to two decades to realize this is anybody's guess.

The role of backstory is typically to establish the "why" of elements in your story - or here the why of the setting. In Aventuria's case, it did the job of explaining the borders and where the various nations come from, but somehow, and rather unintentionally, it painted the picture of a dynamic and exciting world that eventually solidified and ended up as a rather sclerotic, phlegmatic version of itself.

In the end, as an author, that would have been the point to ask yourself which makes the better story. And go with that.

[spongebobafettywap]

you know after all the retconing and rewriting they've done to established characters these past 4 years that often contradicts all we knew about them and renders their motivation absolutely irrational, i ain't surprised that they'd pull something like that for nightcrawler which fucks up slightly less than 30 years (mystique reveal) and 20 years (azazel reveal) of his publishing history

what i don't get is

if the problem is azazel's character in nightcrawler's backstory (from the draco storyline),

why choose to entirely alter fundamental things about nightcrawler's life which makes some of his biggest heroic decisions overall pointless (giving up his place in heaven to keep azazel out of it since he was his anchor there + use his blood ties to him to clock him on earth) and make things more complicated and questionable about his origins by 1) giving an entirely new setting to nightcrawler's origins (cuz why the hell germany now, why the baron ...) 2) having mystique totally change roles, motivations and actions throughout the origins which goes against everything we've seen so far in main continuity and the alternative realities and 3) removing azazel completely

instead of improving on azazel's character?

there's so many blank spots in his backstory that could be filled, like a millennia worth of filling

we also don't have his pov on stuff... at all and a pov can give so much insight on someone's thought process especially villains

or hell you could reveal the draco was entirely from his pov and he preferred simplifying and seeing things this way rather than what actually happened (something people do)

it's not about making his actions redeemable here tho, it's about putting some dimension to a dimensional hopper's character and their actions

people complain about wanting to follow the "original plan" and doing anything with azazel now would lead to a lack of consistency, when what they call original plan wasn't that at all and consistency stopped mattering in marvel a long time ago with krakoa being its biggest offender

they literally retconned azazel into being a demon after austen's run ended and now went back to calling him a mutant like he originally was as if nothing happened

if i had to pick a poison, it would be that

This will be the last Marvel related question I answer for a while because I don't think the attitude of Marvel and writing of it's characters in such a pessimistic purely for shock value way is good for me to think about mentally. I am also going to make this a broader point about the Marvel/DC method of writing and rewriting and how it causes a stagnation effect.

I am not too sure really why people seem to think instead of trying to make a story work we have to go back and pretend none of the story happened, what is the point? Why should we read stories that go back and decide they didn't happen?

I guess when the goal is to have a series of characters who never age or progress beyond a year at best then you run out of new stories to tell. You have to keep going back and writing things over and over again because there is a certain point you cannot cross. But really I just feel like a story that has no ending is a pretty pointless one to read when it comes to a action adventure series.

I think in the late 20th century of Marvel you saw more of an effort to try and progress the story onwards and that whilst not always perfect at least resulted in it being a overall beloved part of Marvel. But I can't really think of anyone saying anything recently done by Marvel would ever have that same impact on them?

It seems oversaturation of comic books for the big 2 led to stagnation and retcon abominations over and over again. Maybe it would have been better for Marvel if they concluded 616 and moved onto a new universe, at least with DC the reality is always changing itself so that has a minute excuse of how the inconsistencies can work there.

Also anon I do think your idea for making the Draco be from Azazel's pov would explain a lot rather than the way they keep changing his character origins on a whim. But I don't know I don't really have faith in Marvel after what they did with Magneto and the Maximoff twins. I think Marvel is just going to be endlessly rewriting characters origin stories without there being an excuse like realities being reset in DC. They have a main timeline but with all they do it might as well not be 1 timeline.

And you are right that it makes the Amazing X-Men stories not have that sacrifice anymore which is a shame because that series at the start really felt like a return to form but I feel like Kyle and Yost kinda ruined it by focusing on Wolverine. (because we are all so starved for stories about him lol)

[anniekoh]

elsewhere on the internet: cancel culture, tech ideologies and more, per adrian daub

Literary scholar Adrian Daub wrote a thorough debunking of Stanford’s latest “cancel culture” kerfuffle on “banning” the word American.

Also have really been enjoying Daub’s 2020 book What Tech Calls Thinking: An Inquiry Into the Intellectual Bedrock of Silicon Valley.*

From the intro: “This is a book about the history of ideas in a place that likes to pretend its idea don’t have any history.”

From page 74: “The genius aesthetic that rules the tech industry relies again and again on this purely gestural kind of courage, on hyping everyday things into grand acts of nonconformism and even resistance.”

From page 86: “Silicon Valley has a habit of pretending to have a debate when in fact desiring no such thing. One version of this is reflected in the infamous ‘Google memo’ that James Damore uploaded.

There’s a delightful close reading of Ayn Rand’s “funhouse version of capitalist society“ (p 61) / “an economic system dreamed up by Borges” in which the “all-powerful architectural critic (yes you read that right) Ellsworth Toohey who is a Marxist and also in league with monopoly capitalists and also beloved by the populace, schemes to take over Gail Wynand’s newspaper on the strength of (and I’m not making this up) his writing a column in it.”

* Though there is a now anachronistic, overly kind to Musk aside on the “billionaire’s sense of responsibility to others and planet.”

Other helpful posts on Daub’s Substack (note that the German version is first, the English translation comes second)

Ein paar Überlegungen zu Cancel Culture Transfer (on their new book)

there is a mini-genre of Starbucks-related anecdotes that in fact almost seem like cancel anecdotes, but almost never appear in the context of cancel culture discussions (in Germany, as far as I could see, they do not appear at all ). These are incidents in which police officers in restaurants in the United States are (or claim to have been) the target of abuse or disrespect from staff — it’s not clear which, often testimony stands against testimony in such cases. Even though of course these incidents are clearly concerned with freedom of expression (of which we are told that we have to tolerate it, “even if” it is repugnant, objectionable or whatever), even though the case is amplified by an outraged response from the public (particularly online), even though the employer usually panics and just goes ahead and fires the employee(s) in question: in spite of all of this, these aren’t usually treated as episodes of “cancellation.”

Macht es was aus, dass es ein Sandwich war?

Does it matter that it was a freaking sandwich? "You've  definitely heard of silly stories like this," playwright, novelist and  PEN President Ayad Akhtar told his audience at the Festsaal Kreuzber on  December 2. "Students at Oberlin College protested that sushi was being  served in their university cafeteria." It was a bánh mì, not sushi. And  the story is almost ten years old. And it wasn't about cultural  appropriation. And the story turns out to be incorrect.

Maybe  none of that is super important. But with exactly two examples, at  least in the (according to the newspaper “slightly abridged”) speech  text that was published in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, the fact  that one of the two is wrong feels sort of relevant. In my book Cancel Culture Transfer I  try to show that the sloppiness of these anecdotes represents something  of a hermeneutic alliance between the author and a certain  reader/listener. I'm sure you've heard of this made-up story, Akhtar  told his audience. I'll tell it to you again, of course without googling  it first. Speaker and listeners gather around a fiction as though  around a warming campfire – that can of course be the role of the  writer, but perhaps not when he sets out to provide facts.

I  take no pleasure in having to dissect Akhtar's text here. I'm generally  a big fan of his writing, Homeland Elegies was one of my favorite books  during the pandemic years. But maybe that's also important here: when  Akhtar is good, he's tremendous. But for topics like this, he is … not  tremendous. He doesn't have to be. That's part of the genre. In recent  weeks, many interviewers have asked me incredulously whether I really  think all the cancel culture Cassandras, many of them luminaries (Peter  Sloterdijk! Anne Applebaum! Josef Joffe! Frank Fukuyama!), are “that  stupid”. No, I do not think that. I'm friends with some of them — and  find much of their other work good, or at least interesting. But what I  do think is this: once they sound off about Twitter shitstorms, “woke  mobs” and so on, they're almost never doing their best work. Or their  best thinking. The same goes for Akhtar. He didn't google the case in  Oberlin because it didn't matter. Such gestures of casualness are not a  by-product, but rather the beating heart of this discourse, and they  seem to infect anyone who ventures into its shallows: look, this kind of  text says, I don't even have to bother.

My strategy in Cancel Culture Transfer  was simple: I did bother. You don't have to follow my analysis at every  point, but I hope you've learned something from reading the book even  when you don’t. And you don't get that with a text like Akhtar's  — at  least I don't think so. So in my next few posts, I'm going to do a few  close readings of Cancel Culture articles in the German press, how they  function, and why I think they're grounded in a hermeneutics of  sloppiness that tells readers: don't worry too much about the facts.

Two more from Daub

Here at the End of All Things : On losing oneself in the geography of fantasy worlds, from Middle Earth to Westeros (Longread, Aug 2017)

The technolibertarian crossover of Germany’s would be kaiser (NY Mag, 2022)

[bopinion]

2024 / 08

Aperçu of the Week:

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

(Nelson Mandela)

Bad News of the Week:

Saturday marked the second anniversary of the Russian attack on Ukraine. One of the macabre highlights was that the mother of political activist Alexei Anatolyevich Navalny was allowed to receive the body of her son, who died under still unexplained circumstances in a prison camp in Kharp, Siberia. Perhaps his death (after all, he was by far the most prominent opposition figure in Russia) is most emblematic of Vladimir Putin's self-image, which simply does not tolerate any contradiction. He is the all-powerful tsar who alone knows what is good for his people - even outside Russia's borders.

That very Saturday, we were invited to dinner with friends. Our hostess comes from Ukraine. There are - of course - Russian traces in her family memory too. After all, she spent her childhood as an Ukrainian in the Soviet Union. Back then, she would have liked to do sports and loved dancing. She was not allowed to do either. She wasn't good enough to be promoted by the system as a cadre. And she wasn't supposed to do it just for fun. When the children of a society are not allowed to pursue their childhood interests, it shows the ignorance of a system towards its citizens - who only count as high achievers, not as people.

I was most impressed by the story of her grandmother. She was "relocalized" from western Ukraine to the Urals under Joseph Stalin. Without being asked, she had to leave overnight with her six children, leaving all her belongings behind, her husband was separated, officially considered "missing" and declared dead a few years later. Josef Vissarionovich Stalin ruled the country with a heavy and cruel hand - from 1927 until his death in 1953. Countless people died under his dictatorship, the figures range from 7 to 60 million. Both are incredible numbers. He strategically uprooted the lives of many more people, as there was to be no sense of (national or personal) identity in the Soviet Union. Like for our friend's grandmother, who was deported over 3,000 kilometers with her children.

It is well known that Putin considers the collapse of the Soviet Union to be the greatest misfortune in human history. From this point of view, his wars in Chechnya, Georgia and now Ukraine are only logical. In the "good old days", the Soviet Union covered almost a seventh of the planet's land mass. And it was the only system, before China today, that dared to challenge US supremacy in the world, see for example the Cuban Missile Crisis. The end of the Cold War, which among other things enabled Germany to reunify, may seem like a great liberation to us in the West. In the Russian self-image, however, things may be different. Despite all the atrocities, Stalin was extremely popular in the Soviet Union and his death was sincerely mourned, our friend told us. Perhaps Putin did not "hijack" the country, but is an expression of a human longing for authoritarian leadership. Which would also explain Viktor Orbán, Recep Erdogan and a whole series of African despots. And in their world, there is no room for dissent or questioning their power. Anyone who dares to do so will pay dearly for it. Like Navalny.

But perhaps that's not really bad news - after all, who is really surprised by this prime example of the nefariousness of Putin's regime?

Good News of the Week:

Not so long ago, NATO was declared "brain dead" (French President Emmanuel Macron) and "obsolete" (US President Donald Trump). And then came the Ukraine war. Suddenly, everything happened in quick succession: Sweden and Finland were or are being admitted to NATO, Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg is postponing his retirement, Germany is setting up a "special fund" of 100 billion to modernize its military, various troop units are being deployed to the Baltic countries, the arms industry is ramping up production everywhere, more and more members are targeting 2% of their gross domestic product for defence spending, the largest manoeuvre in the history of the defence alliance is being carried out, some of Russia's neighbors would rather apply for membership today than tomorrow ... In short: NATO suddenly seems to be alive and kicking.

Why? Quite simply because it is needed. At least Article 5, i.e. the duty to provide assistance in the event of defense, has become extremely attractive in view of the new threat situation. As a kind of life insurance against the new Russian danger. I don't understand why this should be new, as it has been on the cards for long enough. All the hope that "But Putin won't really..." was rather naive. Democratic values are being called into question and the security situation in Europe is unstable. In this respect, it is good that there is a solidarity between the states that have learned from past wars. And who have therefore clearly positioned themselves as a defense alliance.

But perhaps that's not really good news - after all, who can feel comfortable in the face of security policy uncertainties?

Personal happy moment of the week:

I met my wife 36 years ago. In French Canada. We both have family there. We will see them again in late summer. Because we're finally making it back across the Atlantic. We made the initial plans at the weekend and booked the flights. The anticipation is a happy moment that will last a long time. Nice. Very nice.

I couldn't care less...

...about the latest battle in which PeTA is currently engaged. The rebels for animal rights (PeTA = People for the ethical treatment of animals), as justified as their mission is, sometimes overshoot the mark. But this time you could almost take it for a media hoax: they no longer want animal figures on carousels. Because "the use of artificial animals can create the wrong image for people." What's next? A campaign against zodiac signs? Or that horses should no longer be abused in chess?

It's fine with me...

...that FC Bayern is terminating the contract with its coach Thomas Tuchel at the end of this soccer season. After Paris St. Germain and Chelsea FC, he has simply not delivered (enough) in Munich either. Besides, a coach is easier to replace than an entire team.

As I write this...

...I'm listening to "50s Rock" - a tip from my daughter. Because this music (Elvis, Bill Haley, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, The Everly Brothers...) would simply put you in a good mood. Works for me.

Post Scriptum

Germany is not doing well economically. The country that achieved the "economic miracle" after the Second World War, mastered the reunification with his east part, was instrumental in overcoming the euro crisis and has always been the largest net contributor to the European Union, is groaning. Too much bureaucracy, too little digitalization, too high labour costs, too little space, collapsing exports, too high tax burden, dilapidated infrastructure, too high energy costs, a lack of innovative strength, too slow regulation, too much pandemic, too much inflation, too much war...

This more than unfavorable mixture of factors has been felt for some time and with increasing intensity, and now we have it in writing. The latest economic report presented last week by Federal Economics Minister Robert Habeck states in short that Germany is expensive, bureaucratic and slow. Habeck therefore sees "cause for concern". Fortunately, he blames this not only on external factors (historically low global trade, loss of purchasing power or high interest rates), but also on home-grown problems: Due to the many disputes, the government has lost confidence, he says.

Now defense spending is set to increase significantly, Federal Finance Minister Christian Lindner is already publicly considering freezing social spending, the investment backlog would like to be resolved and then there's this annoying climate change that nobody takes seriously enough. I had the luxury of growing up in a world where things basically seemed to be on the up. But apparently only seemed to be. Now I fear that my children will have to pay a price for this.

[tipsycad147]

Our Ancestors’ Gods & Goddesses: Why & How To Work With Them

posted by : kitty fields

When beginners come to the path, the first thing they want to know is how to choose a god and/or goddess. This isn’t necessarily the first thing you have to know, but it can definitely help begin your spiritual journey. Often, the experienced pagans will tell the newbies to go with whatever god or goddess calls to them – whatever deity they feel the biggest connection to. While choosing a deity that you feel drawn to is perfectly fine, as you move forward on your spiritual path, look into your ancestors’ gods and goddesses. We will explore the reasons why it is beneficial to work with your ancestors’ gods, as well as discuss how to begin this enlightening process.

How to Choose An Ancestral God and Goddess

Choosing an ancestral god or goddess isn’t as difficult as it may sound, though it will require time and effort.

First, get to know your ancestors.

You won’t know how to choose an ancestral god or goddess if you don’t know your ancestors. Typically the excuses for pagans not working with their ancestors include: “I don’t know anything about my family”, “I’m adopted”, or “my family doesn’t talk to me”. These seem like valid excuses not to speak to our ancestors, don’t they? Wrong. If you don’t know anything about your family, start by speaking with the eldest person in your family and ask them questions. You’d be surprised what that person might know ��� even if it’s just a random story about an ancestor who died in the 1960’s. Even if it’s a rumor or family legend about where your ancestors originated. Whatever that person tells you, write it down.

DNA tests can help.

Secondly, for those who are adopted, get your DNA tested. There are dozens of companies testing DNA now including Ancestry and MyHeritage and 23andMe. They sometimes have discounted rates around the holidays, so keep an eye on the prices if you are on a limited budget. Or ask for it as a present for your next birthday or Christmas.

WARNING: if you are adopted (or even if you’re not), DNA tests sometimes reveal things in the family that you and your family might not be ready to handle. For example – grandpa might have lived a double-life back in the 60’s and has 2 kids the entire family never knew about. Sounds crazy, but it happens. You’ve been warned.

DNA Results and Google Searches

Next, Work With Your Ancestors

What does this mean to “work” with your ancestors? Cultures all around the world believe and participate in ancestor worship. It is calling on your ancestors and honoring your ancestors in your spiritual practice. You can set up an altar or a corner of a room and dedicate to your ancestors. Hang pictures of them on your walls. Give offerings to them based on what they might’ve liked while they were alive (anything from food to incense to flowers). Talk to them.

Find out what gods and goddesses they might have worshiped.

Now this might not apply to recent ancestors, as much of the world has been converted to abrahamic religions such as Christianity and Islam. But you can go back in time and research the pagan gods of your ancient ancestors. Keep in mind when you discover the potential gods of your ancient ancestors, there will be guesswork and intuition that comes into play. At some point, the world was in a tribal state of community. And each tribe sometimes had their own god and goddess which was different from the next tribe’s god or goddess. Depending on the time period and region, you might find a god or goddess that was widely venerated which can be the deity you choose to work with. Or the deity might choose you.

Searching for my Mother Goddess.

For example, I researched extensively the gods and goddesses of Southern Germany, Switzerland, and Northern France. My DNA is from this region and much of my ancestors are from these areas according to my research. I had a difficult time finding information on deities, as much of the information has been lost or watered down. After digging into the history, folklore, and fairy tales from that region I found my Mother Goddess. Or perhaps she found me. There were too many signs to deny her.

Learn how to work with the old gods in our new practical guide here:

Why Are Our Ancestors’ Gods Important or Beneficial?

Working with our ancestors’ gods is not only important, it is beneficial to your spirituality and life. Your ancestors’ blood runs through your veins. Your ancestors’ DNA combines and makes up your DNA. Not only do their physical traits transfer over to you, but their memories pass on to you, as well. No, you might not remember your ancestors’ lives, but it is an inherent part of your four bodies – physical, mental, emotional, and ethereal. There’s a literal blood link between you and your ancestors, which means that their gods are passed down to you through your DNA.

Awakening DNA Memory

Awaken your DNA memory by working with your ancestors. Research their origins – location, culture, religion, history, etc. Once you do this, you might discover you have awakened ancestral memory and an ancestral god or goddess easily comes through to you. Think about this. You initially choose the goddess Sekhmet, an Egyptian lion-goddess of war, revenge, and ferocity; however, you have no Egyptian DNA or ancestors. Another person of Egyptian blood seeks to work with Sekhmet on a spiritual level. Who do you think will benefit more from this relationship? Sekhmet will see the direct correlation with the individual whose ancestors once venerated her in Ancient Egypt and gravitate towards that person. It’s NOT racist. It just makes sense.

Obscure Gods & Goddesses: They’re waiting for you!

This isn’t to say this goddess would deny a person of non-Egyptian descent, it’s just pointing out the benefits of one who may be of Egyptian descent. Another benefit of choosing one of your ancestors’ gods is sometimes obscure gods and goddesses who haven’t been recognized in hundreds or thousands of years might be more willing to help you since you are one of few who actually address them. They might have been forgotten in the annals of time, and UP pops little ol’ you! You’ve built an altar for this obscure god, researched your ancestors’ beliefs, and now you’re trying to honor this god in your own way and bring your ancestors’ memory alive. How excited and willing to help would you be if your family forgot about you for hundreds of years than suddenly some kid decides to honor and talk to you out of nowhere? You can see the benefits of this relationship with obscure ancestral gods and goddesses. There’s a lot more out there than you could ever imagine. And they’re waiting for SOMEONE…ANYONE to remember them.

Arguments Against Working With Ancestral Gods

Some arguments against working with ancestral deities involve the person’s heritage. I made it seem simple above when discussing how to start working with one’s ancestors, but sometimes it’s difficult to decide which ancestors to focus on. Why is this? Because the majority of people on this planet have heritage from many different places and cultures. So how do you decide which flock of ancestors to work with? If you can’t figure this out, you won’t be able to choose an ancestral god or goddess. The choice is up to you whether you focus on the majority of your ancestors and their ancient beliefs or try to include a god or goddess from differing ancestors’ cultures and regions. Yes, it could get sticky, but you will figure it out eventually. And your ancestors will be there to guide you.

Is it racist to be proud of your heritage?

To some this is a deeply controversial topic, working with ancestral gods and goddesses, as it seems to denote the label of “racist” to those who don’t understand the deeper purpose. Why is it racist to honor your heritage by working with your ancestors and their ancient beliefs and history? No matter what your heritage is, it shouldn’t be considered racist to honor your ancient origins – be it indigenous African, indigenous American, Aboriginal, Celtic, Roman, Greek, Indian, etc. Be proud of who you are and be accepting of others who are also proud of who they are. And know that NO ONE in this world is of pure heritage (as some claim), unless their people have lived on an island or place completely separated from the known world. That being said, there are indeed racist pagan groups who use this knowledge for their own hateful agendas. Be wary of anyone who tells you to be proud of who you are but degrades others who are different.

Past Lives bring through Deities

Another argument against choosing an ancestral god or goddess is that many people believe they are drawn to a deity because of a past life. Perhaps you feel you had a past life in Egypt and are drawn to the Egyptian deities. This could be true; however, don’t completely ignore the fact that your ancestors’ gods might be calling to you. Another possibility is that you had Egyptian ancestors that you might not know about. These are all things to consider. It might also be a possibility that we lived our own ancestors’ lives in the past.

In the end, it’s totally up to you!

It’s completely up to you what god and goddess you choose, as paganism is a liberating and personalized path to growth and connection with the divine. If you feel connected to your ancestors or a call from your ancestors, try incorporating your ancestors’ gods and goddesses into your practice. If you feel no connection but feel pulled towards another culture’s deities and practices, continue with this path but be careful to be respectful of another culture’s precious ancient beliefs as they are fragile in a world that’s been dominated by the Abrahamic religions for the past fifteen-hundred years or more.

[sethnakht]

I'm so glad to find someone else who's seen it! I've only seen it once — the DVD won't play in my region code — but remember finding it fascinating, both structurally and as a historical document (with much, some extremely disturbing, left to unpack given who made it and when). Shaw hated it, iirc.

Some memories that may be misremembered details - would love love your take on what is actually in the film:

Eliza speaks a fantasy argot of Berlin and Vienna dialects (Jenny Jugo, the actress, was Austrian), which has a slightly alienating effect, as though to suggest that this story cannot fully translate, ie. could never have taken place anywhere but England. Or maybe it's a Brechtian touch from the film's director, Erich Engel. (There's also a really weird choice regarding Sie/du usage between Higgins and Eliza that I don't remember well enough to mention in more than passing but that did seem like a cultural translation error.)

In the play, Eliza sends for a musical instrument, but it's never specified in the text what Alfred ends up bringing to Wimpole Street. In this film, I seem to remember it being a concertina (a bellows-driven free-reed instrument with buttons at the ends). Smaller than an accordion and thus easily portable, developed independently in England and Germany, the German concertina has an association with dance music and the working classes. (Both the Dutch and English films also give her a concertina, iirc — the instrument plays a huge role in the Dutch film, and you can spot it in her rooms in the English one.) In any case, she plays and sings a raucous song written for the film, "Ich bin lustig ob ich Geld hab' oder keins", "I'm jolly whether I've got money or none". The song potentially says as much about Germany in 1935 as about this specific iteration of the character — it has fatalist, devil-may-care lines like, "ich bin lustig ob die Welt zum Teufel geht" (I'm jolly if the world goes to the devil), etc.

Higgins twice invokes Schubert's "Ständchen" (Serenade), once on the piano and once, whistling, after returning home from the ball. It's a wistful love song — softly imploring the beloved to listen, to come out, to not fear being overheard — that would have been instantly recognizable to a bourgeois audience raised on Romantic Kunstlieder. This marks a change from the 1912 play, where the crew is implied to have gone to see the new Puccini opera set in the wild west; Higgins whistles an air from that opera after coming home (ironically, since it's a piece about a woman cheating to win a bet and save the man she loves). Perhaps there's irony in having German!Higgins reference a song about being overheard, not least because he never sings the lyrics, only plays/whistles the melody — thus going over Eliza's head.

Much is made of the fact that Eliza took a boy with her on her initial taxi ride to Wimpole Street. Alfred implies a fairly young boy in the play; here he turns out to be a blond, strapping fellow named Johnny. While Eliza goes in to ask for lessons, Johnny waits outside for an all clear signal, like a kind of bodyguard, adding an element of mistrust to her character as well as independence (she has the means to threaten). Overall, Jugo's Eliza seemed to me a good deal less vulnerable than the Liza of the play (where there are hints that other flower girls bully her, where she specifically wants a taxi ride in her new clothes to get her own back). Johnny reappears in a couple of other scenes, including as an ice cream vendor at the first outing taken before Mrs Higgins' at home, the horse races, but I forgot what he says or does, exactly; part of his purpose iirc is to show that Eliza can seamlessly code switch. In terms of the scene, was it that someone tried to walk off with ice cream without paying for it? I seem to recall Eliza demonstrating she can hold her own — springing both physically and verbally into the fray — only to begin speaking high German again once the disgruntled toffs (Higgins) appear.

Alfred ends up lecturing for a temperance society, I believe. Altogether they make something more Brechtian of him, at least in my memory — and wasn't there an extra scene including Eliza's sixth stepmother?

Another added scene is right before the ball — it shifts the balance of power (Higgins is never particularly in control in this film, however, iirc). Higgins is in a state, he comes out from his room upstairs in his dressing gown with his face almost totally masked in shaving cream and bumbles down a long set of stairs to interact with Pickering. I forgot why — maybe helping Pickering look for the ball invitation, which both have misplaced. Eliza then joins them, but not before looking down on them from above. There follows a scene where she immediately solves their problem, then asks for advice on what to wear — maybe which earrings? — and offers three options. Is that right? Or is it two? Higgins is iirc useless at fashion but does inadvertently reveal that he finds her smile charming. The posing of three options — or maybe it's two, and Higgins gives a third — is also used at the very end of the film.

After the post-ball fight, Higgins doesn't storm off to bed; instead, as you mention, he wanders into Pickering's room for reassurance. There I seem to remember he sits at the window, staring at the moon (another German Romantic association, like the Schubert), and wonders whether Eliza's rage is anything he can trust: whether it's something she copied from a book or whether her soul has really been transformed through the experiment. Pickering is astonished. I wish I had access to a screenplay or screencaps for this sequence to recall what he says exactly in the German. I remember thinking Gründgens sold this scene — in part because there's tension and intimacy with Pickering, in part because he's so incapable of expressing himself except in literary abstraction.

The final act includes several major changes. Mrs Higgins' artistic Chelsea drawing room has become a lakeside villa, Freddy is there playing lawn games and the mandolin? (I have a weird memory of a ukulele?) and setting up a boat, Higgins shows up and immediately has a cocktail I think? Maybe? Once alone with Eliza, and faced with the prospect that she'll marry Freddy, he leaves off some of the insults and challenges her — does she really think these people will accept her once they learn the truth of her origins? Eliza is initially dismissive, maybe? but ultimately decides to tell the truth over lunch with the Eynsford-Hills, causing a minor sensation and prompting the whole family to up and depart. Freddy bounds back and shouts to Eliza from outdoors that he doesn't care and wants to marry her anyway. Higgins congratulates her on her splendid honesty (as though to finally acknowledge that she's won the bet, though of course he's egged her on to do this with a kind of bet of his own). Eliza once more poses two/three questions; she asks him whether she ought to marry Fred or do something else, and he asks her to do neither and come back, and the film ends.

Very curious how much of this is made up on my end, and to hear more of your thoughts!

got my hands on German Pygmalion from 1935🦫

[elrics-inferno]

Selim Bradley's name has always struck me as out of place, and I just realized why. It's foreshadowing, and it's absolutely brilliant.

I consider Amestris to be mostly based on Germany (although I do see influence from other Western European nations) with the exception that its lore and alchemy are connected to ancient Persia. The main characters largely have Western European/German-sounding names, such as Edward, Alphonse, Hohenheim, Roy, and so forth, which makes sense considering the setting.

Except for Selim.

Selim Bradley is the only major character whose name is Arab-coded. As an Arabic speaker, I noticed this difference immediately, but I didn't think much of it. In Arabic, the word "selim" translates to intact, safe, undamaged. It's a common name, which is why it eluded my scrutiny.

When we meet Selim, he is all those things. Before we realize he is a homunculus, he is just a normal boy. A harmless, happy, normal boy, whose innocence appears whole and unblemished.

However, when Pride reveals himself, we see that the monster that lives inside Selim, that is Selim, is fragmented. Any innocence we thought he had as a child is completely shattered, along with whatever knowledge of his character we thought we had. As pride, Selim is literally made of dark, glass-shard-like shadows. In other words, he is the opposite of selim. Anything but intact, undamaged, and safe.

This serves three purposes in the narrative.

1. It sets Selim apart from the other homunculi. Because he is Arab-coded, it automatically gives him a stronger connection to the Persia-inspired lore of Amestris, and therefore a stronger connection to Father and Hohenheim's origin story. Pride was the first homunculus, the first one separated from the Dwarf in the Flask because it recognized its pride as the biggest threat to its plan to become "god." As Father's fatal flaw, he has the strongest bond to Father/the Dwarf in the Flask. It makes perfect sense that his human identity would bear that cultural connection in name and in design.

2. Selim, both in name and character, is foreign. Even if the viewer doesn't catch on to the Arabic meaning, any English speaker (or anyone familiar with English or Western European languages) can catch on to the fact that "Selim" does not sound like a European name. Even before we learn that he was "adopted" or that he is a homunculus, we feel like he doesn't belong there. The name alone has us questioning things before we know we should even be asking questions. This leads me into

3. Foreshadowing, but mostly in hindsight (unless your critical eye is sharper than Pride's knife tentacles). Apart from the uneasiness that his foreignness sparks, the subtle but brilliant irony of his name being Selim when he is concealing the broken, deadly mess that is Pride in the adorable, innocent body of a child becomes dramatic irony when we rewatch the show. And it's not just because we obviously know Selim is Pride while the characters don't yet, but because we are aware of a completely new layer of deception with the aforementioned details in mind. The meaning of his name is never brought up in the show, meaning that it's not just Selim/Pride who is deceiving us and the characters, it's Hiromu Arakawa. With just his name, Arakawa is telling us to trust this character. It's ok, it's safe. The same way Selim so easily deceives Ed, Al, and Roy--a disarming facade. All of this contributes to the horror of realizing that Selim Bradley, this cute little boy, is not cute, or little, or a boy. And if your critical eye really is as sharp as Pride's tentacles, then it is absolutely possible to put together the oddity of his name and the visual, more obvious hints dropped throughout the show, to figure out that Selim Bradley is not what he seems, and that he might even be connected to the homunculi.

To conclude, I am once again in awe of the storytelling master who is Hiromu Arakawa, but what's new? I have a feeling I'm going to be discovering ways in which I was fooled and didn't even notice for years to come.

[volkswagonblues]

a lil guide to the Fire Nation for the ATLA fic writers out there

(aka. a no means exhaustive primer on east asia by an asian person)

This is a guide for fic writers want to write a canon-era story set in the Fire Nation, or featuring Fire Nation characters. A quick little primer on the tiny details of everyday life that you might not think about, but certainly stuff that would make me, an asian person, wince if I were to encounter it. BRUSHES, not quills. CHOPSTICKS, not forks. 

(note #1: this was partly inspired by a chat with @elilim​) 

(note: #2:  I originally intended it for zukka fic writers before realizing that other writers might find it useful. so apologies for a slight Zuko-bias for that reason)

(note #3: this is all stuff i was thinking about when writing firebender’s guide, in case anyone was wondering)

1. CLOTHING

Okay, I think the most straightforward way to describe what everyone’s wearing most of the time is “tunic”. They’re all just...tunics of different colours and varieties. Later when Zuko’s the Fire Lord he wears robes. The show provides a better visual guide than I could, here are a few notes to keep in mind:

a) Japanese people wear their collars LEFT crossed over RIGHT

I don’t think this would come up in writing as much as it would in art, but it’s considered bad luck to do it the wrong way because that’s only for dead people. Let my boy Zuko demonstrate:

b) There are no buttons

This is picky, but Wikipedia says “Functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes appeared first in Germany in the 13th century.[6] They soon became widespread with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th- and 14th-century Europe.” I kinda believe it. If you look closely, characters’ clothes are always tied together or wrapped in some way with a belt. If there are fasteners, they’re braided frog closures that go into a little loop, like the qipao-style dresses women wear in Ba Sing Se, or Zuko’s casual prince’s clothes in the topmost image. Anyways, I don’t think Zuko or Azula or the Gaang would technically button or unbutton anything when they’re changing clothes. Clothing is designed to be tied, not buttoned.

[so much more under cut]

c) This isn’t a real rule, but there’s something called koromogae, or the seasonal changing of clothing in Japan.

This is something I learned when I was writing firebender’s guide, and I just liked the fun detail about there being a strict calendar for when to wear something. I liked the idea of someone like Zuko, who actually spent most of his formative years outside of the Fire Nation, coming home and just suffering mutely through the summer heat because upper class etiquette says no changing into cooler clothes until August 15. 

From My Asakusa: 

And this website:

Generally, people change from thick, heavy, dark-coloured clothes for winter to thin, lighter, bright-coloured clothes for spring and summer. In traditional Japanese culture, particularly in formal settings such as tea ceremony, it is important to acknowledge the changes of seasons—in such circumstances, not only the patterns and colours of the kimono that are worn but also the utensils and furniture that are used are required to change. By changing their clothing, people notice and appreciate the change of seasons. [Japan Foundation]

Here are some visual guides from the official creators for clothes: (notice how it’s pretty much always left over right)

2.FOOD AND EATING

a) Traditional cuisine

It seems like the most common foods in canon are Fire Flakes and meat, to the point where poor Aang had to eat lettuce out of the garbage at some point.

HOWEVER, the Fire Nation seems to basically a big subtropical archipelago, so I would guess that seafood and rice are common. If you want to write about characters eating, a. quick google for “traditional japanese cuisine” would help you come up with a menu really quickly.

Wikipedia says:

The traditional cuisine of Japan, washoku (和食), lit. "Japanese eating" (or kappō (ja:割烹)), is based on rice with miso soup and other dishes; there is an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. Side dishes often consist of fish, pickled vegetables, and vegetables cooked in broth. Seafood is common, often grilled, but also served raw as sashimi or in sushi.

But before we get too serious, at one point the Gaang eats a “smoked sea slug” (Sokka’s Master) 

Oh ATLA, never stop being you.

b) Utensils

One thing to keep in mind is chopstick etiquette. Someone like Zuko or Toph, for instance, would have completely internalized all of these.

Another thing is that there are no glasses. Cups and bowls are made of ceramic or clay. Let the Gaang show you:

And another note: characters won’t eat “bread” in the European sense, ie. a baked lump of dough. Steamed buns, yes. Fried pancakes made from batter, yes. Flatbreads, okay I’ll give it a pass. Rice or noodles should be the most common carbs of choice.

3.ETIQUETTE

“In the homeland, we bow to our elders” - angry schoolmistress in The Headband.

Japan Guide has a list of etiquette rules for visiting Japan, which is interesting but not too necessary to read. In general, based on what The Headband tells us, Fire Nation characters would have been raised with a strong nationalist curriculum that values communal contribution over individualist expression. Even someone like Zuko, who openly rebels against that, probably couldn’t help but be affected by it. In general the Fire Nation seems to have an East Asian-ish set of values. It’s patriarchal, all the positions of authority are filled by men; there seems to be a strong emphasis on patriotism; there’s a sense of diffidence and respect towards one’s elders; and finally, there’s an emphasis on “knowing” one’s place in society and fitting into what’s expected of oneself.

I don’t really know how to describe it, but in China and Japan I sometimes feel like there’s rules for everything, and even people born and raised there acknowledge it could be stifling at times. You could go down a rabbit hole researching points of etiquette (for instance, rules on who has to sit where in group dinners...), but to me the most important thing is acknowledging that Fire Nation has a rigid system of etiquette, and also, they’re an imperialist power who’s pretty prejudiced against foreigners. Poor Aang/Kuzon gets called “mannerless colony slob” just for being slow on the bowing action (!!!)

(in firebender’s guide I had a lot of fun imagining the stupid microaggressions Ambassador Sokka has to face in the Fire Nation, so obviously I’m just biased)

4.WRITING AND DESKS

Characters would probably write on paper, with a calligraphy brush. Not quills or pens -- a brush. Technically, old Japanese and Chinese texts should be written top to bottom, right to left, but the show itself doesn’t do this, so I think you’re fine. 

One fun thing about traditional calligraphy is that you don’t use bottled ink. You have something called an ink stone, and then you grind your ink yourself by rubbing the ink stone in a special little dish with a bit of water. In my (very few) encounters with this stuff in the calligraphy lessons of my youth, the ink stones can be plain or have beautiful designs on the side. It looks something like this: 

ATLA is an East Asian-ish universe, so characters are likely to be kneeling at a table, not sitting. To demonstrate, here’s my boy Sokka doing his famous rainbow at Piandao’s:

and here’s the war chamber meeting when Zuko speaks out against a general’s plans to sacrifice some soldiers:

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS: This is Zuko’s cute little setup when he’s writing his goodbye letter to Mai. In this case he’s writing in a chair and table. It’s possible that some furniture items, like a sitting desk and a bed in a bedframe (not a bedroll or futon) are special royal palace features. Normally in a private setting we see characters sitting on the ground or on a slightly elevated platform with a low table. Maybe Caldera is just different? Or rich people are just different: the Bei Fongs also have a sit-down dining table + chair setup.

(That little rectangular box is his ink dish!!)

5.A NOTE ON GENERAL CULTURE

It’s worth talking about a few general points of East Asian culture. I can’t claim to speak for ALL of Asia, and I don’t think I should. But I do think ATLA fic writers who want to set something in the Fire Nation should take a few moments to at least skim the wiki pages for filial piety and Nihonjinron (literally, "theories/discussions about the Japanese"). There’s a certain...vibe to...asianness... that I’m not sure I can explain without like, a doctorate degree in sociology. 

It’s a bit like gender, I guess. There’s no definitive checklist to what is a woman and what is a man, and we can argue that gender is performative, that it’s a construct, but at the end of the day gender is still (tragically) real in the sense that it still shapes people and affects how we walk and talk and dress and think. Nationality is the same. Obviously, the Fire Nation is a made up place in a made up show, but out of respect to the cultures that inspired it, I do think it’s worth familiarizing yourself with some of these cultures’ codes and values.

Also, ahem, if I can direct you to war crimes in the Japan’s colonial empire. Again, worth remembering that the Fire Nation was an imperalist colonizer too.

I might do a continuation of this post and talk through my more abstract takes about Fire Nation culture - Is Zuko an example of filial piety gone right or filial piety gone wrong? Why I think Zuko’s flashbacks are like, at least part teenage melodrama bullshit (the reason is son preference), how someone like Sokka might be treated once he’s openly Water Tribe in the Fire Nation (probably with racism...), specific aspects of asian homophobia and racism, etc. We’ll see.

This is not a definitive guide. Comments and critique welcome.

If you think there’s a factual mistake, PLEASE hop in my asks and let me know. I also think there’s a huge blind spot in ATLA for South and Southeast Asian representation, so I acknowledge that I can’t speak for all Asians, and there is no such thing as a “pan-asian” identity.

If there’s something else you’re curious about, I’m not a historian or anything, but I like research. Ask me and I’ll try to answer the best I can.

And oh, one last thing, this is how I do research when I wrote firebender’s guide, in case anyone’s interested in learning more (LINK)

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 24)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,700

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat

I hope it's gonna make you notice

“…I’m in the military, sir…”

“…James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone…And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why…”

Bucky lies awake in bed, fluffy pillow behind his head and one leg peeking out from the blankets, as random memories knack away at his brain in pulses. They weren’t new memories, but they were memories that he never looked at the way he was now.

He doesn’t know why now, he doesn’t know what triggered it, but they were clicking together.

After years of replaying the same moments in his head, there was a nagging feeling that was telling him that there was something not adding up.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s seeing things differently, if he’s feeling things differently.

Whatever it was, he knew there was something…off.

There was something off about Daisy’s story about her dad’s story, something was off about the way he was against Bucky fighting in the military, and her death was coinciding so much with his capture.

He doesn’t like the feeling in his stomach as he remembers.

When Bucky asked about her brother and what that whole commotion back at the club was she was blatantly honest with him.

“My father’s not a good guy. He’s been wanting some something from one of these performers that was suppose to be there last night, but turns out they weren’t even on the set list. He had lied about it, we don’t know where he is.”

Bucky raises a brow at this, “You do his dirty work for him?”

“No, I don’t like to get involved in that. It’s a dangerous lifestyle. I have to think about my future family. I was only there yesterday because my brother wanted to get me out of the house for once.”

Bucky isn’t too gleam on the fact that her family are borderline criminals and that she basically supports it, and for a fraction of a second he almost doesn’t buy it, but he decides to mention this later on, not wanting to ruin their moment.

Bucky shifts his leg as he continues to remember that conversation. Why was he not against it? Why did he never question the crimes? Was he that distracted by her?

Bucky smiles at her comment, but then his brows furrowed together in an adorable way that made Daisy giggle and bring her hand to his cheek, “What is it, James?”

What is it, James?

Bucky looks over to see you laying next to him, sat up with your back against the headboard reading some book with a beige cover.

You hadn’t taken notice of his self discomfort yet, emerged in your reading, tucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

Why was he remembering all of this now? Why was he feeling sick?

When they pulled away she slowly dragged her thumb across his plump bottom lip. He watched her like she was the most gorgeous and interesting thing on the planet.

“James?” He responded with a sound on confirmation and she continued, “do you think we are moving too fast?”

He grabbed her hand that was on his face and for a fraction of a moment she thought that that was it, they were over. This was clearly too unrealistic. But instead he brought her hand up over both his lips and he kissed her gingerly.

“Yes.” He whispered behind her hand, making sure he was making direct eye contact with her.

Her face dropped. “Yes?” Her voice was worried, cautious.  

He started trailing kisses down her hand, her wrist, her forearms. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck making her groan.

It wasn’t that Daisy didn’t like being pampered but she wanted to take this very seriously. With a reluctant sigh - because what he was doing to her flesh just felt so good - she delicately removes her arm from Bucky’s grasp. He narrowed his eyes as she moved away towards the head board, suddenly wondering if maybe he said the wrong thing.

Her eyes trickled his features and down his perfect little nose.

“I knew it since the moment I laid my eyes on you. That’s how you know it’s real. This isn’t crazy, it’s ludicrous. But it works for us. I want to be with you.”

After his little speech Daisy looked him dead in the eye, not batting one lash.

“Then come have dinner with my family.”

Was it too fast? He had barely known her and she was asking him to meet her family. Criminals.

But why would she give away such dire information if it were true?

Bucky sat up slowly, as if if he were to move too quickly, the bed would collapse underneath him.

His eyes had a far away look in him, and he was as pale as he felt.

You feel him shift and your eyes flicker up to him.

You frown.

Her blue eyes glisten with gentle tears, probably thinking the same exact thing. None of it still feels real.

Her, she, doesn’t feel real.

They spent nearly every night together just talking about what Bucky would do when he came back home after camp. Things like how they would have to go see the stars on the back of an outskirts farmhouse, how they would have to go to every club in the city and laugh their night away, how he would take her to coney island with him and Steve and show her a “good time” on the ferris wheel, and how they would definitely have to meet her family.

“They’re great, you’ll love them.” She had said as they laid in bed together just hours before, merely cuddling with clothes on.

“Oh, come on doll, even your Dad?”

Daisy hesitated for a moment and her hand that was rubbing his chest stopped suddenly.

Bucky noted this and they met eyes.

Bucky feels his heart palpitate and he opens and closes his right hand, sitting up.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You ask softly, closing your book.

“Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.”

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

“Bucky.”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance for just a moment.

He looks up to you, your eyes interlacing in a silent conversation of understanding.

He was revealing something to himself and you could tell that whatever that was it was leaving him overcome by feelings.

At the end of the day, he knows that he’s just insanely protective of Steve. Which is why his arm instinctively goes around him when Rogers almost gets hit by a speeding vehicle that abruptly stops to halt in front of them on the curb. With his mind far away, he hadn’t realized they were already standing on the sidewalk in front of one bright sign labeled Cotton Club.

Had Bucky known better, he would’ve had him on his left.

After that introduction, the two boys look over to the object that almost killed them.

It was pure black, the countless lights coming from the surrounding buildings and cars bouncing off its surface. The rain must’ve made it even shinier, the lights made a reflection so bright that it had everyone staring. Men looked in awe and a young paper boy, standing on the corner working over time, wondered if that would someday be his future.

With a look of disgust, Steve was repulsed by the obscurity of the man’s driving having nearly hit him. He wondered why people had no respect and he desperately wanted to punch his face in. Either that or give him a pep talk about general safety.

“What a twit.” He snarls, dusting off his small suspenders and kicking the invisible debris off his lapels.

Bucky’s face held something different. It explained why the woman staring had looked on in pure jealousy. He stared forward completely emotionless. He was neither annoyed at the fact that he almost just got run over and killed and nor in obsession over the Duesenberg J.

It was the beautiful goddess emerging from the passenger seat that caught his full attention.

On her left hand was a pearl and diamond bracelet and she used it to skim over the top of the priceless car door for leverage to push herself gracefully up from the leather seat. Her other hand was wrapped up in a prestige white glove. It held onto the hem of her silver sparkling gown, a long white cigar between her digits. Her gorgeous dress looked heavy, you could tell it was so properly made and expensive because it must’ve weighed as much as her petite self. The reason being that it hugged her body at just the perfect places, showing off her curves gracefully.

Her perfect blonde hair was pulled slick back by a diamond hair clip to the side in huge voluminous waves. The dress showed just enough back, the material dipping down towards the floor, the dip ending just above her bottom. The entire thing was held by two tiny silver straps on her shoulders.

In a sentimental Mood by Duke Ellington seemed to have played perfectly in sync with the exact moment she shut the door behind her. She looked up to read the sign, her perfect profile looking up in awe.

Bucky stands up from the bed, back rigid and face hard with anger.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He swallows thickly, gaze going towards you again.

He doesn’t know why he keeps looking at you.

Ironically, beneath his anger and betrayal, he also began to feel embarrassment.

He’s momentarily startled out of his trance when he feels a small hand grab his elbow.  He looks down and his eyes meet a small concerned Steve. Well, to be fairly honestly, he looked more pissed than concerned.

Bucky doesn’t feel the patience to deal with talking anything out, he’s too busy thinking about Daisy. But he feels like he should at least say something so he can get everyone off his back, “What is it?”

Steve looks at him likes he’s crazy and then manically gestures towards the entrance of the club, probably pointing to where Daisy just left through.

“Bucky, what the heck was that? Who was that? You know her?”

“I didn’t know her. No.” Bucky doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud.

He’s shaking his head to himself, mumbling.

“Bucky, who are you talking to?” You’re growing even more concerned by the second now.

The silence was broken by his strong voice.

“You’re real.”

She smiles in a way that makes him smile too. It was contagious and bright. He caresses her skin one more time.

He felt her own hand come over his and she whispers, “I’m real.”

“Not real.”

You are more than concerned at this point.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe it was the fact that my body had finally developed into a women’s body. My breasts were now fully perked and my legs were long and porcelain gorgeous; all I knew was they figured I could be put to good use.”

He shook his head and Bucky blinked away heavy tears.“I-“

The pretty woman rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, revealing a long slit that ran up her dress. It was just enough skin for Bucky’s hand to get sweaty.

He waited until the perfect opportunity when the man had walked towards the direction of the stage, making his way into the back behind the curtain.

“It wasn’t real.”

“You do his dirty work for him?”

“It wasn’t real.”

“My father’s not a good guy.”

Bucky remembers them poking him with IV drops and then sticking his head in a blender. His owns screams fill his head. It was so painful.

“Reason unknown, ongoing investigation"

“I wasn’t going to let you keep her. She enticed you. She won you. It was always supposed to be you.”

“…blonde 21 year old was found shot…”

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever. He wanted her, “Will you marry me?”

“…Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —…”

“But you jeopardized it, Soldat. It wasn’t real.”

The memories are sucked out of him like a vacuum and his dark eyes meet yours, again, across the bed.

You had never seen his pupils so blown before.

You were terrified.

Your eyes go down to his flesh hand that is twitching against his thigh.

“Bucky.” You say cautiously, one more time. It was almost like you were afraid to get closer to him.

“I—“ his voice was hoarse.

He looks away and clears his throat. He blinks away the heavy daze, allowing it all to sink in until it settles in his stomach in a surprising pool of acceptance.

He sees you again and for some reason he feels okay.

It scares him.

It scared him how you took something that had been bothering him for so long, away that quickly.

In that moment he knows.

“I remembered something.” Your eyebrows came together suddenly. Nearly moments ago he looked heartbroken but now he just looked shocked and angry.

“What did you remember? I thought you had your memories back. In Wakanda.”

“I-I did,” he squeaks out running a hand through his hair, “maybe I’m just remembering differently, or adding pieces together, I don’t know, I can’t tell. It has to be, because it makes sense. It makes so much sense now, and I can’t—and she—”

“Bucky you’re rambling,” he stops and you continue to look at each other. His face drops all traces of anger and it softens, “Talk to me, I’m right here.” You whisper.

Bucky looks down at you and nods. No hesitancy.

“Give me your hands.” You say, reaching for him. He doesn’t hold back from doing so, and once you have his hands in yours, you pull him up onto the bed so he’s kneeling on it next to you.

Bucky takes a few minutes to compose himself before he says it:

“I think Daisy and her family were Hydra.” He says it like he’s afraid of his own words.

As if every word in that phrase was a curse word.

Somehow, it relieves him.

His chest feels light, shoulders worn. He can breathe.

+ + +

“I should’ve known it was too fast. Too perfect,” you’re also stunned as he tells you everything, his hands still in yours, “but—but I don’t think she was always hydra. I think she wanted out when I was captured and they killed her for it.”

You don’t deny it, that hurts. Despite never knowing the girl and secretly holding envy for her, it pains you.

“Oh, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing together.

“But it was a lie. She enticed me, she fucking—“ Bucky sucks in a deep breath, “she was trying to lure me in. There was nothing real about it.” He says the word like it’s venom on his lips.

You feel him rub his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You don’t know that -”

He shakes his head again, “She was Hydra!” He doesn’t say it angrily as much as he says it in a way to announce it to himself.

He needed to say it out loud. He needed to let it sink in.

You watch Bucky as he becomes completely numb, and somehow free, in front of you.

For some reason you expected more heartbreak from him for discovering something so horrible about a woman he claimed he loved so much, a woman he wanted to marry, but instead all you got from him was anger and acceptance.

Little did you know, Bucky was in the same boat as you.

Why wasn’t he as heat shattered as he’d expect?

“I-“ he’s speechless as he looks around, trying to find something, but he does’t know what.

You think you’re more shocked than him and you quickly grab his arm, bringing him against you for a tight hug.

He hugs you back immediately, hand running up your shoulder blade and onto the back of your hair.

Minutes pass by. Many minutes.

“It was all a lie,” he whispers still holding onto. you, “All of it. I really was alone. I thought I finally had someone, but—It wasn’t real.”

You don’t know what to say as you run your hand up the back of his head.

It’s not until you pull him in tighter that he realizes it.

It was you.

You were there reason this didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. His heart no longer wanted to be with someone who was long gone.

It wanted to stay here.

Here.

He never thought he would ever feel this way ever again, and he never thought he would trust this hard ever again.

Realizing truth relived him of buried pain, and he wanted you to keep holding him, to keep helping him go through this.

He says your name softly.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk about everything.”

You stiffen for a moment as you let his words sink in. You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“All of it. Everything that I did. I need to get it out, I can’t keep doing this, holding it in, keeping it inside —”

The euphoria through your blood is addicting.

“Tell me.”

He loved slow dancing.

He loved the Yankees.

He loved math and Howard Stark.

He went to the Stark Expo every year.

He loved The Hobbit and he loved jazz.

He loved New York City.

He loved Brooklyn the most.

He misses flat hats.

He loved telling jokes.

His mother died when he was young.

His sister was taken away from him.

He cried when he couldn’t see her.

His father died not too long after.

He never enlisted despite his love for the military.

He was drafted.  

He experienced World War II but on the enemy side.

He fought with Hitler’s and Hydra’s men.

He was loved by the KGB.

He loved Prague.

He trained the girls in the red room.

He remembers every young girl.

He was told to kill four kids on a mission once in Bucharest.

He was tormented, beaten raw, and kept in a concrete cell between cryo periods.

He was only occasionally fed, most years spent asleep.

He was treated like an animal. They tied him to the wall once in the cell, with a chain around his neck.

He was brain washed.

He was sexually assaulted by Hydra.

He doesn’t remember if he was raped, which could be his brain’s way of protecting himself from more trauma.

He reminds you that loved Howard Stark.

He killed Howard Stark.

He killed Maria Stark.

He was the one that stole the super soldier serum from the Stark’s and provided it to Hydra.

He was the fist of Hydra.

He killed many other good men. Over two dozen assassinations.

He killed JFK.

He never wanted to do any of it.

He remembers all of it.

They named him a hero on the Wall of Valor before S.H.I.E.L.D fell.

He was taken into Wakanda, freed of his trigger words.

He still loved New York City.

He was pardon him, despite everything.

They named him an Avenger.

He remembers it all.

You’re laying down facing each other and you continue to watch him as he tells you everything.

It’s one of the most surreal experiences of your life and you find yourself in total awe.  

This was the Bucky Barnes you had been longing to see. This was the man you knew was hidden beneath layers of hurt and anger.

You had seen it before he even told you.

The fact that he even trusted you enough to be this transparent with you is what makes you so happy.

His eyes brightened as he played with a string on the blanket between you.

“And Friends,” his voice is small and there’s a little smile on his mouth. Your heart swells as you watch it, “I love Friends.”

You bite your tongue as you smile.

Bucky stared at you, just as amazed at himself as he was at you. He couldn’t believe he told it all to you.

It was as if Daisy’s image had begun to dissolve and he was finally seeing clearly.

He didn’t hate you. He never hated you.

His fingers peak out slowly to take a hold of your pinky.

It was the opposite. He wanted you.

He feels himself breaking when you pull away from his touch. His smile falls.

“I’m proud of you,” you say quietly, sitting up again, “For finally talking about it.” You mean it, “Thank you.”

It takes him a few seconds to eventually look away and he turns onto his back. Bucky drapes an arm over his stomach, letting out a long breath of contentment.

He felt free.

To do what?

He looks over at you again as you pull your book back out.

This. This is what freedom got him. You.

But it you weren’t his. He clears his throat.

“How are things with your boyfriend?”

You don’t like talking about Pietro with Bucky.

“It’s fine,” you answer anyway, “We only had one date. And I got sick, so hopefully the next one will be better.”

Bucky swallows thickly. Why was he feeling like this? He should be happy for you. You wanted this. You deserved this.

“What do you plan to do when it’s time for us both to leave and go back?” He asks.

You don’t miss the way he mentions both of you to leave and your eyes quickly flicker to him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say hoarsely, filled with unexpected relief.

+ + +

Bucky doesn’t remember experiencing this kind of happiness since he was nineteen and him and Steve went to go see a baseball game after scoring a date with two pretty girls on the F train.

He’s happy.

Ashen peaks up at him from behind dark lashes, smiling so hard his eyes peak up at the side, turning them into thin slits. Bucky’s aren’t too far off as he mimics the boy’s laughter.

“Connect four?” Bucky asks, chuckling.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta try it. It’s so fun.” The Ashens says happily, pulling out the little game from underneath his bed. Bucky wants to ask him why he has it hidden, but he doesn’t. He just reminds him that they need to stay quiet, “plus, it’s the only game I have anyway. But it’s fun Mr. Bucky.”

“Haha, alright lets try it.” Bucky says.

They sit across from each other on the floor, setting up the little game and dividing their colored chips. Ashen’s goes first, dropping in a yellow one.

Bucky picks up a red one with his flesh hand and drops it right next to the yellow. They continue for a bit until Ashens notices Bucky isn’t connecting his colors.

“No, you have to try to get a straight line and connect it!” He laughs, “you suck at this."

“Oh, no! What did I do?” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“You’re not very smart for an Avenger.” Ashens remarks.

“Okay,” Bucky points at him playfully, smiling, “That’s mean.”

“I’m sorry but it is true.”

“Cut me some slack.” Bucky says, smiling.

They play for a little longer until Ashens ends up beating him.

Bucky sticks his tongue out at the boy, but smiles. He eventually caught on to the game and let him win. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mr. Bucky,” Ashen says after he slides the game back under his head. He brings his legs up to his chest and hugs them, "Will you tell me now why you are here to save me?”

Bucky licks his lip and sighs. He looks out Ashens' high rise window and then back to him again. “Not yet.”

“Should I be afraid.”

“No. I won’t let anything happen you. I promise.”

Ashens doesn’t say anything as he lets his Mike Wazowski slippers hit each other.

“Do you have any kids? Like my age?”

The question surprises Bucky, and for a moment a feeling of longing hits him. “No. I don’t.”

“Aww okay.”

Bucky stares at Ashens little sad face and his heart breaks.

“I always wanted to, though,” Bucky whispers, “But that was years ago.”

“When you were in world war one?”

Bucky smiles.

“Two, not one, but yeah,” it’s not a lie, Bucky knows that if his loved would’ve went a different way, he would have definitely had kids. To know he could never go back to such simplicity broke his heart, “Something like that.”

There was something, that even so many months later, still bothered Bucky. It was something so small, and it probably didn’t really affect you as much as it affected him, but it was something you said to him.

It was one of your many fights and the way you had spatted at him about buying you plan B after you had sex.

He didn’t want to burden you. What you two had done had been irresponsible. An atmosphere like this was no place and time for an unwanted baby.

You weren’t ready for one, let alone his.

At the time, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t want the baby, if you were to have gotten pregnant, he would have loved that child with everything. He was thinking about you.

He hated to think that he gave you that pill as a gesture to say that he wanted nothing to do with you.

If so, you were wrong.

He wanted you to be happy, just smart.

He cared about you.

And now, possibly more.

As he continues to watch Ashens giggling over his slippers, that feeling of longing washes over Bucky again.

He knows he needs to tell you.

+ + +

You still weren’t feeling well. Maybe it was your nerves. The end of the mission was getting closer by each day and you never expected you’d have to leave with a little kid. You still hadn’t met Ashens, but Bucky says he’s a delight.

Ashens has changed him. You took notice immediately and it made you happy. This whole experience would be good for him.

After Bucky had poured out his heart to you, you knew you needed to get away again. That was the dance now. You get pulled, you take a step back. You couldn’t let yourself go there anymore, no matter how hard it was.

Pietro would be the driving force to help you.

You just wish Bucky would stop doing things that he probably realized he wasn’t even doing. The way he touches your face and your hand, or some times the way he looks at you, was not appropriate for two fuck buddies who stopped…fucking.

You were still convinced that he wanted you two to go your separate ways at the end of this mission. Him indirectly saying he was going to walk out with you made you happy, it could’ve been Ashens that helped him have a change of heart, whatever it was, this thing between you had to dissolve anyway.

You couldn’t keep doing that to himself, even when he would blur your lines.

You really wished he would stop doing that.

That night you after the ball, you were almost sure that he was developing feelings for you - finally - it’s why you tried to get him to finally tell you why the kiss bothered him.

Bucky never told you the truth, and you were too tired to keep digging.

You were glad that was the last time.

It was over. All of it was over.

Your stomach churns again and you decide to make yourself some tea and head to bed.

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