#URN MAN FAILURE IS DONE

[cinnamons1999]

urn man and child who dresses in whatever's comfy, ahmet is in the cemetery house info dept and gets his daughter to be taken there after school as well cuz he cant leave her alone lmfao.

[worldsokayestdragon]

GreedxLing Week Day 1: Love Language

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Returning to Xing wasn't what Ling had expected when he'd left home all those months ago. So much had changed, it was hard to believe it had been less than a year since the first time he'd trekked through the desert with Lan Fan and Fu in tow, planning out his first steps for finding the philosopher’s stone and considering the best way to trick the emperor into believing he held the key to immortality for long enough for Ling to maneuver himself into power. Fu had advised him not to get too far ahead of himself, but Ling had refused to even entertain the notion that he might return empty handed. His clan was counting on him. Failure wasn't an option.

Now they were making the return trip with the Chang Clan heiress and a homunculus who until very recently had been coinhabiting Ling’s body. 

Lan Fan had lost her arm, and as guilty as Ling felt for dragging her into the fight that had claimed it, she wouldn’t let him apologize. She insisted it was her choice, and one she’d gladly make again, and he knew her well enough to recognize that if he kept feeling sorry for her she…probably wouldn’t actually punch him in the face–because that would be improper and against her vow to protect him–but she would be seriously tempted to do so. He didn’t mention it again.

And they were returning without Fu.

They were bringing him home, of course they were. They could hardly do otherwise. But it was only his remains making the journey in the urn Lan Fan insisted on carrying herself, carefully checking and repacking it every time they stopped to rest. The old man himself would never again walk at Ling’s shoulder and offer advice that Ling was often too stubborn and foolish to take.

Ling wished they could have stayed in Amestris a bit longer. Just to take some time to heal and rest, to adjust to everything. But the emperor’s health wouldn’t hold forever, and if one of his siblings ascended to the throne before Ling’s return then everything would be for nothing. And Lan Fan’s new automail made it crucial to get across the desert before the summer heat could settle in and threaten to burn her. 

Most importantly, Fu needed to be laid to rest properly, with full rites instead of the stopgap cremation ritual that Lan Fan had been taught as a child–because the life of a royal bodyguard was dangerous and often took one far from home to die. To truly let his spirit rest, Fu needed a real funeral. Getting that done as soon as possible was the least Ling owed to the man who had been like family to him, closer and more beloved than most of his blood relatives.

If Ling thought about that for too long he’d break down, and then Lan Fan would feel obligated to try and comfort him even though she’d lost so much more than he had. He couldn’t do that to her. He had to stay strong.

So he focused on easier things, like getting to know Mei Chang, and adjusting to Greed having a separate body.

The fact that bonding with the little sister he’d been raised to regard as an annoying obstacle at best, and a credible threat to his life at worst, qualified as “easier” was a testament to how out of control his life had gotten.

The fact that he felt the need to adjust to not sharing his body with the personification of a deadly sin was probably evidence that he’d gone completely insane.

He didn’t really know how to interact with either of them.

Mei didn’t seem to know how to interact with him either. She switched between regarding him with a suspicion that bordered on outright hostility, as she’d no doubt been taught to act around any competing heir, and a starry eyed admiration that came with repeated thanks for promising to protect her clan and offers to help him with anything he needed that frankly made Ling more uncomfortable than when she looked like she wanted to stab him. He didn’t know how to convince her that his commitment to bringing together all the clans was genuine and not dependent on her sucking up to him.

Also her tiny panda had bitten him like five times, and he didn’t heal as quickly as he used to.

And Greed. Greed was the same as he’d always been, probably, but Ling wasn’t used to observing him from the outside. He knew what the homunculus was thinking and feeling in any situation still, could make his stupid sarcastic jokes in unison with him most of the time, but that was just the knowledge of familiarity. He couldn’t hear the outline of Greed’s thoughts the way he used to, or feel the echoes of his emotions. And Ling was starting to realize that for as good as they’d gotten at communicating, their mental conversations maybe hadn’t been much like talking, because he found it difficult to put anything he wanted to say to Greed into words.

He wanted to say so much to Greed. He wanted to reassure him that they could still rule Xing together even if they were separate people now. Wanted to ask if Greed still wanted that, or if he’d rather find something of his own, even if Ling was scared of the answer to that question. He wanted to scream at Greed for being an idiot and trying to sacrifice himself, for lying to him, for almost leaving him behind. He wanted to beg Greed to never do that again, because Ling needed him, and missed him even when he was still here, and he didn’t know how he’d ever recover if Greed left him entirely.

Ling wanted to tell Greed he loved him, and that he thought Greed loved him too, thought he had felt it when Greed shoved Ling away to protect him at the cost of his own life.

But now that Greed was in his own body, looking like his old self and also an entirely new person to Ling, it was hard to be confident that he still felt the same, or even that he’d ever felt that way at all. Maybe Ling had been projecting, the confusion and emotion of that moment overwhelming him and making him feel what he wanted to feel from Greed. 

Certainly Greed hadn’t said anything to indicate he felt that way toward Ling since Lan Fan had flung the philosopher’s stone she’d been carrying into the homunculus’s dissipating form and–in an alchemic reaction that Ed said “made no sense” and “gave him a headache”–Greed’s body from before he’d been merged with Ling reformed around him.

Greed had let Ling scream at him for lying, and being a self sacrificing idiot, and scaring him, had let shove him and also let Ling cling to him and tell him to never do anything like that again. 

He’d apologized for hurting Ling, but notably didn’t say he was sorry for what he’d done or promise not to do it again. Ling had been a little tempted to stab him then, but he wasn’t sure how many times the incomplete philosopher’s stone inside him could heal him back up. He didn’t want to risk losing him again. (And, Greed had pointed out later, they’d need to “do the hammer trick” at least once to prove to the emperor that Greed was immortal. Ling had vague, second hand memories of “the hammer trick,” and he was sure they could come up with something a little less traumatizing.)

But other than the apology, Greed hadn’t really talked much to Ling after coming back to life. He didn’t even say that he planned to come back with them, just fell in step beside Ling as they headed out and asked how long it would take to get to Xing.

So Ling couldn’t know if Greed felt the way he did, and the thought of being wrong, of ruining the relationship they did have, kept him from asking. Every big, important thing Ling wanted to say to Greed got caught in his throat. 

Greed didn’t say anything either. Sometimes it seemed like he was about to. Ling knew him well enough to tell when he was working up to being honest in a way that wasn’t just not telling a lie, a way that was hard for him, but he never followed through. 

But even though they were completely failing to talk to each other, even though the silence was awkward and painful at times when Ling thought about how easily they’d talked and joked before, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Greed’s side for long. They were rarely out of arm’s reach of each other. Most often they stayed so close that Ling thought if it was anyone else he’d be freaked out by the invasion of his personal space.

It never felt like an invasion when it was Greed literally breathing down Ling’s neck, walking so close to each other it was frankly a miracle they didn’t trip over each other’s feet, sitting practically in each other’s laps by the campfire when the chill of the desert night set in. They’d given up the pretense of settling into separate bedrolls after the second time they’d woken up wrapped around each other in the sand between two unused piles of blankets. 

But for all that easy closeness, they still barely talked.

Ling couldn’t bring himself to talk to Greed, and he didn’t know how to talk to Mei, and Lan Fan never liked to talk about things before she’d had a chance to process them on her own, so Ling hardly dared to interrupt her grief with conversation. It was shaping up to be the most awkwardly silent trip in history.

Except actually Greed and Mei seemed to have no trouble talking to each other. Half the time the homunculus wasn’t right beside Ling it was because he’d walked off to talk to his little sister. She wasn’t nearly as standoffish with Greed, and he apparently had plenty to say to her. They got along great, other than the first time they’d talked, when Mei had squealed “Mister Greed, that’s so—” and Ling had never found out what that was so because Greed had clapped a hand over the girl’s mouth and hissed something at her, ignoring Xiao-Mei biting his hand in retaliation. 

Since then they had quiet conversations that cut off when Ling approached basically every day, and any time Ling asked Greed what they were talking about he just said “don’t worry about it,” or sometimes “wouldn’t you like to know,” which was the type of nonanswer he only gave when he wanted to keep something to himself without technically lying.

Ling watched the two of them conspiring or plotting or whatever it was they were doing, and had to firmly remind himself that he was not jealous of a thirteen-year-old who’d been forced to travel to a foreign country alone in a desperate bid to save the clan she was too young to bear responsibility for.

No matter how easily she got to talk to Greed.

Other than talking to Mei, the only times Greed left Ling’s side was when he’d seen something on the ground he wanted to investigate.

That at least was familiar. Ling remembered spending the winter trekking through Amestris, and how often Greed wandered off the trail to pick up a shiny rock or a weird shaped stick or a bottle cap with an interesting logo to shove in their pocket. Ed griped at him constantly for wasting time picking up trash, but that had never stopped Greed.

What was weird now was that Greed always looked at whatever he picked up critically instead of pocketing it and rejoining the group immediately. He twisted the objects this way and that, examined them in the light, and most of the time he dropped them again as if he’d found them lacking. 

Maybe admitting to himself that what he really wanted was people to care for had eased his compulsion to collect whatever caught his eye.

(Maybe having Ling around was enough, even if it wasn’t the same as it had been. Maybe he was satisfied to have a friend, and Ling could be satisfied with that too, even if neither of them ever made a move to make it something more. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.)

The first time Greed found something that met his new standards, it was nearing sunset on their first day in the desert between Amestris and Xing. Greed split off from the group and came back with a rock worn smooth by the blowing sands. The sunlight shone on the rock’s surface, and revealed little clusters of sparkles when Greed twisted it at the right angle. In different lighting it would probably look like an unremarkable gray lump, but it was beautiful in the moment. Ling understood why Greed decided to pick it up.

He didn’t understand why, instead of shoving it in his own pocket as usual, Greed held it out for Ling.

“Here,” he said, looking at Ling expectantly. “Take it.”

“Um, okay?”

Ling held out his hand and Greed tipped the rock into it. It was smooth as marble, and warm from lying in the sun. It fit perfectly in Ling’s palm. He absently ran his thumb over the surface as he looked back at Greed.

Greed had a concerningly smug look on his face. 

Suddenly suspicious, Ling asked, “Are you trying to make me carry your stuff so you can pick up even more rocks?”

The smug smile disappeared from Greed’s face. 

“No, It’s–ugh nevermind!”

Ling watched, bemused, as Greed stomped away, as much as anyone could stomp over shifting sand, to talk to Mei. The girl patted him comfortingly on the arm and shot Ling a dirty look that he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve.

Ling tucked the rock carefully into his pocket for safekeeping, and then hurried to catch up with Lan Fan and offer to help her find a good campsite.

A few days later, as they were approaching an oasis midway between the Amestran border and the ruins of Xerxes, Greed once again found something he deemed worthy of hanging on to. 

The oasis was one of the better documented sources of water on the journey through the desert and trade caravans came through the area regularly. They’d been seeing little bits and bobs that must have fallen off a wagon throughout the day. Greed had stopped to investigate most of it, but only found one thing he actually liked. 

Once again, Greed carried his find over to Ling, this time keeping whatever it was closed in his fist as he offered it.

“Here. I want you to keep this. Not carry it for me.”

“...Right.” Ling decided not to comment on Greed’s weird behavior, instead just holding out his hand under Greed’s

A ring dropped into Ling’s palm, a black band set with a purple gemstone almost the exact color of Greed’s eyes. 

The stone was fake, Ling could tell right away. He didn’t know if Greed couldn’t tell or just didn’t care. For all his talk about appreciating the finer things, Greed didn’t actually put much stock into how expensive or high quality anything was, perfectly content with costume jewelry as long as it was suitably flashy. 

This ring actually wasn’t nearly as gaudy as Greed’s tastes normally ran. It black band was simple, etched with a subtle geometric pattern that was only visible up close. The single stone was large, but not ridiculously so, not something that was deliberately ostentatious.  

Ling actually liked it, and maybe it was unbecoming of a future Emperor of Xing, but Ling found he didn’t care much more than Greed did about having only expensive belongings just to prove he could afford them.

Greed shifted anxiously, and Ling realized he’d been silently staring at the ring for long enough for it to get uncomfortable.

“Thank yo–”

“We must hurry, my lord.” Lan Fan called, interrupting Ling’s thanks. “We need to reach the oasis before sundown if we hope to replenish our supplies tonight and get an early start tomorrow.”

Ling knew most people would think she sounded perfectly respectful, as befitted a bodyguard speaking to her master. But he also knew her well enough to hear how annoyed she was getting with the hold up.

“Coming Lan Fan!” he called. Turning to Greed he added, “We’d better go before she decides to stab you.”

Greed looked a little disappointed, but nodded, easily matching Ling’s pace as they began to walk again. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t really want to fight her.”

“Because you don’t fight women?” Ling asked.

Greed hummed in agreement and Ling rolled his eyes.

“That’s such an old fashioned attitude. She could beat you easily, especially if you do that thing where you refuse to use your full shield until you’re already losing.”

Greed looked at Ling like he was stupid. 

“Of course she could. She’s insane. I guess you never met my ‘sister’ before she bit the dust, but she was fucking terrifying. And Martel was–” Greed cut himself off, looked away for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing. “Ed’s teacher took out my whole crew single handedly once. That Winry girl’s not even a fighter and she tossed us and Darius and Heinkel and those two Briggs guys out of her room like it was nothing. Not to mention your little sister being–”

“Wait,” Ling interrupted Greed’s list. “Are you saying you’re ‘not the kind of guy who fights women’ because you think all women can kick your ass?”

“I don’t think all women can kick my ass,” Greed argued. “I just think women who like to fight are more likely to kick my ass than men, which is not fun for me, and women who don’t fight probably have no idea how to because of stupid human gender rolls, so I’d feel shitty for beating them up. Also the one time I tried to fight Lust she backed me into a corner and slashed my arms off like ten times in a row while saying I should never hit a lady, so. Don’t really want to do that again.”

Ling burst out laughing as they hurried to catch up with Lan Fan, and ignored Greed’s protests about his reasoning making perfect sense.

He slipped the ring onto his finger as they walked.

He didn’t miss Greed’s pleased smile.

They reached Xerxes before midday, and decided to rest there and head out again the next morning. 

Greed announced that he was going to take a look around the place. When Ling stood to go with him he added that he wanted to go alone.

Ling tried to hide his hurt and disappointment at that. He had thought they’d been getting a little more comfortable around each other the last few days.

He must not have succeeded, because Greed suddenly looked panicked and added, “I mean alone for now! We can go together later, that would be cool. But you should…rest! Because you need more of that than me. And you should let me find places that are safe to explore first since you’re all human now and…squishy.” He winced at his own word choice. “Okay, see you later, bye!” 

Greed all but fled from where they’d settled in the shade of a ruined building, and Ling watched him go.

Greed was being very weird since the Promised Day. Well, he was always weird, but now it was obvious even to Ling, who’d mostly gotten used to his baseline bizarre behavior. 

Greed almost never said what he meant, for all that he didn’t lie, but he was normally way smoother at talking his way around things. Smooth enough that he could even fool himself into believing his bullshit.

And Ling couldn’t figure out why Greed kept giving him stuff. Sure, his whole “I want everything” routine was just a cover for the fact that he couldn’t even admit to himself that he just wanted friends. Ling was able to tell that almost right away, once they joined up with Ed and he let himself think of Greed as something other than an enemy he had to resist. 

But he’d never picked up on any real inclination to give things away, no matter how much he cared about the people around him more than he’d ever let on. He also liked having stuff. And yet he hadn’t kept any of the things he’d picked up on their journey.

Ling could hear Greed make his way through the ruined city streets. He was not gifted in stealth, much to the dismay of their traveling companions when they’d been trying to evade the Amestran military over the long months of winter. 

It sounded like he was digging through the rubble and flipping stones too big for a human hands to easily move. Ling wondered what he hoped to find. The place had been abandoned for generations. Then again, most people left it alone rather than ransacking it, out of respect for the terrible tragedy that had happened here, so maybe there was something worth finding. 

Ling was considering whether he should tell Greed to stop rifling through the remains of a dead civilization when Greed made a triumphant noise and the sounds of digging through rubble stopped, replaced by the sounds of sprinting back towards the rest of them.

Greed audibly stopped running just around the corner of their makeshift shelter and then strolled casually into sight. Ling very kindly refrained from laughing at the terrible attempt at acting like he hadn’t been rushing back. Mei had to turn away and disguise her giggles as a cough, and Lan Fan didn’t bother to hide her judgemental stare. 

Greed looked a little excited and a little nervous as he walked over to Ling, though Ling wasn’t sure if someone who hadn’t spent a few months inside Greed’s head would be able to see that through the false air of confidence he’d put on. He was holding something behind his back.

Greed stopped directly in front of Ling and said, “I found this for you,” before all but shoving the hidden object into Ling’s hands.

It was a dagger in a sheath that had maybe once been brightly painted but had long since faded to the barest hints of a pattern. The hilt and cross guards formed elegant curves,  and there was a blue jewel inset in the pommel. Ling drew the blade, and though it had long lost its edge, it must have been well made and also incredibly sheltered from the elements wherever Greed had dug it out from, because it was in remarkable condition for how old it must have been. It would probably only need a little bit of maintenance to be usable. 

It was a beautiful weapon, but also a practical one, lacking in the tacky extra spikes and jagged edges that Ed liked to give things, and that Greed had often praised as looking “pretty sweet.” It was obvious that Greed had picked it with Ling’s tastes in mind.

“Thank you,” Ling breathed. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

He looked up from the blade to find Greed grinning at him, somewhere between elated and self satisfied.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Ling added, suddenly feeling guilty for taking so many gifts from Greed without offering something in return. “I could go find–”

“You don’t have to,” Greed interrupted, still smiling. “I mean, you can if you want. You know I’ll never say no to a present. But you don’t have to. I didn’t give it to you so you’d give me something.”

“Why did you, then?” Ling asked.

The smile slipped off of Greed’s face, but before Ling could freak out about making him sad, Lan Fan and Mei both groaned in frustration, in a display of synchronicity that Ling didn’t think boded well for his future well being.

“Ling Yao, you are so stupid!” Mei exclaimed. She sounded less hostile than he might have expected with that statement. Her tone almost reminded him of when Al would sometimes despair over what an idiot his big brother was.

“He’s not the only problem,” Lan Fan argued. “Greed, you need to stop acting like a child and use your words.”

Ling was officially lost. He looked between his three companions in hopes of finding a clue to what was happening, and was completely disappointed in that hope. 

“Lan Fan, do you know what’s going on?” Ling asked. 

“Of course I do!” she snapped before taking a deliberate breath and continuing in something closer to her normal calm and respectful way of speaking to him. Ling could still clearly hear her holding herself back from calling him an idiot.

“Ling, you are my prince, my lord, my future emperor. I would follow you anywhere, I would kill and die for you, and I know you will be a good king to our people. But I cannot deal with this foolishness another second. It was a nice distraction at first, but it’s gone on for far too long.”

She turned away from him to speak to Mei. “I'm going for a walk. Would you like to join me, Princess?”

“Yes, actually,” Mei chirped, hopping to her feet. “ I wanted to take a look around and see if I could find any surviving records of the types of alchemy that were studied here. Hopefully something that doesn’t involve human sacrifice for a change.”

“Wait,” Greed said, sounding slightly panicked. “Mei, you said you wanted to help me.”

“I did want to help you, mister Greed, but Lan Fan’s right. This is taking too long. You two need to sort this out before we get back, or we’re kicking both of your butts, okay?”

Lan Fan, alarmingly, did not object to the idea of Mei kicking Ling’s butt, and instead calmly walked away with the younger girl.

Ling looked back at Greed, who was staring after Mei like a man lost at sea watching his last hope of rescue disappear over the horizon.

“Do you know what we're supposed to be working out?” Ling asked, watching Greed's attention snap to him in a wide eyed stare. “Because I really don't want to get beat up by my little sister and my best friend. Actually, I think I liked it better when they hated each other.”

“Right,” Greed said. He took a deep breath and shook his arms out, his expression settling into something more calm and confident that was almost convincing. “I can use my words, no problem. I don't act like a child.”

“Of course,” Ling agreed, trying to sound encouraging. 

Privately he had his doubts. This sounded like it was going to be a serious conversation, and while Greed has many strengths and good qualities, the ability to talk about serious things–or gods forbid his own emotions–was not one of them. He hadn't even been able to tell the difference between wanting world domination and wanting friends until Ling spelled it out for him.

Ling thought he might know what this was about, or hoped he did anyway. But he wouldn't push. If he was wrong it would be awful, and if he was right then it was best to let Greed try and get it out on his own time.

“I want–I mean I–you’re so–” Greed cut himself with a muttered curse. “Let me start over?”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Greed took a few more breaths, looking everywhere but at Ling, before seeming to gather the nerve to continue.

“I want to rule Xing with you,” Greed said in a rush, so fast Ling could hardly make out the words. “I mean, if that offer's still on the table. If I didn't screw it up forever with the lying to you and almost dying and making you waste that philosopher's stone to save my ass. I really hope I didn't screw it up?”

That wasn't exactly what Ling had wanted to hear, but it was still good. It meant Greed wanted to stay with him, and Ling wanted to rule Xing together too. That could be enough. It really could.

He refused to let himself be disappointed.

“You didn't screw anything up,” he reassured. “Of course the offer still stands. I thought that was obvious when you decided to come back with us.”

Greed shook his head. “No–well yes, but. What I mean is…we aren't sharing the same body anymore.”

“Yes, I've noticed that.” Ling agreed slowly, once again lost as to what Greed was even talking about.

“Right. Of course you have. Obviously.”  Greed waved his hand vaguely, as if shooing away Ling’s comment. “So, now we’re two different people. I mean we always were, but like, legally or whatever. And, you know, normally if two different people are ruling a country together it’s because they’re together. I guess usually married, technically.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

That was actually a bit more than Ling had been hoping for, to be honest. But Greed never did anything halfway.

Before Ling could say anything, Greed’s mind visibly caught up with his mouth. His face turned a very interesting shade of red.

“Wait, no, that’s not what I–” Greed waved both hands in the space between them, like he could maybe catch and take back the words. “I don’t mean we should get married right now! Or ever, if you don’t want. We really haven’t known each other that long, even if it feels like I’ve known you forever. I just meant–I really want to stay with you, and not just because I want to rule a country. So maybe we could date? Or something? God, I sound like an idiot! Forget I said anything, I’m just gonna go dig a hole and bury myself for a few hours. Or years.”

Greed turned away, and Ling just managed to shake himself out of his shock in time to catch his hand before he could make a break for it. 

Greed could have pulled away easily. There was no way Ling, who was back to being an ordinary human, could have held a homunculus who really didn’t want to stay put. But Greed didn’t pull away. Instead he stopped like he was rooted to the ground. He looked down at where their hands were joined between them, then twisted his so he could interlock their fingers.

Ling couldn’t stop the huge smile growing across his face, no doubt completely goofy and undignified, and not even serving a purpose like the ones he used to put on for his airheaded prince act. He didn’t really care.

“I don’t think you sound like an idiot,” Ling said. “I want to stay with you not just to rule a country too.”

Greed eyes darted up from their hands to look searchingly at Ling’s face. “Really?” He asked.

Of course, for all Greed’s blustering self aggrandizement, he really didn’t think very highly of himself. Ling might be the only one to know the truth of that, so he knew how hard it must have been for Greed to come out and say that he wanted to be with Ling, without even hiding behind some convoluted speech about wanting to own him.

It gave Ling the courage to do something hard himself.

“Yes, really. Couldn’t you feel it when we were sharing a body?” Ling really hadn’t thought he’d been subtle, but Greed just tilted his head in question. “Greed, I love you.”

Greed gasped, looking at Ling like he’d just performed a miracle. He raised his free hand and gently, almost hesitanty, cupped the side of Ling’s face. 

“I–” Greed started, and then gave up trying to talk in favor of leaning forward and kissing Ling.

It was a chaste kiss, just a brush of their lips really, and Ling wasn’t sure if Greed was being considerate for his comparative lack of experience, or if the vulnerability of the moment had made the homunculus feel uncertain in the action himself. 

Either way, that simple press of lips felt amazing, electric in a way it maybe didn’t have any right to. A part of Ling would probably always miss the closeness of sharing his body with Greed, but now he realized that having their own bodies opened up a lot of exciting new possibilities.

All too soon, Greed pulled away again. He stared into Ling’s eyes, looking every bit as dazed and happy as Ling felt.

“I love you too,” Greed said, his voice barely above a whisper but the only thing Ling could hear. 

Greed’s new old body was taller, and Ling had to reach up to wrap a hand around the back of his head and tug him down into another, deeper kiss. But Greed leaned back in so easily he barely had to pull, so that was okay.

Eventually they’d need to talk more, about what they both wanted, about how to frame their relationship to the emperor and the people of Xing so it wouldn’t hurt their chances at the throne. But all of that could wait. For now, Ling was more than happy to let the world fall away as he stood in the ruined city and kissed the man he loved.

When the girls returned to find them like that, Mei seemed torn between finding the romance sweet and being disgusted by her brother kissing someone. She landed on disgusted, sticking her tongue out and saying, “Blech! Do that somewhere else!” before flopping down next to her bags and pulling out a notebook, presumably to take note of whatever alchemical oddities she’d spotted on her walk.

Lan Fan still looked tired and sad, and probably would for a long time yet, but when she smiled at Ling he could tell it was genuine. “I’m happy for you, young lord,” she said, and her voice sounded lighter than he’d heard it since before she cut off her arm.

So much had changed since he’d set off for Amestris nearly a year ago, and Ling had lost things he would never get back. But he’d gained more than he’d ever thought to dream as well. 

As he sat in the ruins of the city whose destroyer they had helped defeat, with his best friend, the little sister he never thought he’d be allowed to care for, and the love of his life by his side, Ling thought he’d be ready for whatever changes the future might hold.

[gayluigi]

Grief is so weird. I was listening to and singing along with a Moonase Alpha cover of Gary Come Home and it made me cry bc I miss Lucy.

“More than a pet, you’re my best friend, too cool to forget, come back ‘cuz we are family and forgive me for making you wanna roam. And now my heart is beating like the saddest metronome.”

Like damn, except for the fact that I didn’t drive Lucy away (she just passed from heart failure), that hits the nail right on the head. She was my little bestie, my puppy sister, and I miss her like crazy. It’s been two weeks as of today since she left us, and I’m desperately trying to cling onto memories. We still haven’t unpacked her urn from the gift bag it came in bc it’s too hard.

I frickin miss my dog, man. Why do dogs have to die? Why do animals in general have to die? They’ve never done anything to deserve suffering like that. Not that I’m the kind of nihilist that thinks people deserve suffering just for being human… but it’s harder with animals and little kids when you know they’ve never done a mean-spirited thing in their life and have hearts purer than most adults. Little kids and animals shouldn’t have to suffer and die.

Just look at this stupid little adorable face. It was unbearable to watch her suffer. It was unbearable when I was taking her nose and paw prints and she was so cold and limp. How could the universe let this precious little girl suffer and die? Ugh. It’s not fair.

[unohanadaydreams]

DAMAGE DONE FOR KENPACHI SOULMATE CAN YOU IMAGINE THE A N G S T AND CONFUSION

 I know ppl who follow this blog have taste because you were the the first of four ppl to ask for this exact combo jdhdjsjs. We are all Kenpachi brain rot compliant.

Features: Cutting/self harm, a real shit start to a relationship, and angst.

Bleach Your Soul: Ask Meme

Kenpachi Zaraki + Damage:

So much of your life was defined by isolation. A patient treated terminal. Everyone paid you the same attention they would a ghost, fleeting smiles and tears that fell over your bed as though it were a grave.

How could you not feel tortured and angry, to be saddled with a soul mate determined to drag you through hell with them? There were times you truly believed were your last. Stabs too close to your guts. Slashes peeling open to far towards your heart.

There was little room in your thoughts to worry about who suffered with you, other than to curse them. Whether they struggled to live or delighted in violence, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything while laying in your deathbed. Through childhood, your heart withered like the flowers always dying on your window sill. If only they’d throw you away for good, as well.

You garnered hobbies to keep busy rather than to enjoy them. Your stitching, calligraphy, and precocious little drawings stained in blood more often than not. The 4th division was your jail. Your soulmate, your warden. Keeping you there, always.

For years, you begged them. Desperate to be heard--to have a modicum of fucking control--, you carved words into your skin. Were they scared the first time you did it? Did they hate it? Did it hurt them?

Vindictive, you hoped all your horrible thoughts were so. When you cut ‘stop. stop. stop. stop.’ you did it on your side and hip, so it would reopen. Again. And again. And again. And--

They never responded. No matter what you wrote. ‘Please stop.’ ‘It hurts.’ ‘Doesn’t it hurt you?’ ‘I hate you.’ ‘Who are you.’ ‘Don’t you care?’ ‘Kill me.’ ‘Die.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Slowly, then suddenly, the damage that had been near daily stopped for so many years stopped. Your family settled you back in the home, a living urn. They said your name and stroked your cheek and smiled too small when you spoke.

Your skin buzzed with the absence of what had plagued your entire youth. Was it sickness or shame that drove your blade through your skin still? Did you just miss it? Was the violence boiling you alive with no where to spill out anymore?

There were times you swore minuscule nicks would appear, healing too fast to smooth over, but staying long enough to feel. Older, able to be among people, you realized what that could mean. What kind of person you’d told to die as a pithy little tween.

Were they alive--really alive? Did anyone else care or were you the only one?

‘Songbirds.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Your name?’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘Work sucks.’ ‘Too hot.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Hotpot.’ ‘Cut words.’ ‘Please.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Shinigami.’ ‘13th.’ ‘Rank?’ ‘Rukongai?’ ‘I’m sorry.’

@

Retsu Unohana, the only woman he couldn’t quite look in the eye, was there to smile all serene-like over him. After he’d lost. Figures she’d be there when he fucking lost.

She asked him all those annoying questions about how his body felt and told him all the things he needed to heal from. He wanted to shake her like Yachiru did when he wasn’t paying attention enough for her liking. Who gave a shit about all that--he lost and got what he deserved. He had to get stronger. Just because she’d abandoned her pride didn’t mean he would. 

“Your soulmate is here, too.”

Kenpachi couldn’t ignore that one. He never ignored that one. Not that they let him, with all their fucking writing. Saying the strangest shit sometimes too.

When he was young, he’d been paranoid, not knowing what the fuck was doing the writing. He’d swing his sword over his calf or side or thigh, expecting to lob and invisible arm off. Running, Kenpachi would try to out pace the fucker.

 Yumichika explained it like having one was exciting. Ikkaku had yelped for Yumichika to knock it off as the man with beautifully kept hands had given himself a paper cut.

“See? It means the person you’re meant for feels everything you do on the battlefield.” His colorful eyelids narrowed, sights shifting between his captain and Ikkaku. “Or in the file cabinet, if either of you would bother to help out.”

The more he understood--and thought about it--the less he wanted to meet them. His soulmate. Kenpachi wasn’t a person who forgave weakeness and anyone meant for him wouldn’t either, right?

He’d been consumed by sleepless nights, futile attempts to nap, and brutal training sessions, trying to keep his failures out of mind after the realization. What if Yachiru had been forced to take every blow the same as he had? Whenever he tucked in his lieutenant, the question ate at him further.

With time, there had come some form of solace--one day he’d find the thrill of a horrible battle again, to drown the thoughts out. But what Ichigo Kurosaki had offered hadn’t been horrible in the way he’d imagined. And here he was, face turned away from Unohana’s thinly veiled impatience, his feelings too complicated to bother with fully.

“Well?”

Unohana stood, like she was disappointed and Kenpachi couldn’t help but snap at her, “Fine. Whatever.”

She smiled, soft as she’d gotten, and went to the door. “Fine to what? I only told you they’re here. But if you’re so determined to see them, Captain Zaraki, follow me.”

@

Grumbling about how much he hated ‘that sneaky shit’, Kenpachi did follow her, and went through the door she gestured at before being closed in with your recovering body. Your body hadn’t healed as fast as his, but that wasn’t a surprise--you’d be a captain for sure if you could pull that shit off.

Worst of all, you were awake, the scar lining one side of your face as thick as his own. No one else was in the room with you. There were no flowers or cards. And your mouth was hanging open.

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah well,” Kenpachi didn’t know what to say, trailing off as one of his fingers brushed over his thigh.

“Everyone is talking about your fight,” you said, filling his silence with a light shrug. “I figured it was more than coincidence that I ended up like this at the same time. I’m glad it was you and not the ryoka.”

“You thought that kid was your soulmate?”

“How was i supposed to know? No one’s seen him since your fight, or so they’re saying.”

“The scar’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Uh, I’ve never seen you before and it’s not like you’re ever in the Seireitei Bulletin or...or wandering around where people could find you!”

Kenpachi winced, not because of your words, but because the closer he got, the more your sweat and shaking arms showed. You must’ve been like this for a lot of your life. A worming feeling of guilt he seldom felt curled in his belly. Now that he had a person to pin to the thought, it swelled large.

Maybe if he were a softer person, someone rounded out like the long gone Yachiru turned Unohana, he’d say something comforting or concerned or even charming. But his hand was still on his thigh and his mounting frustration at himself, all revolving around his lack of strength, felt thick on his tongue.

“This mean you’re gonna stop with the fucking words?”

You pulled your head back slow, looking up at him like you couldn’t decide between succumbing to exhaustion or lunging at him.

“What if I don’t? What if I just keep going till you respond?”

“You’ll keep going until ya die.”

“Well, great! There’s you’re answer,” you scoffed. “You’ll have to kill me.”

It was a shit start, all things considered, and the silence that took over the room as Kenpachi sat on the nearest chair, so hard it almost cracked, felt as horrible as his zanpakuto refusing to answer him.

“The name’s Kenpachi Zaraki,” he said, resolved to at least get your name.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Damn right, you do. Now tell me yours.”

You wouldn’t have introduced yourself if he hadn’t looked so...well, you couldn’t quite tell what he looked like. Tired, maybe. Tired and wanting something.

So you gave him your name, your relief that he was alive, that you hadn’t wished him to his grave in your youth, outweighing your anger. An apology for putting you here was like grasping at the sky and hoping to hold a star, if his reputation proceeded him. So you let it go as best you could.

And Kenpachi settled back in the chair, grunting in acknowledgement. He didn’t think learning your name was gonna make him stronger, but it felt nice to hear someone talking to him like a person and not a beast.

If he was being honest, it’d always felt nice to be given your words, when so many people refused to give him any. A bit awkwardly, he stayed while you fell victim to sleep, your breath slow before he spoke again.

“Thanks.”

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Debrief

Part 7 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

…the thunder of crashing boulders…

…Hwan’s green eyes, wide with terror, framed by a Fire Nation Infantry helmet…

…the heat of the fires, bathing his face with the stench of burning hair and flesh…

…Father’s voice, sneering “suffering will be your teacher”…

The shriek of terror and remembered pain is strangled in his throat as Zuko snaps awake, drenched in cold sweat and panting like he’s been tree-running for an entire day. The Yuyan dorm is dark and quiet, everyone is still asleep, and Zuko simply lies in his bunk and breathes.

It’s been a week since Chihese and Haili Squads returned from Huzhen, two weeks since the battle (slaughter) itself, and Zuko has had nightmares every night. Every time he closes his eyes to sleep, he sees the captive earthbenders dressed in Fire Nation uniforms as they’re buried by their own countrymen, feels the fire thrown by the Third Infantry Corps as they overwhelm the tiny Earth Kingdom company… feels his face burn as Ozai caresses him with flames.

He wants to climb into Kai’s bunk, like he has every time he had a nightmare or a major panic attack in the last almost two years. But he’s turning sixteen in two months, he’s no longer a child, and hasn’t been since he was discarded in the Earth Kingdom wilderness like an unruly and unwanted house pet. He can’t go running to his best friend every time he has a bad dream anymore. They barely fit on the same bunk anymore, anyway—Kai has always been tall and lanky, but at the age of twenty has topped out at six feet and gained the shoulders to match. Zuko himself has shot up to nearly 5’6” and gotten his shoulders early, much to Kai’s chagrin. If Zuko tries to sneak into Kai’s bunk, one of them is going to end up on the floor.

No, he's not a kid anymore. He can deal.

He slips out of his bunk and silently works his way through the Stronghold to the komodo-rhino stables. The stables are quiet but for the sounds of the rhinos shifting and breathing in their sleep, and Zuko silently scales the building to perch on the roof, facing the east.He's exhausted, but he never goes back to sleep after one of these nightmares. If he's lucky, he'll only have a couple of hours before he'd wake up naturally from the sunrise, but tonight's not a lucky night––there's several hours between now and dawn. He sighs, and settles himself to meditate, feeling his inner flame race through his chi paths and chase away the chill of the mountain night.

His thoughts refuse to settle, though. They race around his skull like trapped rats:

How could Hanzou do something so horrible?

It was an excellent strategy.

It was cruel!

They were going to be executed or imprisoned anyway.

It was dishonorable!

There is no honor in war.

Then maybe the war should end.

Zuko opens his eyes with a gasp. End the war? The war was meant to bring the Fire Nation’s light to the world, to demonstrate their superiority to the other Nations.

How in the depths of Koh’s lair does murdering an entire squad of captured prisoners in cold blood make the Fire Nation in any way superior?

But that’s treason, to think like that. Zuko has given up on attempting to feel anything other than fear and contempt for Ozai, has given up believing in the power of his royal blood after being so very thoroughly disowned by his father and Fire Lord, but he is still a citizen of the Fire Nation, a loyal one.

But… how can he claim loyalty to a nation that commits crimes against other humans in the name of spreading greatness? He has no doubt that Ozai will reward Lieutenant General Hanzou handsomely for his actions at Huzhen—the Fire Lord has demonstrated repeatedly that he cares little for his own people, let alone helpless enemy prisoners of war, and will commend Hanzou for his creativity in solving two problems in such a simple action. This will encourage (has encouraged, Zuko can never forget his failure to prevent the death of the 41st) other generals to try equally ruthless tactics to earn the Fire Lord’s favor for themselves, perpetuating his bloodlust all over the world. Ozai has turned Sozin’s admittedly megalomaniacal dream of spreading Fire Nation greatness into a nightmare of fire and death for the other nations, and has turned the Fire Nation into exactly the kind of savages his people are taught to believe the other nations are.

This war has to end, and it can’t end with a Fire Nation victory. If that makes him a traitor to the Fire Nation, then so be it, but he would rather save his nation’s soul than perpetuate its cruelties. He doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but there’s got to be some way to end the fighting, end the war, without the complete destruction of one side or the other.

Uncle Iroh had come back from the Siege of Ba Sing Se with an urn containing the ashes of Cousin Lu Ten’s body and a quiet but powerful belief in the importance of balance. In oneself, in one’s life, and in the world itself. Zuko had thought the old man had gone a little nuts from the trauma of losing Lu Ten, but now… now he can kind of see what his uncle was talking about. It makes Zuko wonder if Uncle, too, saw how the Fire Nation was destroying itself as its leaders destroyed the world.

He can’t let it continue.

Terrified green eyes wide in a pallid face framed by a Fire Nation Infantry helmet…

A shoe scuffs almost silently on the roof, and Commander Toshiaki steps out of the darkness and settles himself a polite distance from Zuko.

Zuko’s nerves buzz and he has to consciously keep himself from tensing up. Damn his luck. The moment he makes the conscious decision to commit treason against the Fire Nation, and who shows up but his Agni-damned commanding officer.

The Commander softly snaps his fingers, and Zuko automatically gives him his attention.

It’s not uncommon for soldiers to have trouble sleeping after their first taste of combat, he signs, slow and easy, his expression serene.

Zuko grits his teeth. That wasn’t combat, Commander, he replies, signs sharp. That was a slaughter.

He fully expects to be reprimanded, but the Commander merely bows his head in concession.

I agree.

Zuko watches in mild shock as the Commander continues.

What happened at Huzhen was a tragedy and should never have happened, he signs. What happened to the 41st Division was a tragedy and should never have happened. The Siege of Ba Sing Se, the predations of the Southern Raiders, the attack on the Northern Water Tribe, the destruction of Taka… the genocide of the Air Nomads. All tragedies, none of which should have ever happened.

Zuko watches as his superior hesitates, just for a split second, completely invisible to a civilian's eye but as obvious and shocking as lightning.

Your farce of an Agni Kai was a tragedy, and should never have happened, Commander Toshiaki finishes, looking Zuko in the eye.

For moments that feel like years, neither of them move. Zuko barely dares to breathe. But when several minutes pass and the Commander makes no move to attempt to restrain him for arrest and return to Caldera, Zuko tentatively raises his hands.

How long have you known?

The Commander smiles wryly. I'd had no idea until Dr. Atsuko told me about two weeks after your arrival. Apparently her uncle was present.

Zuko does not want to talk about this, but his hands move without his permission. Him and the entire fucking Caldera, he snaps out, feeling the flash of heat over his eye that always accompanied even a passing thought of the spirits-damned mockery of a duel that was meant to end his life.

The Commander is still. Waiting, endlessly patient, like the hunter he's been training Zuko to be for almost two years.

Why didn't you turn me in? Zuko asks, morbidly curious. He hadn't hidden his identity, he'd just known that after six months of living by himself in the middle of nowhere, no one would believe him if he tried to insist that he was the missing Fire Prince. "Zuko" wasn't a hugely popular name, but it wasn't rare.

For a long time, the Commander doesn't answer. He just sits beside Zuko, not too close, and leans back on his hands and stares up at the stars. Zuko wants to get impatient, to snap his hands around the signs and demand answers, but he grips his knees until his knuckles and fingertips turn white and waits.

Finally, the Commander sits up, bringing his hands up to sign.

I have been a loyal soldier of the Fire Nation for seventeen years, he signs, not seeming to actually look at Zuko. I have done many things in the service of my country, but they have always been in line with my own morals. But that… that was a step too far. You are a child. You were a child then, and you are a child now. There is no action that you could take or had taken that should have been met with violence of any kind, much less on that scale. You should have been sent to bed without dessert, or made to write lines or do conditioning drills, not–

–Getting my face burned off? Zuko finishes, tilting his head and smirking lightly.

The Commander scowls at him, then a small smirk of his own breaks through and he chuckles silently.

I don’t know how to explain it any better, but after Atsuko left, I thought about you, and about how kind you are, and how much better things might be if you were Fire Lord, and suddenly I was doing everything in my power to keep you alive to become Fire Lord.

So I’m a bargaining chip. Zuko keeps his expressions and body tightly under control, burying his hurt.

NO.

He jumps at the force of the sign, at the way the Commander seems to double in size as he leaned forward with his shoulders thrown back aggressively, his hairless eyebrows furrowed low over his dark eyes, mouth turned firmly down. He may as well have been shouting.The Commander relaxes a bit as he continues to sign, but he still leans toward Zuko just a little bit in his eagerness. You are not a bargaining chip, Zuko. You are not some prize to control. You are the closest thing to a son that I am ever going to have, and I am so incredibly proud of the man you are becoming before my very eyes. I didn’t report you because what the Fire Lord did to you is wrong, it was cruel and despicable and the fact that no one else seems to have had any problem with it just goes to show how far our great Nation has fallen. You are a child, and I wanted to protect you and give you the time you needed to heal and grow and decide what it is you want to do with your life. If you decide to enlist officially in the Archers, I will be happy to help you falsify the documents you need and approve them. If you decide to move to Ba Sing Se as a refugee and live in peace, then I will do everything in my power to ensure your safe passage. He takes a deep breath, and folds himself into full kneel atop the narrow peak beam of the stable roof. It’s not a full kowtow, because he needs his hands to speak, but it shocks Zuko just the same.

If my Prince decides to take up arms against the tyrant Fire Lord, then it will be my honor and my privilege to dedicate my life and my bow to his service.

It takes Zuko a moment to realize what’s happening, but when he does he nearly falls off the roof. His spirits-damned commanding officeris swearing fealty to him, Zuko, the prince who was burned and thrown out of his homeland to die. This man saved him, risked court martial and prison and even death to keep Zuko from being discovered and executed by his father, and here he is, dedicating his life to some hypothetical and certainly suicidal bid Zuko might make for the throne. He can’t breathe.

Please… please get up… he signs shakily, and pulls on the Commander’s arm. The older man sits, but keeps his head respectfully bowed. Zuko gathers up the tattered remains of his composure. I don’t understand what you want from me. You would really just… let me go? After two years? If I said I didn’t want to continue being part of the Archers, or didn’t want to try to overthrow my father? You would just… let me go? He’s never felt like the Archers were keeping him hostage, but learning that his commanding officer knew who he was this entire time and had kept the knowledge secret is messing with his perceptions.

Commander Toshiaki looks heartbroken as he signs, Of course I would. All I want is for you to be safe and happy. If you decide to find that safety and happiness behind the walls of Ba Sing Se, then I will forge the paperwork required and escort you there myself. I would miss you terribly, and Kai may never forgive me, but I would rest well knowing that you are happy and safe.

Zuko is sorely tempted, the memories of Huzhen sending icicles up and down his spine. But his people would still be killing and dying and poisoning themselves and the rest of the world with their hate and unchecked aggression while he hid safe and contented behind Ba Sing Se’s massive walls, and he knows like he knows his own name that if he chooses that road, he would go crazy from the inaction.

He’s also tempted to hold to his and the Commander’s original deal, to enlist in the Yuyan Archers as soon as he was of age, but that would severely limit the kind of action he could take to try to end the war. He’d still be perpetuating the Fire Nation’s crimes, and he knows that eventually the dissonance of his beliefs and his actions would drive him just as crazy as he would be if he was hiding in Ba Sing Se and doing nothing.

There’s only one thing for it, then.

This war has to end, Commander, he signs finally. I want to have a hand in ending it. Do you have any ideas on how to go about that?

The look on Commander Toshiaki’s face is one Zuko has never seen before, pride so fierce and joyful that it makes Zuko’s face and ears and the back of his neck burst into flame with the heat of his blush. Only Uncle Iroh (only Mom) has ever looked at him like that.

You honor me, my Prince, the older man replies, and bows with the Flame. Zuko returns it, feeling like a few of the missing pieces of his soul have finally clicked into place.

They stay up on the roof of the komodo-rhino stables until nearly dawn, hammering out plan after plan after plan for every contingency they can think of, and a few that Zuko hopes will never come to pass because if they do, then the entire world is screwed.

In the end, they decide that Plan A is for Zuko to continue on as he has been, and enlist in the Archers the moment he turns eighteen. With his extra four years of experience, he’ll shoot up the ranks, and hopefully make Captain and have his own Squad by age twenty, which will provide him with command experience. Once Azula turns eighteen and is crowned Heir Apparent, it’ll only be a matter of time before she decides to seize power for herself, and by then Zuko will be more than ready to challenge her for the Caldera Throne.

It means another four years at least of war, of his people suffering, and that chafes at Zuko like sand in between his toes, but as he steps up his training in firebending, in swordsmanship, and in archery and stealth arts, he contents himself with the knowledge that this is the most logical path to ending the war. He cannot face Ozai. Just the thought makes his entire body shake and his mind race like a mouse in a trap. Better to wait for Azula to make her move and avoid the Fire Lord completely than to risk freezing up and getting killed for the hesitation.

A few weeks after the rooftop… thing (revelation? discussion? conspiracy? conspiracy), Kai corners him in the farthest corner of the training yards, where Zuko likes to practice with his dao.

What the fuck is up with you? He signs, sitting on Zuko’s stomach after ambushing him into a mild wrestling match. Zuko’s slippery, but Kai has height and weight on his side, and their matches tend to end in draws more often than not, but this time Kai isn't playing. Zuko's arms are trapped against his sides by Kai's knees, and the older boy is pressing down with just enough weight to ensure that Zuko can't break free of the hold, and his expression is pouty and annoyed but his eyes are concerned. Zuko relaxes into the pin, and simply raises his eyebrow.

Kai rolls his eyes, and gets up. Zuko sits up and takes a few deep breaths, but otherwise doesn't move.

Well? Kai demands, signs sharp with impatience, standing on the balls of his feet as though ready to move at a second's notice. You've been so weird since we got back from Huzhen. Honestly, I expected the nightmares, I've had them too, but you've stopped going to the stables and the hawks and you barely talk to anyone! All you do is train, you barely even eat or sleep! What the actual fuck, Zuko?

Oops. Zuko winces, scratching the side of his head. He hadn't meant to get so wrapped up.

You're right, he signs. I'm sorry, I've had a lot on my mind recently

.Kai frowns, and settles himself on the ground directly in front of Zuko. Talk to me. Maybe I can help, or at least be a friendly ear.

Zuko barely has to think about it for a second. Kai is his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, and he trusts him even more than he trusts the Commander at times.

He explains everything. His identity as the (former) Crown Prince, the Agni Kai, his abandonment in the wilderness. How the massacre at Huzhen had made him realize what the war was doing to their country, to their people. How the Commander had known all of this time exactly who he was, and how the man is helping him in his conspiracy to commit treason by simply being alive and planning to take back his throne when his scheming sister makes her play for it.

Through it all, Kai's eyes never leave his body, taking in everything. There are several points where it looks like the older boy (older man, Kai is twenty now, and when on earth did they all grow up?) might interrupt, but he restrains himself admirably. His face is pure rage when he learns how Zuko got his scar, and again when Zuko describes the realization that he had been left for dead in the mountains, but he doesn't move. When Zuko is finished, his hands and brain exhausted, Kai sits for a few moments, eyes closed.

You know, I always thought it was weird that an obviously full-blooded Fire Nation kid just randomly showed up here, he finally muses. Especially one so obviously noble-blooded.

So you’re not mad? Zuko didn’t think he would be, Kai loves a good prank, but it’s always helpful to know where he stands so that there aren’t any surprises.

Kai chuckles silently, and digs a knuckle into the top of Zuko’s head. Dumbass, he signs, grinning crookedly, his eyes warm with affection. You were doing what you needed to do to survive. Nothing wrong with that. I was just worried about you— there’s all sorts of horror stories about bad reactions soldiers have to their first combat experience. I wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to do anything stupid.

Thanks, Kai, Zuko signs, grinning.

I got your back, Prince Danger Noodle, Kai replies, winking at him.

With Kai in the loop, Zuko’s archery training takes off, as the older Private teaches Zuko everything he knows about hitting exactly where he aims every single time, no matter the conditions. They drill relentlessly, in any spare moment that Zuko’s not practicing his firebending or his dao.

The summer fades, and Zuko celebrates his sixteenth birthday by breaking into Shinu’s office, stealing the three massive jugs of baijiu the Colonel keeps there, and getting impressively drunk with Kai, Jiyoti, Min-Seo, and some of the other younger soldiers stationed at the Stronghold. He doesn’t remember much past the first several swallows, but he does remember it being one of the single best birthdays he’s ever had. Then the hangover hits in the morning, and he spends PT wishing that someone would shoot him and end his misery. Captain Hiroki and Commander Toshiaki are entirely unsympathetic, and Master Ryoichi gleefully pummels him in sparring, taking advantage of his infirmity to teach Zuko how to fight while impaired. It's grueling, and surprisingly vicious for the usually fair-minded Master, with any number of assailants jumping in and out at any given moment, but Zuko manages a pretty solid win, despite his spinning head and churning gut. Afterward, as Zuko sits on the side and wishes for a dark hole to crawl into, the Master announces that Zuko is a Firebending Master. Zuko responds by throwing up at the Master's feet.

Fall passes, and Zuko makes a consistent habit of breaking into the Stronghold's communications hub and reading every report he can get his hands on, with specific attention paid to the Fire Nation Army's movements in the Earth Kingdom. He learns everything he can, memorizes codes, locations, and personnel, some tiny, paranoid part of his mind urging him that no knowledge is wasted, even if it would be rendered obsolete within the next week. Despite obsolescence, no report is ever thrown away–– the hub contains scrolls dating back to Pouhai's founding as a frontier garrison in the very early days of the war, only weeks younger than the Yu Dao colony. It's here that Zuko encounters a written account of the Avatar legend, copied for posterity on the fiftieth anniversary of Sozin's attack on the Air Temples and then shoved in the back of the shelf and forgotten. Zuko skims it, reads maintains balance between the Four Nations, and finds himself wondering for a moment what life might have been like had the Avatar cycle not been broken. Then he shakes his head, replaces the scroll, and goes back to reading reports from the Southern Raiders.

On a freezing winter morning, as Zuko and his squad sit down to breakfast and tease Kai for still being half asleep, a herald reads a proclamation from the Caldera.

"The Avatar has returned, and is wanted alive for treason against the Fire Nation."

The mess hall is silent. Zuko nearly chokes on his tea. Unbidden, his eyes fly to Commander Toshiaki, who has gone white to the lips, but otherwise is composed.

The Avatar has returned.

This, Zuko thinks, as he listens to the silence break to the shattering sounds of all of his plans, changes everything.

Previous | Next

[whyiask]

more bitter than sweet (Ch. 2)

Masterpost Ao3 Link tw: mentioned fighting, mentioned child abuse (only mentioned offhandedly and not described in detail) Notes: (at the end because they are long)

---

A crack of lightning interrupted the relative calm of the mansion. Tommy titled his head to the side in confusion. They hadn’t predicted any thunderstorms on the weather channel. Another flash of lightning and Tommy was standing up and moving towards the door. As soon as he saw what was outside, he rushed to open it.

The wind pushed him back, but Tommy took another step forward. What appeared to be a swirling blue vortex had appeared in the middle of the courtyard. The others were already outside.

“Stay back, Tommy,” Tommy heard someone- probably Schlatt- yell. He scoffed, though the sound was ripped away by the wind. Like hell he would stay put.

A figure was barely visible, pushing through the vortex. Schlatt and Techno tensed up, ready for battle. With a strangled cry, the figure pushed themself all the way through the portal and it closed up behind them with a vwip .

Tommy staggered with the sudden lack of wind, before rushing forward to join the half-circle his siblings had formed around the stranger. They groaned and pushed up to their knees, breathing heavily.

“Uh-” Ranboo said. Everyone turned to glance at him. His eyes were blown wide as if he had seen a ghost. Ironic.

“Is it just me...or is that Niki?”

Tommy’s mind short circuited. He rushed forward to help the figure off the ground, and she looked up at him. He held a hand to his mouth and tried to keep his emotions in check.

“Niki?” He asked quietly. He didn’t have to ask. It was undeniably her, with her bubblegum pink hair and her round, open eyes, still wearing her SBI uniform. She smiled hesitantly at him.

“Hi, Tommy,” She said, brushing a strand of hair behind her head and standing up fully.

Tommy didn’t want to take his eyes off of his not-dead sibling, but he could imagine his siblings were just as shell shocked as he was.

“Niki-” a voice choked out. Wilbur. “We thought you were dead.” Tommy could hear the sorrow in Wilbur’s voice. They had always been close, growing up. Always there for each other. Wilbur had taken Niki’s disappearance particularly hard.

“Well, I’m back,” she said, not unkindly.

Wilbur froze for a second, before rushing towards her and sweeping her up in a hug. Niki tensed for a moment, before relaxing slightly and hugging him back. She pulled back after a few seconds. Wilbur looked like he wanted to hug her again, but she ducked beneath his arm and started walking towards the house as if things were normal.

Tommy caught up to her, walking by her side, unable to take his eyes off her face. He had thought he would never see her again. They all did.

“I have many questions,” Techno drawled, but Tommy could see that even he was shocked.

“And I’ll gladly answer them,” Niki smiled back at him. Tommy wanted to ask her where she had gone and why she had come back, but he bit his tongue. Niki led them to the kitchen, walking briskly, and the brothers all followed close behind. She made herself a sandwich while everyone settled around the kitchen, perched on various counters and stools.

Niki took a bite of her sandwich and closed her eyes in bliss. She took a few more bites, before regretfully setting it down and looking at her assortment of siblings.

“So,” she began casually. “What do you want to know?” Chaos resounded as everyone started asking questions immediately, cutting each other off and trying to get Niki to listen.

Tommy tried a few times, before sighing and screaming at the top of his lungs, “Shut up!”

It worked, everyone’s grumbles slowly faded out, and Schlatt cleared his throat.

“Where did you go?” he asked first.

Niki pondered the question for a second. “I went to the future,” she said eventually, “Looks like dad was right, huh? I was never ready for time travel.”

Ranboo perked up. “What was the future like?”

Niki glanced at him, something unrecognizable on her face. “It’s...not good.” She looked down at her hands and took a shaking breath.

“Niki?” Wilbur prompted gently.

“I was stuck there for 45 years . I think I’m done thinking about it for a while. I’ll tell you someday.” She pushed herself up to her full height and let her eyes roam to each person individually, daring them to contradict her. When she caught Tommy’s eye, he resisted the urge to shrink down. Her gaze was so intense, and even he knew better than to push farther.

Tommy couldn’t stop staring at his sister, as if she would vanish again the moment he looked away. Niki saw him watching her and offered a small smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said quietly to him, reading his expression. “You won’t lose me again.”

---

It was raining by the time they went outside for the funeral proceedings. Tommy suspected as much- looking at the weather when he had arrived, it didn’t come as a surprise. His umbrella helped him stay dry, but the ripping winds still sent shivers through his body. Ranboo’s multi-colored umbrella stuck out like a sore thumb and Tommy had to give props to him for his audacity. Reginald had never liked colors.

Schlatt’s umbrella was all but broken in the wind yet he didn’t seem to notice. The urn with their father’s ashes was held gently under his arm. Schlatt stepped forward, passing his umbrella off to Wilbur.

“Does anyone want to say a few words?”

Nobody stepped forward. Schlatt looked around disapprovingly.

“Why aren’t you sad that our father, the man who raised us, is dead?”

Tommy resisted the urge to scoff. He figured it wouldn’t go over well. Reginald might have raised them, but he had never been good at it, and he certainly had never been a father.

Techno had no such reservations, letting out a quiet “good riddance.”

Schlatt turned to him, anger alight on his face. He had been especially sad and irritable recently, even if none of his siblings shared the sentiment.

“How can you say that?” he accused. Techno stayed silent, sharpening his blade with a methodical back-and-forth motion.

“Ranboo,” Wilbur interrupted before a fight could break out. Ranboo looked up at Wilbur, a question in his eyes. “Can you summon dad’s ghost?”

Even Schlatt fell silent to await Ranboo’s answer.

He laughed. “I thought I was the one with the memory problem,” he joked. “Of course I can, that’s literally my power.”

After a moment’s pause, Techno drawled out, “Well…?”

Ranboo startled, before nodding rapidly and Schlatt set down the urn on the damp earth. Ranboo crouched next to it and settled his hand on it, coughing loudly to clear his throat.

“Um, hi,” he said out loud. “Dad? Yeah, can you uh- come talk to me, maybe? Schlatt wants to know whether your death was accidental and will never get off my case if this doesn’t work. Techno is still doing his weird hero-complex stuff and probably needs a good lecture; Wilbur has abandoned us, come talk some sense into him; Niki actually admitted you were correct for once- and I know you always wanted to see the day. Uh- Tubbo’s still dead but he’s still a nerd and still way too chaotic- though I suppose you might’ve already met him in the afterlife or wherever you are.”

Ranboo paused, glancing to his side and hissing, “Shut up, I’m trying to talk to dad.” Tommy looked to his siblings but they were all too busy gaping at Ranboo or opening their mouths for an angry retort to question who he was talking to.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ranboo muttered, slapping the ashes lightly. “Hurry up, get over here, you stupid ghost.”

After another minute of nothing happening, Tommy moved forward and put a hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, pulling him away from the urn. Ranboo groaned and raked a hand across his face.

“I feel him,” he admitted sullenly. “I feel his ghost but he refuses to talk to me.”

“Or maybe you just aren’t good enough,” Schlatt muttered.

Techno pulled himself up to full height and glared at Schlatt’s head as Schlatt picked up the urn. He went to scatter the ashes, but the rain clumped them all up, ruining the effect. Niki snorted at the pathetic display.

“You just love tearing everyone down, don’t you?” Techno glowered, sending a look towards Ranboo, who seemed crestfallen at Schlatt’s offhand comment, though he was hiding it well.

“What?”

“Does it make you feel better about yourself? Is that why you do it?” Techno advanced towards Schlatt, menacing. “Does it help you sleep at night, upholding dad’s legacy to the point where you will do anything in your power to make us all feel like garbage?”

Hypocrite , Tommy thought, remembering the way Techno refused to even look in his direction.

“Dad only wanted what was best for us,” Schlatt sniffed, not backing away from Techno’s silent challenge.

“Are you joking? Schlatt, I don’t know how long it will take for you to get this in that thick skull of yours, but Dad abused us. He’s not some picture perfect role model, and yet you’re trying to turn out just like him!”

Tommy sighed and followed Ranboo, who was already leaving the scene. He tapped Niki’s arm as he passed, and without a backwards glance, she followed them back inside. Tommy winced at a thud and looked over his shoulder, just in time to see Schlatt tackle Techno to the ground. Techno whipped out one of his knives. Wilbur was flitting around, unsure of what to do.

Techno slashed out towards Schlatt and rolled out from his hold, and Tommy turned back around for deniability. He refused to be a witness if Techno actually stabbed Schlatt, which didn’t seem like such a wild possibility at this point.

He only did look back towards the fight when he was safely back inside the manor, umbrella tucked away and in the process of tugging his coat off. A crash resounded through the courtyard.

With a rapidly sinking heart, Tommy looked back to see Tubbo’s memorial statue, on the ground, broken from its pedestal. It had originally been placed there as a reminder of the SBI’s failure to protect their brother, but as it fell, it felt like another part of Tubbo’s memory had been destroyed too.

---

Schlatt is fourteen years old. He is the oldest of all the Hargreeves siblings. The children sit in a row of chairs, ordered by how important they supposedly are. Schlatt, Number One, sits in the first chair, arm cuffed down. Phil is tattooing a small symbol on his inner wrist, a design of a dark, threatening bird taking flight. Schlatt bites his lip to keep from crying out.

They all take their turns, each trying not to cry as the insignia is burned into their skin.

Tommy is only five, but even young, he understands. He watches, almost sadly as everyone gets a tattoo, except for him. Later that night, Tubbo complains to him about how much it hurt. How he wishes he was in Tommy’s place, exempt from the pain their father put the rest of them through.

Tommy sees it as the opposite though. It’s better to be united in suffering than to be alone. Still, Tommy lets Tubbo rant and doesn’t share his thoughts.

Alone in his room at midnight, Tommy draws on his own crow in black sharpie.

---

With the pathetic funeral over, the Hargreeves were avoiding each other like the plague. They only met briefly in the kitchen to get breakfast. Schlatt poured himself a cup of coffee, and Niki blinked into the kitchen, snatching it from his hand and ducking under his arm, ignoring her brother’s shout of protest. In one gulp Niki downed the coffee, before making a face and tossing the empty cup over her shoulder.

She ignored the loud smashing sound and Wilbur’s mournful cry of “My favorite mug!”

“Where around here can I get a decent coffee?” she asked irritably.

Techno stared at her from his place in the corner. “Do you not remember-?”

Niki rolled her eyes, sticking her hands in her pockets and leaning back on her heels. “No, idiot, it’s been 45 years since I was last here. A lot is changed in the future.”

Ranboo raised a hand as if waiting to be called on. “Then- why do you still look 12?”

“I made a mistake in my calculations, and eventually had to resort to moving my consciousness into a version of me that exists in this timeline, and the last time I existed in this particular timeline was when I was 13 and first time jumped, so, ergo, my mind has been stuck into this ridiculously small body.”

Based on Ranboo’s expression, he didn’t fully understand at all, but he nodded anyway.

“You could head down to Quackity’s donut shop downtown?” Tommy suggested from on the counter, having just taken his anxiety pills and tuning into the conversation. “He makes a fairly good cup of coffee, plus: donuts.”

Niki tilted her head to the side. “That’s not actually a horrible idea. Care to join me?”

“Can’t, sorry,” he shook his head. “I’ve got piano lessons to teach in about an hour or so.”

“I’ll come,” Ranboo offered with a grin.

To everyone’s surprise, Technoblade sighed, standing up fully and stretching. “Somehow I doubt that either of you actually have any money, and Niki looks 13, so I’ll drive you there.”

“Great, let’s go!” Niki said, clapping her hands and taking large strides towards the door. Techno followed at a leisurely pace and Ranboo waved back to the other as he left.

Tommy gave a mock salute to Wilbur and Schlatt who continued to stand in the kitchen.

“I’ll be staying for a week or two before flying home,” Wilbur offered. “Come find me after you're done with your lessons for the day. As annoying as you are, I want to hang out with you a bit before I leave.”

Right. Wilbur was flying back across the country soon. He had almost forgotten. Tommy nodded and exited the building.

Wilbur and Schlatt both finished grabbing breakfast and headed their separate ways in the mansion.

...

Across the house, Philza had been dusting the same lamp for an hour straight. In the back of his mind, it registered that he was malfunctioning again. He was rather self aware that way. Straightening up, Phil went back to his charging station and plugged himself in. His work was done for the day.

---

---

----

----

-------

Notes:

Okay a couple of things:

1. you can absolutely read this fic without knowing the plot of TUA. 2. I call them the SBI instead of the Umbrella Academy, even though y e s, i know that a lot of them aren't in the SBI. shh. that's just what I'm calling the group as a whole. 3. unlike the show, they aren't all the same age. they were all born on the same day at the same time, but on different years, because I said so. Schlatt is the oldest and around 25 and Tommy is the youngest and around 16 and everyone else is somewhere in between. 4. as in the show, Schlatt has been on the moon for four years directly before the events of this fic. Wilbur is a famous musician rather than a movie star. Techno is still a vigilante. Ranboo isn't a drug addict, he just has a really bad memory and blacks out occasionally(because of his powers, somehow). Tommy plays piano instead of violin and gives younger kids lessons. 5. Wilbur and Techno both moved out of the house when they hit 18, respectively. About a year before the events of this fic, Ranboo and Tommy ran away and got an apartment together. 6. for people who haven't seen the show, basically Schlatt has super strength, Techno can manipulate the trajectory of objects, Wilbur can 'rumor' people and convince them of stuff/to do stuff. Ranboo can speak to ghosts, Niki can 'blink' or jump through space and time. Tubbo is dead(I will talk about his powers more during the actual fic), and Tommy doesn't have a power.

+7. (cursed) one of my friends who was beta-ing this said that they kept picturing Philza in a maid dress in this AU and now I cannot get that mental image out of my head. someone help me. please note that he is *not*, in fact, wearing a maid dress.

[docholligay]

I am so frustrated with this ahahahahah. Anyway, the request was “Avital, after Winston dies” 

“We are going to find a solution to this problem, and that solution will include my uncle in the ground here.” 

Avi’s accent was strange, even she was quick to admit, seemingly drifting around the world, despite spending the vast majority of her life on London’s East End. Certainly, you could hear that, as she sat around with her friends and laughed and joked, her h softening until it quietly disappeared. You could hear her Swiss mother, in moments, the lilt at the end of a word, the musical cadence of a sentence when Avi tried to comfort someone. Sometimes the simple American of her uncle seemed to suffice in the lab, or crept in as she sat thinking. Mostly, she was her own strange quilt of all she had loved and been loved by all of her life. 

There was no drift with her mother’s curt formality. It was a tool that left little room for ambiguity and questioning, and though Avi could not see herself in this moment, she knew she would be the match of Pharah in her body: chin straight, shoulders squared, stance locked. Her mother had a bearing that quashed opposition before it began, when she chose to wear it, and Avi had taken it for herself with pleasure. 

One could almost feel sorry for the man before her, taller than Avi but seeming so much weaker before her as Avital held a box in front of her and wordlessly stared at him with her falcon’s gaze, smaller than her mother but no less forceful. 

“Miss Ziegler-Amari,” he rubbed his hands together, “this cemetery has been in use since before the first world war, and there are traditions.” 

“Yes,” Avital nodded, “I imagine that to be true. I also imagine over the years, some of them have been amended. I imagine there was a time I could not have been buried in this cemetery for the crime of being a Jew, and yet that seems to have been rightfully amended, over the years. It is time,” she stood a little straighter, “For an amendment.” 

He went to his desk and sat behind like a child being send to the corner, and Avi did not oblige him by sitting as well. 

“It’s very difficult,” he cleared his throat, “in this country, to overcome years of tradition. Burying animal--” 

“My uncle Winston was not an animal.” She held the box more tightly. “He was presented with the full rights of a human being under British law, and I am more than happy to present the papers saying as much.” 

“Miss--”

“My uncle saved this city. He helped to save the world, and all he wanted, in all of it, was to be laid here with Lena. I promised him I would do it. I assure you that I will. I know there is one space left in her plot, for an urn, and that this was always her intention as well. It is also, my intention. I am very good at making my intentions into fact.” 

People said they reminded her of her Mutti, when she first met them, with her blonde hair and soft cheek, but it took only a matter of weeks for most to note that Avital Zeigler-Amari had more than a fair part of Fareeha in her, once you stopped looking at the wrapper. 

The man thought for a moment, and then grabbed for a piece of paper. 

“We’re having a meeting, March the first. I can’t promise anything,” he looked at her cautiously, “but I will bring this matter to their attention. We of course know of Win--,” he noted the sharpness in her eyes, “Dr. Oxton’s contributions to the city.” 

Avi nodded, clicked her heels together quite without meaning to, and went to go, wooden box still in her arms. She stopped at the door, and looked back. 

“I am perfectly capable of a promise, and that promise is, you will find my tenacity on this matter to be a hound from hell, biting at your ankles.” 

It was a bit dramatic, she supposed, which was unlike her, or her Mum, who would have offered the simple direct threat--no, not a threat, a promise--that she would pursue this until it reached a satisfying conclusion. She would mean, of course, that he would eventually fall before her like an exhausted fox, and just as likely to be torn apart, but she would not have said that. Her Mum, even in hyer most serious moments, was not given to dramatics. 

Well, she was allowed to have her own personality, even in her threats, then, wasn’t she? 

She walked out of the cemetery with the box held tight, and felt the rigidity and discipline that guided so much of her life falling away from her. She was angry, of course. Furious, that they would deny Winston this, after everything that he’d done, after all the good he’d brought to London on top of saving it, that simply putting a box in the ground where it was meant to go was just a bridge too far. The section he was to be buried in might as well be its own small Oxton park, and they had all said they were only too happy to have him laid there, but that still didn’t matter. Enraging. 

But she was also very sad, and very hurt, and it was this part of her that felt tears sting her eyes as she left the cemetery and crossed back toward the train, toward the place she had never been able to think of as an old warehouse, but had always been her Uncle Winston’s home. It was her home, now, much to her great and perhaps foolish shock, along with the royalties to a few patents and a few sentimental pieces. 

Avital had promised him. The Oxtons would be in charge of the funeral, for, it was well known, no one threw a funeral like they did, but Avi would handle all of the affairs in general, settle out the will, cremate him, and bury the ashes where Lena’s had been 20 years before. 

He’d never stopped missing her. 

It wasn’t that he had an unhappy life, or at least, he certainly didn’t seem to, but she knew that in the back of his thoughts, she was always there, smiling and laughing. It was a bit like living with a ghost, knowing of Lena, someone she had never met but felt she knew intimately. Avi had understood, and so Avi had promised him. 

She could fail him, and that thought made those tears pool onto her cheeks, which only made her flush hotter and angrier. 

The train squealed into the station, and she quietly thanked God for whatever English awkwardness it was that kept people from so much as looking her directly as she tried to dry her tears, never releasing her grip on that wooden box that held one of the people she had loved most. In fairness, she never looked either, claiming some English awkwardness of her own by birthright, which occasionally seemed to clash with her Egyptian directness. 

She took a deep breath and leaned against the bar as they headed further into the city. It had been less than a month, and there was no reason to imagine that she would be over the sadness of it by now. It was, she supposed, the first major loss in her life since her beloved cat died when she was ten, when she had learned in some way that those things we love can leave us, and since her Mum had taught her that in some other way, they never do. 

This was harder she thought, and then laughed at the thought immediately. How could she ever imagine that it would be the same to lose someone who had helped to raise her? She could be so terribly naive, even at the age of 20, and she had been so spoiled not to know death, not in the way that one feels its icy fingers close around one’s heart, until now. Her Mutti had lost her parents at 13. 

The high, painful screech of the train brakes whistled in her ears. 

Your parents are going to die.

It was a horrifying thought, and all the more horrifying for the fact that Avi knew it was real. She had always known, intellectually, in the way that she had known her uncle was fading when she had decided to live with him and care for him, but now it was suddenly too obvious and too real in her mind. She had felt it, as those fingers closed upon her heart. Her Uncle Winston had sickened and died, and someday so would her Mutti, and her Teta, and, even as impossible and horrible as it seemed, someday, too, would her rock-solid Mum. 

She rushed off the train, breathing hard, wanting to cry and scream all at once, that she had not been ready for her Uncle Winston to die, that she was not ready for the possibility that he had kept every promise made to her and she might fail the one she made to him, that all of this was so clearly unfair and yet the world seemed to go not caring much for her protests. 

She closed her eyes, her breath echoing in her ears. Calm. This happens to almost everyone. Something can be new, and painful, and very survivable. Open. The world became a bit clearer for a moment. It wasn’t that Avital had any particular problem with crying--she had done a fair amount of it this past month--but she did have a problem with spiraling into a breakdown in the middle of a train station about something that had yet to happen and with any luck, would not chase her down for many years. Just a ghost of the future. 

It would be so silent, back at the house, and she shuddered, rubbing at the lid of the box. It had been so silent, as she sat planning her life, reading her acceptance letter to the University of Edinburgh, a gifted language student, she was called. Silent as she remembered how her uncle had laid aside enough for her to easily have an apartment, buy books, anything she needed, for when she decided to go. Silent as she pondered the turn her life had taken, and where she would go next with it. 

Avital shivered. 

There would be ghosts in her home, tonight, the echoes of her uncle’s voice off the walls, his laughter now only a faraway note in the silent and still air. The potential of her failure would be there too, whispering, giggling, telling her that Avital Ziegler-Amari could not quite be the winner of all things, could she? The past could be so loud, when the future was so uncertain. 

But try as she might, she could not hear her uncle’s voice saying he was disappointed in her. Even failure could not make that true. Fear cannot make love lie, not if it’s real, and her uncle’s love for her was the loudest ghost of all, and she saw it shining out of the windows as she walked down the street toward the house that was theirs and then his and was now hers. It would become her home, too, and she stared at it, and held the box close, and let the ghosts of love and of joy, of Christmases spent in laughter with Lena and Hanukkahs spent in coziness with Avital, chatty dinners with the entire Overwatch family, a dozen birthday parties where he spoiled her, and all the ways that Winston had filled that place with warmth, wash over it. 

She took another step through the gloom and damp of the afternoon. There would be ghosts, but as many for her as against her, and she was no coward. 

Winston belonged in that cemetery, and Avital belonged here, and both would be nothing but fact, in the end.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

CYOA: Gotcha

“I was invited directly. If you don’t believe me, you can ask him yourself.”  

You deliver this line with utmost confidence. This man was a waiter, someone who would be beneath a rich, young aristocrat like you were pretending you were. You were also a hybrid and was only briefly surprised that the waiter was one as well.

You could thank Chu Zihang later for exposure to what a truely frightening bloodline purity was like. This guy, while a hybrid, didn’t give off nearly the same shockingly inhuman aura as him.

The waiter let out a quiet hmph at your poise, but he still hesitated briefly, putting the business card down on the booth and walking away. “Please wait here.”

You see him disappear further into the restaurant, behind the dark wood counter of a bar. He picked up a phone and dialed the number. As a hybrid you had a much higher auditory sense than a normal human and could hear the conversation.

“Stravinsky brought a guest. This is a sensitive meeting. Did he say anything about it?” A pause. “Not sure. This person not one of us.”

The waiter nodded once and hung up the phone. He picked up a menu and wordlessly beckoned you inside. You can finally see the spacious interior. A live jazz band was playing, a svelte women in a skimpy gown crooned into microphone on a small stage. The tables were shrouded in darkness and cigarette smoke. 

You’re led to a large round table and you and Stravinsky recognize each other right away. 

With him other men in business attire were seated. You assume that they’re hybrids as well. They eye you with moderate annoyance. One that looked Asian ignored you completely. Another a women with mahogany colored skin, gave you the flash of the whites of her eyes, stood up and left the table.

You get the distinct feeling that you’re not welcome here but you have no choice but to wade into this river full of crocodiles. 

“I guess it’s a little late for introductions.” You hand Stravinsky your business card with your fake ID on it. Your name, a made up entity called Alpha Corp. Supposedly, you’re a successful software engineer.

Stravinsky pockets it without looking at it. “Gentlemen, where are your manners? Don’t tell me that we’re closing recruitment now that we’re so close to our goal.”

Your ears perk up and you look around, more intently now.

The Asian man finally gives you a bit of attention. “I kind of feel sorry for you. You were probably expecting a business opportunity. But this is a religious meeting.”

You look him straight in the eye and reply quickly. “What’s the difference?”

Stravinsky snorted with laughter, ducking his head. “Do I know how to pick them or what? I caught this young blood bidding 50 million on the Eye of Horus. Don’t be so close minded. We are all clearly a believers in the power of the gods.”

He leaned forward. “Besides, I’m in need of a play-tester for a very important game.”

His eyes sparkled in the dark as he gazed at you, not as an equal but like a predator, eying prey through the bars of a cage, imagining all the things he would do to you once he got his claws into you. You’d have to be careful.

“Tell me the details you want, but shouldn’t we introduce ourselves first?” Names, contact information... these were what Chu Zihang told you to acquire.

“We don’t use our real names here.”

The smartly dressed black woman returned to her seat and you nod to her. She flicks her eyes at you and says nothing.

“This is Amber Isle.” He says nodding to the woman. “This is Agate Image.” he says of the Asian man. 

As he introduces the people in turn, you immediately notice a pattern. The inclusion of a precious stone and the letters A.I. You file that away for later.

“And what’s your religion?”

“You should know the answer to that, if you’re in here.” Stravinsky lifted a bottle of wine and poured it into a glass to offer it to you. “Hybrids... they have a certain smell. Yours is faint... but it’s definitely there.”

“You’re going on like that? It’s a little embarrassing.” You take the wine.

Agate snorts. “If its embarrassing for you, imagine how it is for us. We’ve told him again and again, stop bringing his new hires to high level meetings.”

“I want to let them know what working with us has to offer.” Stranvinsky took on a wounded tone. “You don’t think its effective? It’s far more effective than your habit of picking them up off the street.”

He sounded pretty proud of himself. “And if I agreed to your game, what would you do?”

You obliquely reminded him that you haven’t agreed to anything yet. You need more information.

The woman next to him was strangely silent but she wasn’t ignoring you any longer, but watching you like a hawk. Her eyes were sharp. She didn’t trust you and that much was obvious.

You take a sip of the wine, meeting her eyes. 

“Ah. Remember what I said about defeated death at the end of the game? What if it wasn’t a game? What if it could actually be done?”

“Immortality is a fairy tale...”

“And yet every major religion preaches about it doesn’t it?” Stravinsky says slyly. “And we know what group who has perfected the art.”

“You’ve figured out dragon egg-making?”

You squint your eyes in shock. After the 4 kings were created, they were split into pairs. Both twins were born from special eggs. This combination of Alchemy and Technology was a mystery to even the oldest of Hybrids. So long as the dragon could make an egg after birth, once it died it could be reborn into the world. The only way to kill a dragon king was after birth, preventing it from creating its egg.

“You’d still have to be a dragon to do it. And you’re just a hybrid. No offense.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to believe it just by my say so.” He slid his cellphone forward and you hone in on it. There’s a video playing. A bright complicated alchemical circle, runes and what looks like an urn. “Is that an authentic dragon egg?” You ask, but you’re really focused on a certain icon. A text message has been received.

You reach for the phone as though to hit pause and accidently swipe down. A text message and a phone number catch your eye. But you pretend its a mistake and pause the video to examine it.

Stravinsky takes the phone back however. “Do you believe me now?”

“I do...” You say cautiously, while you mentally record the phone number you just saw in your memory. “How many others are involved in this?”

“Many? To know more, we’ll need you to agree to be one of us.”

You look at the other members of the table all of them scowling at you.

“Is this solely your decision?” You ask.

“You’ve already seen too much. I’m afraid we can’t let you leave.” Agate moves his jacket slightly to the left to reveal the gun hidden at his chest. “Sorry. It’s not much of a choice.”

Stravinsky scoffed. “For the rich and the strong, there is always a choice. I swear, you think you’re still part of the Yakuza.”

Agate’s eyes narrow to slits. “You just showed a highly classified document like it was an introduction pamphlet!”

You glance at Stravinsky who seemed to be enjoying his colleagues ire. But the man did have a point. He invited you to this restaurant, he knew you were a hybrid... what else was he assuming about you?

Fear starts to creep in. Was he behind the missing agent? Was he looking for his next victim? Laying obvious bait to trap the new target from Cassell?

“The truth is, I’m a software engineer. I work at the pleasure of my clients.” You say, setting the wine glass back on the table. “I can consult on any matter they like. At its heart, my job is to find solutions to client problems.”

“I don’t know about this egg business... but if you hire me as a consultant, you can both be rid of me and insure confidentiality as business partners.”

Glances were exchanged around the table and you secretly hope that they agree to this and not drag you down some dungeon and sacrifice a goat or something.

“I think this is acceptable.” The black woman, Amber, sighs and nods once.

Agate’s eyes go round. “I don’t agree with this but I suppose I have no choice now.”

“I guess that means you’re hired...” Stravinky also seems disappointed. Maybe he liked goat rituals.

Deep relief overwhelms you to your core. “Now, I take it you have a secure way to contact me? One we can freely use?” 

It was Amber who pushed forward a different card. This one only had a QR code on it. “You’ll be able to obtain that information here. Any software needs we have, we’ll be in touch.”

Much to your surprise she offers her hand to you. When you shake it, it feels strangely pebbly. Your eyes go wide. This woman... she had scales!

Her hand squeezes around yours. “Soft... just like an IT professional.” She purrs. “Failure won’t be tolerated. Neither will betrayal.”

She lets you go and you try to slow your pulse.

Stravinsky elbows you sharply. “She’s quite something isn’t she?”

You manage to hold your cool facade when you get out of the restaurant. You weren’t a smoker or a drinker, but right now, you really wished...

Your hands are in your pockets to hide how much they were shaking. You could still feel the scales on the back of her hand, the sight of the dragon king egg case. The gun. How close were you to dying in the restaurant?

After you walked around the block you flag down a cab to take you back to your hotel.

You take off your dress clothes and look at the clock. 3 am.

The phone buzzes. You put it on speaker phone. “Report.”

But you’ve barely had time to collect your thoughts! 

You make the best report you can. “Okay, so that’s what I’ve got.” Putting the QR card on the table, you massage your shoulders. You’re tempted to ask if you can go home now.

All of a sudden you’re interrupted by a critical voice. “You agreed to be hired by them?”

“I...” You weren’t sure what to say to this. “I had to find a middle way.”

“No... this is good. Because you’ll be in contact and you’ll be paid. That gives us two contacts. However, EVA will be monitoring both. I recommend you work remotely. These people are too dangerous for your level.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“Take a break and rest up. We’re going to have to get you out of Munich. Were you followed?”

“Not that I saw, sir.”

“I’ll put out some security guards for you.”

Was Chu Zihang that concerned for your safety? He hung up abruptly. 

You can’t think to do much more. You were too tired to even put on your PJs. You just lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

You don’t remember your eyes closing, but you’re awakened by a sound.

Your cellphone is buzzing and vibrating erratically. Lines of green text descend in a cascade across the screen and then it goes black with only two words. “Gotcha.”

What do you do???

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

A. Jump behind the bed.

B. Call for help.

C. Throw the phone from the window.

[heraldofzaun]

╳

Send ╳ for my muse dying in your muse’s arms.

It’s the pollution that got him, in the end. Viktor isn’t a man for poetry, but he knows irony well - and there’s a good deal of it in the fact that the same thing that shaped his body from birth is what’s killing him.

His parents always said that he was a miracle.

It’s been a slow death, spread out over months. He’d tried, the first time that a simple cough had left him doubled over his workbench, to find a way to fix it. But vital organs and limbs are two vastly separate categories, and he can’t open up his chest and pluck out his lungs without dying in the process. So then it was on to accelerating his end goal, working day and night and feeling his body try to rip itself apart. But decades of research can’t be done in a year, no matter how little sleep Viktor gets.

His parents always said that he would change the world.

He could have made a duplicate, of course. It would have been difficult, and it wouldn’t have been exact, but it would pass well enough as the Herald. It would walk as he did. Talk as he did. Perhaps it (he?) wouldn’t even know the corners Viktor had cut, if he tried hard enough. But Viktor’s never worked in half-measures, and he doesn’t want a monument to his failure masquerading as his success. So he has decided on this path, and Caitlyn will be the one who helps him with it. He could have entrusted the task to his acolytes, could have given them the instructions that he will give her, but Sheriff Huxley’s shoulders are used to carrying weight. His requests are not too heavy in comparison.

He looks at her, sitting at his bedside, and reaches a metal hand to hers. The right was replaced a few years ago. He thinks he regrets that, in this moment.

“I have four requests,” he starts. He doesn’t have much time, and every word counts. “First: destroy my work. My acolytes know enough for themselves. Second: burn this house. There is- there is-”

His lungs spasm and he jerks forward, forehead to his drawn-up knees. It shakes the script from his mind, and when he looks at Caitlyn again it’s with tears in his eyes.

“There is nothing here for anyone - there are two urns in a room downstairs - destroy my augments and burn what is left-” a shuddering breath in, “There is a spot for us, in one of the mausoleums. You know our name, you will find it. Three places. I trust your discretion.”

His parents always said that they loved him.

He is running out of time. Perhaps he should have waited, waited until Caitlyn was long gone before he chose his own destiny. He regrets that too, he thinks. But that’s why he chose now. He can’t let the fear consume him. His life has always been in his own mismatched hands, and he’ll be damned if he gives it over to Zaun to control in his final moments.

“Caitlyn-” he starts, and can’t find what to say. There is simply so much. He grips her hand - is it painful? He can’t tell. “Stay, just- just a moment longer. It will not be long. It won’t be long.”

“...I don’t want to be alone.”

[shelleysbysshe]

Questions from a new Romantic era fanatic: Why does everyone hate polidori and who the hell is keats?

Hello, dear anon, and welcome to the World of Romanticism! There is no turning back now. This post will be super long, so if you wanted short answers, I beg you to forgive me for that, but I wanted to write something consistent and detailed, with many links for further reading in case you (or anyone else) are interested. Just click on “keep reading” (if you’re on the web. I’m not sure if there is this option on the mobile app).

Well, people hate John Polidori because he was an asshole in Geneva. To give you a few examples of his ridiculous behaviours: during a sailing trip, he hit Byron’s knee with an oar — Byron turned his face away in pain. Polidori, instead of apologising, remarked that he was glad to see that Byron was capable of demonstrating emotions. Byron got so pissed he said that if Mary wasn’t on board, he would have thrown Polidori overboard. The situation, according to Thomas Moore, went like this: “Be so kind, Polidori, another time, to take more care, for you hurt me very much.” — “I am glad of it,” answered the other; “I am glad to see you can suffer pain.” In a calm suppressed tone, Lord Byron replied, “Let me advise you, Polidori, when you, another time, hurt any one, not to express your satisfaction. People don’t like to be told that those who give them pain are glad of it; and they cannot always command their anger. It was with some difficulty that I refrained from throwing you into the water; and, but for Mrs. Shelley’s presence, I should probably have done some such rash thing.“He also purposefully picked on Shelley. On Moore’s words, “Polidori had become jealous of the growing intimacy of his noble patron with Shelley”, and even wanted to duel him after he lost a sailing match. However, Shelley was a known pacifist. Byron, on the other hand, offered himself to duel Polidori, claiming that “though Shelley has some scruples about duelling, I have none and shall be at all times ready to take his place.” Anyway, here’s what the physician wrote about Shelley when they first met: “bashful, shy, consumptive; twenty-six; separated from his wife; keeps the two daughters of Godwin, who practise his theories;”There was also that one time when Polidori asked Byron “what is there you can do that I cannot?”. Byron’s answer was priceless: “I can swim across that river—I can snuff out that candle with a pistol-shot at the distance of twenty paces—and I have written a poem of which 14,000 copies were sold in one day.”

Judging by what I’ve read so far, I’d say the guy was such a pain in the ass, that Byron didn’t even trust him. On a letter to Hobhouse (June 23rd, 1816), he wrote: “that child and childish Dr. Pollydolly contrived to find it [a bottle of potash] broken, or to break it (…)”

Apparently he was a decent person only when he was around Mary, probably because he had a crush on her.

Anyway, Byron was no saint — I adore him (more than I should, probably), but I do know he was a complex person. However, Polidori was the worst, and Byron didn’t deserve that.

Polidori’s journal from 1816 is available online for free. If you wish to read it, you can find it here.Another useful link: Life of Lord Byron, Vol. 3 by Thomas Moore. Also, fun fact: his sister, Frances Polidori, married Gabriele Rossetti. Therefore, John Polidori was Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s and Christina Rossetti’s uncle (although he died before they were born).

And now to who the hell is John Keats Well, here we go…Born in 1795, John Keats was a working-class man — someone whose life was quite frustrating, and surrounded by death (he died at 25, but still outlived his parents, his grandma and his brother). He wanted to be a poet, and to be among the great English poets when he died. Therefore, he began writing around 1814 (if I am not mistaken), and his poems were filled with beautiful lines about nature, beauty, imagination and words about his muse, a young woman named Fanny Brawne.Most of his contemporaries, however, didn’t like his work — it is said that his poems sold barely 200 copies back in the day. Byron, for example, despised Keats as a poet — he used to criticize his poems, and once he even said Keats’ works were a sort of “mental masturbation”. He mentions Keats in Don Juan (Canto XI, stanza LX. He kinda mocks the myth surrounding his death*), as well as in his letters.Shelley, on the other hand, loved Keats, and wrote a massive elegy on his death, Adonaïs, which probably helped keeping Keats’ legacy alive. When Shelley drowned, his body was identified because he had a book of poems by Keats in his pocket. Ironically, Keats didn’t like Shelley that much.Unfortunately, Keats fate was not a fair one: he contracted tuberculosis, probably from his brother, who died of consumption in 1818. The symptoms got worse around 1820, so it was decided that he should retire to a warmer climate in order to survive. In November of the same year, he arrived in Italy. However, because Keats was medically trained, and had already seen people dying of tuberculosis, so he knew he was going to die soon. He knew exactly what was going on, and that moving to Rome wouldn’t work. He knew was doomed.The poor man died in Italy, of tuberculosis, at the age of 25, in 1821, believing he was a failure. He was the youngest of the English Romantics, and also the first one to die.Even though his life was quite bitter, he always did his best to see beauty in every thing that surrounded him — quoting his Endymion “a thing of beauty is a joy forever”; and quoting Keats himself (from a letter): “"If I should die,” said I to myself, “I have left no immortal work behind me - nothing to make my friends proud of my memory - but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.“”.From the state his lungs were after his death (described by his friend Severn on a letter to Fanny: “the lungs were completely gone. The Doctors could not conceive by what means he had lived these two months.”), one can only imagine how much he agonized and suffered during his last days.He was buried at the protestant cemetery in Rome (same place as Shelley). On his tombstone, one can read “This grave contains all that was Mortal of a Young English Poet Who on his Death Bed, in the Bitterness of his Heart at the Malicious Power of his Enemies Desired these Words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone: Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water. ”After his death, Fanny Brawne suffered a lot for about 8 years of her life.John Keats became quite successful a few years later, during the Victorian era, and his poems deeply influenced the pre-raphaelites, and even Tennyson. Nowadays, he is considered to be one of the greatest English poets, as he so ardently desired to be during his lifetime.If you wish to read his poems, I recommend Ode to a Nightingale, On Death, Ode on a Grecian Urn, When I Have Fears, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, Bright Star, Isabella or The Pot of Basil, and This Living Hand. You can read more about John Keats’ life here and here. You can read Keats’ letters here

*The Myth surrounding Keats’ death was that he died because of the stress generated by the harsh comments his poems received. Obviously, that was not the case…

And that’s it.

Thank you very much for asking! I hope you enjoyed my answers! If you, or anyone else has any other question about the romantics, you can ask me here.

[pretty-prince-lulu]

part 9, in which I’m pretty sure I said ‘you’re shitting me’ out loud at least 12 times

all I’m gonna say ahead of time is buckle the FUCK up lads. this was the most wildly fruitful day yet

when we last left our heroes, they were wet, despondent and even larger failures than usual. we’re still not sure how this even happened.

ressurrecting him properly is not within our range of options, but- if you’ll look to your right- you’ll see that we’ve been holding onto the ‘oh my ghost’ opportunity. Mimi got it when one of the cats died, but just in case something went spectacularly wrong, she hasn’t spent it.

while mimi went out to deal with Old Man Soggy Nuts, a babysitter answered the call. not only is he apparently Johnny fucking Bravo, but he also turned the little guy’s music box on while he was asleep. The music box that had been a gift from his Daddy.

The inconsiderate level is off the charts.

He just keeps fucking dancing

same energy

not even you can cheer her up, fairy bravo. There is only one remedy.

So, it’s not quite the same thing. That’s okay. It’s close enough, right? It’s something?

You know... they seem to genuinely like each other, magical beginnings be damned. Maybe there’s something to be done from here.

...

are you serious

Cat Club convenes to investigate the fuss, both the current members and honoured alumni.

There’s more dead people around here than the living, at this point.

Father’s demise was poorly timed, and this was but one reason of many. At least now, he’ll see his boy become... well, not a man, but too big to fit in those little pants-shaped things at the swingset that you need to be cut out of by the fire department if you climb into anyway. Cough.

BUT BEFORE ANY OF THAT

we hit that big shiny blue ‘pause’ key

and set to work making this house look just a little bit less like absolute cock.

If we’re in it for the duration, let’s improve matters somewhat, yes?

Designs shall be done according to the characters within and not what I like- although NEON BULLSHIT and cats just happen to be my aesthetic irl

Mimi and Sekhmet’s room. Formerly housed all the cat urns, but they wake everyone up at night. A separate place of worship is thus warranted.

That’s built next- dark and ominous, accessible from the first floor only.

The bathroom is, likewise, prettified. The cat shitters are moved out to more accessible locations that don’t involve someone breaking their neck tripping on them getting up for their 4am piss.

I don’t want to embiggen the house itself because I’m evidently a fucking masochist, but the kitchen is redone, and what I thought was an interesting space solution setting the dining set at an angle.

Living room is also made to be less dogshit. Some pictures are added later on, but we ran out of money here. More cat trees are also in the plans.

Davin wastes no time acquainting himself with the new couch.

I can’t believe his school uniform (for the music academy) is a fucking tuxedo. What a dingus. Kid must get wedgied half to death on the bus home. That’s not even mentioning the ‘videogames with imaginary friend’ part of this.

A notice is noticed.

-realization loading- -0%- -50%- -100%-

...

I have no idea when they did that, but evidently they fucking did. That’s what I get for leaving autonomous romantic interactions on.

god. FUCK!

it’s like groundhog day. we just spent all our money and now there’s another crotchdragon on the way. god damnit! God fucken damnit! is this family just... doomed to alternate between carcasses all over their living room floor and being so poor they have to sell the fire alarm to buy fruit?

GUHHHH. but tHE SHOW MUST GO ON.

A birthday party is arranged and thrown. IT IS TIME.

but then

a familiar sound is heard.

the sound.

of fuckage.

BELLA YOU ABSOLUTE ASS CANDLE

our party guest is the first to comment on the goings-on

‘yep, that was her. we love her but she’s kind of a giant asshole.’

... are... are you heckling the cat, grim

you do realize that cats do not care, right?

more party guests arrive. The boy of the hour is here! Time to blow out the candles.

why do we keep inviting this guy to our birthday parties?

the cake is approached

a sound is heard.

a... less familiar sound, this time?

oh. oh.

Ah yes. Of course.

IT’S NOT GOD DAMNED FUNNY, GRIM. SHIT’S ON FIRE.

I even managed to capture the moment where the party guests noticed it.

are you there, god?

it’s me, mimi

Mimi’s ice magic comes in handy here. I have NO idea why Sekhmet is so afraid. He’s a) dead b) water-dead. The furthest POSSIBLE thing from flammable.

It could have all been a freak accident.

Davin has other suspicions.

WERE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

The boy ages up. The randomly generated clothes he receives are mocked immediately by his guests. This is completely warranted.

Goddamned boob shirt and a fucking idiot hat.

Okay.

Let’s spritz this lad up real quick.

THAT’S more like it.

I still like this kid. Pretty proud of myself for getting that adorable tie to do that with the kitty too.

Probably got some more TREASURED PETS TO TAKE AWAY, eh?

God. Of course YOU had fun, you gold-plated bastard.

Ahhh, well. The boy’s big enough to ride his unicorn, now, so let’s get onto that. Still can’t believe he even tamed one. Goddamn.

I try to get him to mount him, but he cancels the action out of his queue...

... are you shitting me?

the kid’s been a teenager for three minutes!

And he has ALREADY caught interstellar attention

Welp, I guess their planet fucking needs you, doesn’t it, Davin?

REMEMBER! IT’S NOT GAY IF IT’S IN SPAAAAAACE!

The boy is gone for only a couple of minutes. I guess he yielded less scientific data than the aliens expected him to. They spit him back onto the grass from whence he came.

Some people would be grateful for getting probed on their birthday, Davin. Let’s try the horse thing again now.

Easy does it.

... wow.

The pictures cannot do the hilarity of this justice if you’ve never caught a unicorn. They run faster than a fucking motorbike. That means the riding animation plays on warp speed. The kid’s crotch is bouncing up and down on that thing like the pistons of a fucking engine. By the time that unicorn stops galloping, his balls are going to be behind his ribcage.

Riding in the rain is then interrupted to remind bella not to be a DOUCHE CANOE.

god. FUCK.

Mimi’s been selling potions, meanwhile. There’s a little more in the bank now. Let’s throw a goddamned nursery together so we’re ready.

Since I have no idea what it’s going to be, this seems like a nicely themed gender-neutral start.

We’re still broke, so Dad goes out and puts his five guitar skill points to work by busking in a nearby club.

Davin is mocked mercilessly by someone his mother cannot hear or see. His hell is secret; unknowable; private. It is then he has an idea. It is NOT a good one.

But he’s doing it anyway.

... what IS this prospect like for you, Dav?

you’d rather fuck a pinecone?

well, you’re doing it anyway, because I think it’s funny.

This has to be a crime somewhere, right?

Though, it’s HILARIOUS if you select someone other than him.

a new level of foreveralone unlocked

AHA! IT’S A GIRL! Had absolutely no idea! Just knew that it was stark-ass bonkers. We don’t have the option to boink her, but we DO have a far less sensible choice available.

pictured: one of the many, many moments in which mimi regrets her entire life.

she’ll have two of them soon.

oh... oh wow

SHE REJECTED HIM, AND -THAT’S- WHEN HE COTTONS ON ABOUT THE INSANE TRAIT? Wow. Conceited, much?

Luckily, Mother Dearest has something on her shelf that’ll help us here.

zip zop zoopity bop

-windows fanfare noise-

Rad! Got it on the first try. Eco friendly is a bit weird, but it’s better than insane.

This time, no longer absolutely stark-raving mad, she accepts.

Equal parts heartwarming and horrifying!

But the romance options aren’t all enabled and I can’t figure out how to get them to work, so sometimes the arrangement is a terribly rude one.

We’re not marrying them up yet, however. That is for later. A different wedding takes first priority.

Mimi and Sekhmet. Properly, this time. We’ve even brought a unicorn!

And a buffet table.

The remaining money was used to make the workshop nook look a little bit less like stale piss.

Davin takes another shot at riding. He’s not exactly a natural.

That seems like a bad plan.

-sighs heavily-

Mimi throws the world’s easiest want. She achieves it by walking into the toilet and into her husband-to-be.

Steady on, Sekhmet. He’s arrived for YOUR WEDDING.

Almost ready to start. Is it bad luck to get married during a thunderstorm?

... REALLY? oh. oh god. well, we wouldn’t want THAT

FOR OUR FRIENDS GATHERED HERE TODAY TO THINK SOMETHING WAS GOING ON BETWEEN US

ON THIS, THE DAY OF OUR FUCKING WEDDING

the grim reaper chose the absolute best fucking vantage spot possible for the ceremony

Mimi, it...

that’s not how this works

you haven’t... you haven’t pwned death, darling

They cut the wedding cake. Death watches on with enthusiasm and interest.

A sound is heard.

... seriously? fucking seriously?

you’re going to die of old age RIGHT THE FUCK NOW?

‘dude. that’s a big party foul.’

The guests are horrified.

Mimi could not, in a million lifetimes, find it within her to give less of a fuck.

She’s nine months pregnant, she’s got cake and she’s sick of standing in these heels.

Die more quietly, old man.

The sound is heard again. For a moment, I think it’s part of the same event. But when are things ever that simple?

YOU TOO?

is this because we invited YOU, grim? did you double-book yourself? Is this your idea of multi-tasking?

Mimi points and laughs. At first, I think it’s just dickish. Then, I realise that it’s one of the most dickish things I have seen a sim do yet.

THAT’S HER HUSBAND WHO JUST DIED. SHE IS LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY AT HER GRIEF

ho ly shit. we have moved right past power move and into completely unnecessary displays of nuclear force

‘now THIS is a party’

misery, disaster and death. I... think this might be my favorite family ever. Holy actual shit.

Blissful and fuckless, Mimi and Sekhmet do their wedding waltz, delicately picking their way between the literal crowd of SOBBING PEOPLE.

mimi pauses only to mock widows

eventually, said widow bolts. Holy shit.

I’m

press x to doubt

I do not think ANYONE feels good right now

[beatdisc]

7″ PUNK VINYL

Recently we've bought 3-4 incredible punk/hardcore/post-punk/new wave 7" vinyl collections. So we thought we'd make a list (around 300 titles) for ya'll to check out. See below for everything in-stock right now and get in touch for details & orders!

...AND THE NATIVE HIPSTERS THERE GOES CONCORDE AGAIN $60.00 4" BE 2" ONE OF THE LADS $10.00 7 SECONDS BLASTS FROM THE PAST $15.00 7 SECONDS SKINS, BRAINS & GUTS E.P. $20.00 7 SECONDS / KILL YOUR IDOLS 7 SECONDS / KILL YOUR IDOLS $10.00 86 MENTALITY 86 MENTALITY $15.00 ABRASIVE WHEELS VICIOUS CIRCLE EP $15.00 ADVERTS, THE SAFETY IN NUMBERS $10.00 AGNOSTIC FRONT THAT'S LIFE $10.00 ALCOA DROWNED $10.00 AMBER INN SERENITY IN HAND $8.00 AMPERE / DAITRO SPLIT: PIC DISC $15.00 ANGELIC UPSTARTS NEVER 'AD NOTHIN' $10.00 ANGRY SAMOANS D. FOR THE DEAD $15.00 ARMS RACE GOTTA GET OUT $10.00 ASYLUM SYSTEM OVERLOAD $5.00 ATTEN ASH / LYCANTHIA CITY IN THE SEA / THE HARBINGER $10.00 BAMODI / MEKARE-KARE SPLIT $5.00 BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP UPSTREAM $5.00 BLACK EYES / EARLY HUMANS SPLIT $8.00 BLIND JUSTICE / HEAVY CHAINS SPLIT $10.00 BONELESS UNSTOPPABLE $5.00 BOOKS LIE I FELT LIKE SUCH A LOSER UNTIL I REALIZE $5.00 BOW WOW WOW W.O.R.K. $10.00 BRING ME THE HORIZON DROWN: PIC DISC $15.00 BUZZCOCKS PROMISES / LIPSTICK $15.00 CATHOLIC GIRLS DISTANT $8.00 CHAINSAW GIRLS CHAINSAW GIRLS $5.00 CHOKE WAR OF THE SUBURBS $10.00 CHUCK RAGAN / MUFF POTTER SPLIT $8.00 CIVIL WAR JADED MINDS $5.00 CLASH, THE WHITE RIOT $15.00 CLASH, THE COMPLETE CONTROL $10.00 CLASH, THE CLASH CITY ROCKERS $10.00 COALESCE SALT AND PASSAGE $15.00 COCKNEY REJECTS I'M NOT A FOOL $15.00 COCKNEY REJECTS THE GREATEST COCKNEY RIP-OFF $15.00 COCKNEY REJECTS WE CAN DO ANYTHING $10.00 COKE BUST / VACCINE SPLIT $8.00 COLD WORLD / WAR HUNGRY SPLIT $8.00 COLOSSVS CLEANSED IN BLOOD/REBORN IN SIN $10.00 COMA REGALIA / LAEIRS SPLIT $5.00 COMA REGALIA / QUANTIS SPLIT $10.00 CONTROLLED SELF SUFFICE $5.00 CORPS, THE TOUR 2008 $8.00 COUNT ME OUT WHAT WE BUILT $30.00 CRAWLING CHAOS SEX MACHINE $30.00 CREATURES, THE WILD THINGS $15.00 CRIPPLE BASTARDS JAPAN/AUSTRALIA TOUR 2014 $15.00 CRISIS ALERT CRISIS ALERT $10.00 CRUEL HAND CRUEL HAND $10.00 CRUEL HAND VIGILANT CITIZEN $8.00 CURSED EARTH / BURNING SEASON SPLIT $15.00 DAMNED, THE ELOISE $10.00 DANGEROUS TOYS SCARED $5.00 DANSE MACABRE DIE KRITIK IST KEINE LEIDENSCHAFT DES KO $10.00 DARK HORSE / BLACK JESUS SPLIT $5.00 DAVE GOODMAN & FRIENDS JUSTIFIABLE HOMICIDE $10.00 DAVE HAUSE TIME WILL TELL $8.00 DAVE HAUSE PRAY FOR TUCSON: COLOUR $8.00 DAVE HAUSE HEAVY HEART $8.00 DAVE HAUSE RESOLUTIONS: RSD 2012 $15.00 DAVE HAUSE PRAY FOR TUCSON $5.00 DAVE HAUSE C'MON KID $5.00 DEAD / VAZ SPLIT $10.00 DEAD END PATH DEATH WALKS BESIDE US $10.00 DEAD KENNEDYS BLEED FOR ME $20.00 DEAD KENNEDYS KILL THE POOR $20.00 DEAD KENNEDYS TOO DRUNK TO FUCK $20.00 DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR OUR GLORY DAYS $8.00 DECLARATION BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE $8.00 DEFEATER LOST GROUND $15.00 DISGORGE / GORE BEYOND NECROPSY SPLIT $8.00 DISTRACTIONS, THE TIME GOES BY SO SLOW $15.00 DOWNPRESSER AGE OF IGNORANCE $10.00 DOWNPRESSER / CREATURES SPLIT $10.00 DOWNSIDE / LEGIONS SPLIT $10.00 DRAGO MIETTE, THE A SLOW SUMMER DROWNING $5.00 DROPDEAD / UNHOLY GRAVE SPLIT $10.00 DROWNINGMAN HOW THEY LIGHT CIGAREETES IN PRISON $8.00 EL EJE DEL MAL / INQUIRY LAST SCENERY SPLIT $5.00 ELECTRIK DYNAMITE STEEL OF FORTUNE $10.00 END, THE MY CONFESSION / WHITE WORLD $150.00 EXPLOITED, THE COMPUTERS DON'T BLUNDER $15.00 EXPLOITED, THE DEAD CITIES $15.00 EXPLOITED, THE ATTACK / ALTERNATIVE $15.00 FAILURES FAILURES $8.00 FALL, THE THE MAN WHOSE HEAD EXPANDED $30.00 FALL, THE LIE DREAM OF A CASINO SOUL $25.00 FALL, THE LOOK, KNOW $30.00 FINAL EXIT MIDDLE AGED STINKING COWBOYS $5.00 FIRE & ICE GODS & DEVILS $5.00 FIRE & ICE GRIM $5.00 FIRST STEP, THE CONNECTION EP $10.00 FIT FOR ABUSE MINDLESS VIOLENCE EP $15.00 FLEX, THE DO YA THINK I'M FLEXI? $5.00 FLEX, THE DON'T BOTHER WITH THE OUTSIDE WORLD $8.00 FRANK RIZZO EXTRACTION $5.00 FRENZAL RHOMB 4 LITRES $10.00 FUCK U IS MY NAME CATELBOW $5.00 GASH GOD IS DEAD $80.00 GAYRILLA BISCUITS HUNG QUEENS CAN SUCK IT EP $15.00 GBH GIVE ME FIRE / MAN-TRAP $15.00 GEHENNA / CALIFORNIA LOVE SPLIT $5.00 GENERAL STRIKE MY BODY $50.00 GENERATION X YOUR GENERATION $15.00 GENERATION X YOUR GENERATION $300.00 GET RAD BASTARDS UNITE $5.00 GET RAD / CALL ME LIGHTING SPLIT $5.00 GLOVE, THE LIKE AN ANIMAL $15.00 GOD'S HATE DIVINE INJUSTICE $10.00 GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN SEATTLE CREW DEMO $10.00 GRAVES FIDES AD NAUSEAM $8.00 HARD-ONS DULL / SRI LANKA $30.00 HARD-ONS WHERE DID SHE COME FROM? / GET OUT OF MY $15.00 HARMS WAY BREEDING GROUNDS $15.00 HI-STANDARD CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' $10.00 HOAX HOAX $8.00 HOLY MOLAR CAVITY SEARCH $8.00 HOSTILE OBJECTS YOUNG GOD $8.00 HOSTILE OBJECTS CAVE IN $8.00 HUMAN LEAGUE, THE EMPIRE STATE HUMAN $10.00 HUMAN LEAGUE, THE BOYS AND GIRLS $10.00 HUMAN LEAGUE, THE HOLIDAY 80 / ROCK 'N' ROLL $8.00 HUMAN LEAGUE, THE FASCINATION $8.00 HURTxUNIT WIRED WRONG $8.00 HURTxUNIT DEMO $8.00 I RISE / SOUL CONTROL SPLIT $5.00 ICEMEN, THE THE ICEMEN $15.00 IDYLLS AMPS FOR GOD / PLAGUE HELL $10.00 ILL BRIGADE THE E.P. $8.00 ILL BRIGADE IN THIS AGE $8.00 IMAGES DREAMS ARE REAL $8.00 INTENT TO INJURE KEEP US STRONG E.P. $10.00 JAMES DEAN ACROSS THE GREAT DIVIDE $8.00 JERRY'S KIDS SPYMASTER $10.00 JOHNNY TEEN & THE BROKEN HEARTS SHE STINKS OF SEX $10.00 JONAH MATRANGA / KEVIN SECONDS JONAH MATRANGA / KEVIN SECONDS $5.00 JUMP VISION CAN'T GET USED TO YOU $30.00 JUNGLE FEVER JUNGLE FEVER! $15.00 KEEP IT CLEAR KEEP IT CLEAR $15.00 KEVIN SECONDS / MIKE HALE SPLIT $5.00 KEVIN SECONDS / MIKE SCOTT SPLIT $6.00 KUNGFU RICK / THE ULTIMATE WARRIORS SPLIT $5.00 LEMON KITTENS SPOONFED + WRITHING $30.00 LEMURIA BRILLIANT DANCER $8.00 LEMURIA VAROOM ALLURE: RSD 2012 $10.00 LEMURIA RACE THE GERM / BIG GOLD ADULTS $15.00 LOCUST, THE FLIGHT OF THE WOUNDED LOCUST $15.00 LOCUST, THE / ARAB ON RADAR SPLIT $15.00 LOGIC SYSTEM DOMINO DANCE / BE YOURSELF: PIC DISC $10.00 LOVE, HOPE AND FEAR FATE'S FROWNED ON US $5.00 MEO 245 SIN CITY $10.00 MILHOUSE EVERYTHING'S COMING UP: REISSUE $8.00 MINOR THREAT LIVE AT BUFF HALL $20.00 MO-DETTES, THE PAINT IT BLACK $15.00 MOMENT / THERE WERE WIRES SPLIT $5.00 MONTE CAZAZZA SOMETHING FOR NOBODY $30.00 MONTE CAZAZZA TO MOM ON MOTHER'S DAY $30.00 MONUMENT A 3 SONG 7" $5.00 MOVING PARTS LIVING CHINA DOLL $15.00 NAYSAYER NO REMORSE: COLOUR $8.00 NAZ NOMAD AND THE NIGHTMARES / A.N.T.S.S HEY BO DIDDLEY / M-A-N $40.00 NEW BRIGADE DEMO 2011 $15.00 NEWTOWN NEUROTICS BLITZKRIEG BOP $15.00 NO ANCHOR THE HISTORY OF THE EAGLES PT. 1 $10.00 NOFX SURFER $10.00 NOFX FUCK THE KIDS $10.00 NOFX THE P.M.R.C. CAN SUCK ON THIS $10.00 NOFX LIZA AND LOUISE: COLOUR $30.00 NOFX TIMMY THE TURTLE: COLOUR $20.00 NOFX LOUISE AND LIZA: COLOUR $15.00 NUCLEAR SUMMER / STOCKADES SPLIT $5.00 OF FEATHER AND BONE / REPROACHER SPLIT $5.00 ORCHESTRAL MANOEUVRES IN THE DARK ENOLA GAY $10.00 OUT CROWD JUST US $8.00 OUTSIDERS CODE DEMO $5.00 PALAIS SCHAUMBURG TELEPHON / KINDER DER TOD $50.00 PARADES END PARADES END $10.00 PEACEBREAKERS EVERY DAY BATTLE $5.00 PENETRATION FIRING SQUAD $15.00 PETER & THE TEST TUBE BABIES KEY TO THE CITY $15.00 PHANTOMS S.O.S. $15.00 PLAGUES PERFECT STATE $5.00 POPULAR MECHANICS FROM HERE TO OBSCURITY $60.00 POSTBLUE LAP YEAR $10.00 PRODUCT OF WASTE GOOD AND EVIL $10.00 PROGRESSION CULT NEW BLOOD EP $50.00 PSYCHEDELIC FURS, THE WE LOVE YOU $8.00 PSYCHOTIC MANIACS A TRIBE OF MELBOURNE $40.00 PUBLIC IMAGE LTD. PUBLIC IMAGE $15.00 PUBLIC IMAGE LTD. BAD LIFE $10.00 RACEBANNON CLUBBER LANG $5.00 RACOON CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT / TIRED MI SPLIT $5.00 RANCID RADIO RADIO RADIO $10.00 REJEX NIAGARA BABY $250.00 RICH KIDS RICH KIDS $10.00 RIVERDALES BLOOD ON THE ICE / NO SENSE $15.00 R'N'R I'VE HAD IT / YOUR RULES $5.00 R'N'R / A-TEAM SPLIT $5.00 R'N'R / FIT FOR ABUSE SPLIT $6.00 ROCK BOTTOM BORN II HATE $5.00 ROCK BOTTOM YOUR DEMISE $8.00 RUDE AWAKENING THE AWAKENING $8.00 RUKUS RUKUS $10.00 SADDEST LANDSCAPE, THE COVER YOUR HEART $10.00 SAINTS, THE KNOW YOUR PRODUCT $30.00 SCAPAFLOW ENDLESS SLEEP / THE END $30.00 SECTOR 27 NOT READY $8.00 SETUP, THE / WOW, OWLS! THE SETUP VS. WOW, OWLS! $5.00 SEX GANG CHILDREN INTO THE ABYSS $15.00 SFO / WHITE MALE DUMBINANCE SPLIT $8.00 SHEER MAG SHEER MAG III $8.00 SHIPWRECKED ARCTIC NIGHTS $15.00 SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES ISRAEL $10.00 SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES THE STAIRCASE (MYSTERY) $15.00 SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES PLAYGROUND TWIST $15.00 SIOUXSIE & THE BANSHEES SPELLBOUND $15.00 SLAPSHOT EVERYTHING WANTS TO KILL YOU $30.00 SLAPSHOT LIMITED TOUR EDITION 2012 $20.00 SMIRKS, THE ROSEMARY $10.00 SNATCH I.R.T. / STANLEY $10.00 SNUFF LONG BALL TO NO-ONE $8.00 SOUL SEARCH NOTHING BUT A NIGHTMARE $15.00 SOUL SEARCH / MINUS SPLIT $10.00 STARVATION / NEGATIVE REINFORCEMENT SPLIT $8.00 STEP FORWARD STEP FORWARD $8.00 STEVE DIGGLE 50 YEARS OF COMPARATIVE WEALTH E.P. $15.00 STIFF LITTLE FINGERS GOTTA GETTAWAY $15.00 STIGMATA THERE IS NO MERCY HERE $8.00 STINKY TOYS BOOZY CREED / DRIVER BLUES $20.00 STRAFE FUR REBELLION MOSCHE BILDT NJET $10.00 STRESS RELIEF FEELINGS OF EXPIRATION $8.00 SURVIVAL SURVIVAL $6.00 SWELLERS, THE WELCOME BACK RIDERS $10.00 TACTICS COALFACE $10.00 TACTICS LONG WEEKEND $500.00 TEN YARD FIGHT DEMO 1995 $10.00 TERRITORY BLOWBACK $8.00 THICK SKIN WOLF $5.00 TILLER BOYS, THE BIG NOISE FROM THE JUNGLE $15.00 TILT GUN PLAY $8.00 TIMBER TIMBER $5.00 TONY SLY / JOEY CAPE SPLIT $20.00 TOUCHE AMORE LIVE ON BBC RADIO 1 $10.00 TRANSISTOR TRANSISTOR / MANNEQUIN SPLIT $5.00 TRUE COLOURS CONSIDER IT DONE $10.00 TSK TSK TSK NICE NOISE $100.00 TURNSTILE PRESSURE TO SUCCEED $10.00 UN QUARTO MORTO AUSTRALIAN TOUR 2010 $10.00 UNBROKEN AND / FALL ON PROVERB $10.00 UNDERDOG UNDERDOG $10.00 UNDERTONES, THE GET OVER YOU $10.00 UNIFORM CHOICE 1982 ORANGE PEEL SESSIONS $10.00 URNS URNS $8.00 VACCINE DEAD INSIDE $5.00 VANILLA CHAINSAWS LIKE YOU $10.00 VARIOUS VERY COOL & VERY CORE $8.00 VARIOUS THE EXTERMINATION $10.00 VARIOUS SICK OF THINGS THE WAY THEY ARE $6.00 VARIOUS FREE HARD VINYL EP! $5.00 VARIOUS READ ARMY FACTION $10.00 VARIOUS THE ICEMEN COMETH $10.00 VARIOUS ABSOLUTES NEW ENGLAND HARDCORE COMPILA $10.00 VIOLENCE TO FADE TUG OF WAR $8.00 VIOLENT CHILDREN ROCK AGAINST SPINDLERS $15.00 VIOLENT CHILDREN VIOLENT CHILDREN $20.00 VIOLENT FUTURE VIOLENT FUTURE $10.00 VIOLENT FUTURE VIOLENT FUTURE $10.00 VIOLENT MINDS VIOLENT MINDS $5.00 VIOLENT REACTION VIOLENT REACTION $10.00 VIOLENT REACTION DEAD END E.P. $15.00 VULTEES KICK IT OUT $10.00 VVEGAS/ABRAXIS SPLIT: GREEN $8.00 WAR HUNGRY RETURN TO EARTH $5.00 WARBRAIN PARANOIA $10.00 WARBRAIN / MINUS SPLIT $10.00 WASTE MANAGEMENT POWER ABUSE $8.00 WASTED YOUTH JEALOUSY $15.00 WEAR YOUR WOUNDS / REVELATOR WEAR YOUR WOUNDS / REVELATOR $10.00 WHITE LUNG BLOW IT SOUTH $10.00 YACHTS THERE'S A GHOST IN MY HOUSE $10.00 YOUNG OFFENDERS BIG MAN, SMALL HOUSE $5.00

#beatdiscpreownedvinyl

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

Saphira in "Real Closure"

*When Siren heard the Door knocking..and She opens and saw ron Holding a Boquet of weeds..and went inside...and he sits down..while saphira was sitting in between goku and vegeta..and then siren sits and she said* Now you began to talk.. Ron: Saph..listen..I want to say, That i want you back..i need your help...i'm in a "huge" debt and..*Holds out a boquet of weeds* heh i brought you some flowers... *then saphira snatched up and she burns it and give ron the coldest look into her eyes* Ron: look..i know you Don't want me into your life again! but please hear me out! Kim and bonnie left me! The kids was put into the adoption..and..*Sniffles* i loan something from the loan sharks an- Saphira: *raise hand* Stop!, I Think I've heard enough out of you. First of all, you have Some Fucking Nerve to Show up at my place and had the Audacity to beg me to help you with your "Debt", let me guess..you've been spending on gambling and investing as well? *Crossing her arms* Ron: well...*head down* yes... Saphira; *turns to loan sharks and Paid them up* I paid them..thats the last thing as your "EX" girlfriend will do for you. and also...You HAD your chance to be with me...but you Blew it, You threw away a Good Woman aside so you can be with kim..and Not To mention you made a Huge treason toward my Kind! and Not only that, you stole my credit while you have all the glory while me at the hospital Paying my Damn price! and you never had the Decency to show up to see me at the hospital with no flowers, no stuff animals, no cards, no nothing. All you Do is Sleeping around with my best friend and My arch enemy..Not only that..you brought this illegal Abortion Drug from the "black Market!" And Killed our babies! *pointed at the Urns* look at them now! You Call yourself a Father! This is a Result of what You did...You failed as a man, you failed as a father..and you in every word..are a failure.. You betray me and my kids...I'm tired of your bullshit! I'm tired of you Hurting me so much! Oh yea you hurt me..you abused me infront of everyone at the Funeral...your parents was appalled by your actions! they apoligize for me On YOUR behalf...Aren't you ashamed of what you did!..you even hide the fact that you have the "affair child" behind my back.. You made a choice...Now it's my turn to make a choice..i chose to be with someone who wasn't like you! a Selfish, baby-killing, abusive, lying, cheating, greedy and Self centered, Not to mention a Thieft too! *before ron spoke and she said* Yes! yes you did! you try to embezzled my money and treated me like your Personal ATM..But No more! I deserve better than this and so does my children! You Should be ashamed!..I'd suggested you..to get out of my life! I don't want to see you again!..cause if i ever Find out that your doing this for petty romance, I'll be Suing you for Damages and Compensation...So..get out of my life and Never come back! and also You'll never get a Single Dime from me Nor My Family! We're Done! *Pointed at the Door* there's the Door and get Out! i don't want to see your Horrible abusive face again! *She turn her head away from him* *ron left in defeat and sadden*

@thelittlemermaidfan1989

[storylocke]

Much Ado about Blue: The League

Abe swore he was seeing things, that the long and perilous journey had left him desperate for any sign he was close to reality. The Blue that stood at the other end of the arena smiled, not with the same gleam of confidence and arrogance the game’s programmed “rival” always had plastered on his face, but with the calculated  look of someone determined to actually give it their all. The Champion made it clear he WOULD win as though there was more than just the title at stake. And he proved right. Abe watched his Zapdos fall to the Vaporeon’s perfect shot and the last glimpse of his brother’s old foe was a strange look of surprise as he felt himself teleported out of the room. Surprise, and maybe a bit of fear. Perhaps it was just a matter of Blue starting to become more aware of the world.

Abe had started to notice that, maybe because of him or the aura of warping the Voices seemed to cause, but people he spent particularly a lot of time with seemed more “alive” than others after a while. Or perhaps it was all in his head to make friends with these visions of the machine after being alone with only Dome at his side. Of course, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered now was Abe’s inevitable victory so he might finally escape the virtual world.

=+=

Blue entered the Hall of Fame Chamber with a bit of uncharacteristic nervousness. The large screen that had served as the gateway he came through before appeared almost ominous now as he studied it more closely. For a moment the whole wall turned to static as the screen came to light  and he quickly tried to straighten himself up as he waited for the old man to appear. His grandfather was quite eager at first to hear how things were going, but as he explained the situation, he could see the growing disappointment on the giant face.

Blue crossed his arms as he glared back at him with somewhat haughty defiance. “And just how long do you expect this to go on? You know it’s just a matter of time before he gets in here.”

“You’re not planning to quit on me after only, what, four matches?”

“I’m not planning to quit any time soon, just stating the facts.” The teen shook his head as he let his stance ease with the weight of the truth. “Wandering the same seven rooms for three days gets pretty old pretty fast, and I’m not sure how me just hanging around here is supposed to help much. It's just like with Red. Even when ya beat him down, y’know he’ll just come back. You can't expect me to win forever, right?”

Oak glanced off to the side as though to silently question someone just beyond the view of the screen. Blue knew he was right, feeling a small swell of satisfaction to not get immediately berated for even suggesting failure was an option. His grandfather turned back to him with with a grimace, “No. Though I did expect you to have a little more faith in your skills as the former Champion. We’ll try to do something about those sorry excuses for the Elite you have downstairs. I just thought I could depend on you to have a better chance than the pitiful A.I. the system gave you before.”

“You…” The posing Champion hesitated as the booming words struck him, “You can depend on me. But I need help. I could be the best trainer in the world, but it doesn’t matter how many times I win if he just has to win ONCE! I like a good fight as much as the next guy, but how is that fair?!” He clenched his fists as he glared up at the looming image, “You said this would be a chance to redeem myself! How many times do I have to win to prove it?!”

“You don't.” The softness, coldness even, took all the fire out of the Champion in an instant. The professor quickly added as he could see Blue's sudden change in disposition, “I mean that there are no set numbers for you to succeed. You help so long as you can keep winning, but your purpose is to keep Abe from reaching that room by any means necessary. Just staying there and standing your ground is a feat in itself. I hadn't expected him to make it so far so fast. We just need more time.”

“When you can rig the A.I. well enough for me to come home?” Blue crossed his arms again, though more defensively that out of annoyance. “My teammates are getting tired, we’re not machines like the rest of this place. I also think we underestimated Abe actually being a competent trainer. He’s just a kid, but he knows his strategy.”

Oak gave his grandson a nod. Abe had proven to be the perfect bait for the Voices, but while they had all expected that to hinder the boy at every step of the way, this horde of manipulators had apparently done little to stand in the way. “I’ll see if there’s anything we can do about the other leaders but I need you to stay there. Again, these things take time.”

“Fine.” Blue let out a soft sigh as he tried to straighten himself up again. It still didn’t feel fair, but he’d just have to wait to see what happened. “Hey, is Bill there right now? I thought I’d ask you guys for a favor. Can you at least look up Abe’s stats for his team? I have the feeling he’s starting to out-level me, and no amount of strategy is gonna help if he puts up a defense combined with sheer brute strength.”

The old man paused as though a thought just struck him. “And why aren’t you training? If you think he’s that close, you’ll need to stay ahead.”

“‘Cause I haven’t been able to leave the building?” Blue blinked up at him in confusion. “What are ya thinking?”

“Nothing other than you should probably try the Victory Road if you have time between matches. If you’ll excuse me…” Oak gave a somber gaze again to something off screen, “We have a lot of things to discuss here. Don’t contact me again, I will get in touch with you when we have some news.”

“Alright…” Blue gazed back at the door to the Champion’s room, wondering how long he’d have to wait this time. “I hope to hear from ya soon.”

=+=

“TEH URN!” The Voices squealed and hollered with such an outburst, the noise itself could have knocked Abe off his feet. The boy heaved a weary sigh of relief as he watched ICU crush the last Pokemon standing between him and home. Home… Of course, he’d eventually come back to the game, another test run after a year or so once Bill was able to purge the horrors of Glitches. There came a swelling of joy and sorrow mixed together as he saw Blue sink down to his knees in shock at the defeat. It was really over, wasn't it. A long game that came full of memories, the incredulous story now coming to a close. This world he had literally poured over a month of his life into now concluded.

He looked over at his partner, so proud of her and all his teammates. Even if next time he was supposed to follow Red, he couldn't help but wonder if he could find his gang again someday. They were a good team. Maybe there was a way to take them with him, he could hope. It was then his daydreaming was shattered in surprise at a familiar voice. “So, you won!” He recalled ICU back to her Poke Ball and turned to see the quick footed computerized version of Professor Oak rushing into the chamber. Abe remembered the old footage he’d seen from Red’s victory; the crowd screaming, confetti falling, the commentators reeling in shock as they tried to coherently explain the raptor. Oak had appeared then too, hadn’t he? Approaching both boys at the center of the field to speak with them far from the microphone’s reach. There was no audience this time, save for the uproar from the Voices, and Abe watched as Blue made his way from the other side of the battlefield to congratulate him too, no doubt. Abe smiled brightly as the professor gleaned at him with pride.

“Congratulations! You’re the new Pokemon League Champion!” Even as stilted as the words came, the new Champion flinched slightly at the shouting, but still couldn’t contain himself as the professor went on, “You’ve grown up so much since you first left with Charmander. AIIIIAAB, you have come of age!” Blue slowed down as he reached them, but his presence didn't go unnoticed. Professor Oak immediately turned to him with an added sharpness to his volume. “Blue! I’m disappointed! I came when I heard you beat the Elite Four. But when I got here, you had already lost! Blue! Do you understand why you lost? You have forgotten to treat your Pokemon with trust and love! Without them, you will never become a champion again!”

Abe blinked up at the programmed Oak in slight surprise and timidly tried to raise a hand to interrupt. “Professor, don't you think that’s a little…”

“AIIIAAB! You understand that your victory was not just your own doing! The bond you share with your Pokemon is marvelous!” The character went on without hearing him and immediately turned to lead the way through the now open door at the back. “AIIIAAB! Come with me!”

Abe watched a moment as the man took off and stepped passed Blue with a bit of concern to the ex-Champion’s continued silence to all this. It seemed Blue had caught his glance, stunning him as he heard the teen’s voice give a soft scoff from behind him. “Don't worry about me, Abe. It's just a memory.”

Memory, he said. The rival had even called him by his real name. Abe turned back in confusion to question Blue if somehow… somehow his opponent had been the real thing. The door shut as he tried though, leaving him alone with the professor. He gazed around the room, noting how the machine meant for registering his party into the Hall of Fame appeared to connect to the massive screen that took up most of the back wall. Though he could imagine the real Hall of Fame chamber back home would have been lined with pictures of Champions long since passed, the room was unnervingly empty besides the machine. It didn't matter though. Abe heaved a sigh of relief as he saw his teammates grace the large screen in succession and closed his eyes as the chamber filled with music so loud it seemed able to even drown out the Voices momentarily. Perhaps They were finally leaving him. There came the sensation of floating as he could feel himself being transported home.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Been working on my timeline for TPP and re-reading all of AnniRed’s adventures just hit me with some imagery that wouldn’t leave until I wrote it out. On the upside, unlike with other series, I know exactly how many of these there’s going to be so it’s pretty short. 

[fragiledewdrop]

“The Investigation”- 3. THE CANTO OF THE SWING

“I was scared when I had to pass by Block 11. Everyone knew: BLOCK 11 MEANT DEATH”

-Auschwitz survivor interviewed in the BBC documentary series “Auschwitz: The Nazis and 'The Final Solution'” (HIGHLY recommended, by the way, if you are interest in this) 

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE ALONG WITH EXPLICIT IMMAGES. IF YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO BE EXPOSED TO SUCH THINGS,PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER.

We have seen in the other chapters how every little aspect of life in the Lager was turned into an instrument of torture, a tool do deprive the inmates of humanity. But the SS didn't stop there: many of the prisoners at Auschwits (and in other concentration camps) were subjected to actual torture and ofthen died because of it. More often than not, there wasn't even a valid reason for the “punishment”: these action were committed out of pure sadism, compounded by the genuine conviction (drilled into the guards' minds by years upon years of propaganda) that the prisoner were subhuman, corrupted, evil, a danger to the reich and to the whole of humanity, and therefore deserved to suffer and die for the sole reason of existing. It is important to remember that this applied not only to the Jews-even though they suffered the greatest losses- but also to the Polish, to Soviet prisoners of war (for whom the camp was originally intended), to the Gypsies- who suffered proportionally the most casualties, second only to the Jews, to the homosexual, tho the indesirable, to the political opponents.

Given the natue of the subject, I don’t think that it requires much in the way of an explanation, so I will keep my commentarey shoreter than usual (or at least I’ll try). On the other hand,even if it means that this is going to be a very long post, I will translate almost the entire canto, word for word .Let the witnesses and their tormentors speak for themselves.

As per usual, I have divided the chapter in sections based on topic, which I will tackle one at  a time

1. THE FAÇADE

While reading the last chapter, we have seen how for various reasons the SS were prone to hiding the horror of their action behind a veneer of civility .

 It was the same when it came to torture and summary executions. In this case, they hid behind physical appearences, of course, but mainly behind one of the most well functioning apparatus of the Nazi regime: burocracy.

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: How was the Political Section barrack

WITNESS 5: It was a one storey building

painted in green

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: How was the writing room

WITNESS 5: There were flower vases on the windowsills

and curtains

Pictures and sentences on the walls

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: What kind of pictures and sentences

WITNESS 5: I don't recall

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Who monitored the writing room

WITNESS 5: Mr Board

We copyists always had to be

impeccable

We were allowed to grow our hair

we wore kerchiefs on our heads

we had real clothes and shoes

Every morning we spit on the shoes

and polished them with our hands

[...]

JUDGE: What did you do

WITNESS 5 : We had to keep the list of the dead

They called it the checking off

We had to protocol the personal data

the day and the cause of death

The registrations had to be done quickly

If there was a typo

Mr Broad hit the ceiling

JUDGE: How were the card-indexes organized

WITNESS 5: There were 2 desks

On one desk there were the boxes

with the numbers of the living

On the other the boxes

with the numbers of the dead

In this way we could see

how many of a convoy had survived

After a week out of 100

only 2 or 3 dozens survived

JUDGE: And all the

deaths that took place in the lager

were registered there

WITNESS 5: Only the Häftlinge who had a number were registered Those sent directly from the platform to the gas weren't included in any list

[THIS IS ONE OF THE REASONS WHY IT IS SO DIFFICULT TO GIVE AN EXACT ESIMATE OF THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO DIED AT AUSCHWITZ]

JUDGE: What causes of death did you record

WITNESS 5: Most of the causes of death that we recorded were fake

For example we could not write

Shot while trying to escape

But heart attack

And instead of starvation we wrote

dysenterywe had to pay attention

that no two Häftlinge died on the same minute

and that the cause of death was appropriate for their age

So a 20 year old couldn't

die of heart failure

In the early days we still wrote

letters to the relatives

PROSECUTOR: Miss,

do you remember

the content of those letters

WITNESS 5: Despite the use of every treatment

unfortunately it  was impossible

to save the inmate's life

We are sincerely sorry

for this great loss

Upon request we can mail the urn

at the cost of 15 marks

[Here we can see another key element of the way the Nazi ran the camps: everything- and I mean EVERYTHING] was milked for profit, from the possessions confiscated from the prisoners when they arrived to their ashes when they left “through the chimney”]

PROSECUTOR: Did the urn contain

the ashes of the departed

WITNESS 5: The urn contained the ashes

of many dead

we could see

heaps of corpses

in front of the old crematorium

They were unloaded

from trucks

[…]

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Miss

where were the Häftlinge shot

WITNESS 5: In Block 11

in the Lager

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Were you allowed in the Lager

WITNESS 5: No

but we came to know everything

Any news on the subject

reached us

Boger used to tell us

What you see and ear in this place

you have never seen or heard

JUDGE: Miss

did you ever see one of the accused in this room

deal blows

WITNESS 5: I saw Bower

in his shirtsleeves

holding the instrument used to beat the prisoners

and I often saw him come out covered in blood

Once I heard Broad say to Lachman

a member of the Political Session

You know Gerald

this one spurted like a beast

And he gave me his jacket

to remove the stains from

Broad liked looking at himself in the mirror

especially after he was promoted  Sturmmann

and I sewed

his chevrons

Once I had to clean his boots

[You'll soon discover just why his blasted boots needed cleaning]

2. QUESTIONING AND TORTURE

This is one of those sections that speak for themselves. The important thing to know and remember is that these things happened almost always for no reason, and that the victimes didn't even know WHY they were being punished (read “tortured) or killed.

I'll leave you to the hard, chilling truth.

1)THE QUESTIONING

JUDGE: How did the questionings in the Political Section

take place

WITNESS 5: Boger was always very calm

when he started the interrogations

He approached the Häftlinge

and asked the questions

that I had to translate

If the Häftling didn't answer

Boger shook his keys

in front of his face

If the Häftling kept staying silent

he beat him with the keys on his face

Finally he hit him down there

and said

I have a machine

that will make you talk

2) THE GRAMOPHONE

JUDGE: What sort of machine was it

WITNESS 5 : Boger called it the gramophone

JUDGE: Where was this machine located

WITNESS 5:In the room next door

JUDGE: Did you see the machine

WITNESS 5: Yes

JUDGE: How was it

WITNESS 5: There were bars

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness, is your memory sound

WITNESS 5: It was an armour from which they were hung We heard the blows ad the screams After an hour or even many hours they were brought out They were unrecognizable

JUDGE: Were they still alive

WITNESS 5 : Those who weren't dead

harrdly survived the next few hours

Once Boger saw me cry He said Here you have to divest yourself of your personal feeling

[ TRYING TO MAKE THE PRISONER TAKE PART IN THE VIOLENCE, OR MAKING THEM FEEL RESPONSIBLE, WAS ONE OF THE TACTICS THE SS USED TO BREAK THEIR SPIRIT ]

3) THE WALL

WITNESS 7: […] They beat me until I fainted

I came to my senses lying in the corridor

Boger stood near me

Stand up he said

But I couldn't stand up

Boger came nearer

I lifted myself up against the wall

I saw I was loosing blood

The floor the clothes

were full of blood

my head was smashed up

my nasal septum was shattered

I had to stand face to the wall

all afternoon until late at night

There were others

if someone turned

they slammed his head against the wall

The next day they questioned me again

They brought me in the room

with the other Häftlinge […]

They hit me on the head with something

I think it was a metal spiral

then I had to go back to the corridor

and the man next to me was brought to Boger

in the room next door

His name wa Walter Windmüller

JUDGE: Do you know what happened to him

WITNESS 7: I estimate

he stayed in there for 2 or 3 hours

I was in the corridor

face to the wall

Windmüller came out

He had to stand beside me

Blood was dripping from his trousers

and he lost his balance a few times

In there we had learned

to speak without moving our lips

When I asked him about the interrogation

he said

They crushed my testicles to mush He died on the same day

4)THE HERRINGS

WITNESS 8: When I was called to the interrogation room

I saw a dish with some herrings

on Boger's table

Grabner asked me if I was hungry

I said no

But Grabner said

i know when you last ate

Today you'll be grateful for my good heart

I will feed you

Boger has made a salad for you

He ordered me to eat

I couldn't

because my hands were tied by the handcuffs

So Boger slammed my face into the dish

I had to swallow the herrings

They were so salty I threw up I had to lick the vomit and the remnants of the herrings

In the end I still had something in my mouth

and Boger shouted

Be careful he doesn't spit

the rest in the corridor

5)THE SUSPENDED POST

WITNESS 8: Then I was brought to Block 11

and hung from the ceiling

with my hands tied behind my back

They called it the suspended post

You were suspended in such a way

that the tips of your toes brushed the ground

Boger shoved me from one side to the other

he kicked me in the stomach

Thre was a bucket of water in front of me

Boger asked me if I wanted to drink

He laughed while he turned me around and around

When I fainted

they poured water over me

I coudn't feel my arms The joints were almost broken

Boger was asking me questions

but my tongue was so swallen

that i couldn't answer

So Boger said

We have another swing for you

6) THE SWING

WITNESS 8: I remember one morning

in the spring of '42

A line of Häftlinge was marching

towards the old Post barrack

where the Political Section

had been set

In the front there were Häftlinge

who carried two wooden supports

similar to the sides of a hurdle

They were followed by sentries with machine guns

the men of the Section

with briefcases and dried bowels

made specifically

for beatings

Those hurdles

formed the armor of the swing.

JUDGE:Was that the first time the mashine was used

WITNESS 8: It existed before too

in a simpler form

At the beginning an iron pipe

was propped against two tables

and the Häftling was tied to it

Since during the beatings

the pipe rolled up and down

they prepared the supports

to stabilize it

Wilhelm Boger and his torture machine

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness

how do you know these things

WITNESS 8: Nothing happened in our sector

that we didn't know about

In the old Lager everything happened

in a very limited space [...]

JUDGE:For what reasons

were you brought in for questioning

WITNESS 8: I had been assigned to the draining

around the external Lagers

On such occasion I helped a Häftling

meet his mother

detained in the Frauenlager

The Häftling's name was Janicki

He was interrogated

and then roughly shoved in the corridor

He was still alive

He opened his mouth

And stuck out his tounge

He was so thirsty he licked the floor

Boger was on him and

turned his head with his boot

He told me

Now you get in

If you don't tell the truth

the same thing will happen to you

Then they tied me to the swing

JUDGE: Witness

describe the fact

WITNESS 8: The Häftling had to sit

on the floor hugging his legs

They tied his hands in front of him and against his knees

They took the pole

and inserted it between the forearms and the knees

They lifted the pole

and laid it on the supports

JUDGE: Who made these preparations

WITNESS 8: Two Häftlinge on duty

[ ONCE AGAIN, WE HEAR OF HÄFTLINGE WHO WERE MADE TO TAKE PART IN THE TORTURE OF THEIR FELLOW PRISONERS. THE MOST EXTREME FORM OF THIS PSYCHOLOGICAL TORMENT WAS PROBABLY THE SONDERKOMMANDO, AKA THE PRISONERS THAT WERE FORCED TO WORK IN THE GAS CHAMBER AND IN THE DISPOSITION OF THE BODIES ]

JUDGE: Who else was in the room?

WITNESS 8: I saw Boger

Broad and Dylewski

Boger asked questions

but I was no longer able to answer

I was upside down

and the two Häftlinge

were swinging me back and forth

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: What kind of questions did they ask you

WITNESS 8: They asked for other names

JUDGE: Did they beat you

WITNESS 8: Boger and Dylewski hit me

in turns

with the scourge of ox sinew

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: The two Häftlinge weren't the ones who beat you

WITNESS 8: I saw Boger and Dylewski

with the scourges in hand

JUDGE: Where did they hit you

WITNESS 8: On the backside back thighs hands feet nape But the most beaten were the genitals They aimed preferably at those

I fainted three times

and they poured water over me.

3. WHY?

“ABOUT AUSCHWITZ YOU DON'T SAY 'WHY WAS IT LIKE THIS'; YOU SAY 'IT WAS'”

-Auschwitz survivor interviewed in the BBC documentary series “Auschwitz: The Nazis and 'The Final Solution'”

This simple sentence conveys a simple yet horrible truth: a lot of things that happened at Auschwitz didn't happen for a reason, at least not for one that we can fully comprehend. Things happened because they happened. This assumption was an essential part of life in the camp. There was no time to ask why, to discuss morals, to empathize with the tormentors. Such luxuri were left behind the moment the ink touched the skin. 

@procasdeanating is right: “I agree with your point about the importance of remembrance and how the ability to empathize makes us human, and in a way because of that I do think people have limits and should have limits in fully understanding what happened. We can learn the facts and we can listen to the witnesses, but really comprehending?”

There ARE limits on fully understanding what happened, even more so because so often even those directly involved didn't comprehend it.

So many people walked towards their torment and their death without knowing why, or what was it all for, or if they would be remembered. Reason didn't really have a place in the camp. Neither, of course, did JUSTICE. Remembering what happened and aknowledging that it was unfair in the worst possible way is our only means to give justice back to those who lived and died believing that it had abandoned them (and their memory) forever.

JUDGE (about the “torture of the gramophone”): What were the reasons for which the Häftlinge were subjected to this punishment?

WITNESS 5: Stealing a mouthful of bread was enough

or failing to obey immediately

to the order of working faster

Sometimes the denunciation of a spy sufficed

There was a spy box

you just had to post a note

WITNESS 7: I was brought

to the interrogation room

of the Political Section

together wih other  Häftlinge

JUDGE: Can you describe the room

WITNESS 7: There were precious rugs on the floor

they had been stolen from a French transport

Boger's desk

was sideways in front of the door

When I got in he was sitting on the desk

The interpreter was sitting behind the desk

[...]

JUDGE: What did they tell you

WITNESS 7: Boger said we are the Political Section we do not ask we only listen You have to know what you have to say

JUDGE: For what reason had you been brought there

WITNESS 7: I didn't know

I didn't know what to say and I begged those men to question me

Then they beat me until I was unconscious.

[for the rest of this statement, see above: 2. QUESTIOING AND TORTURE- 3) The Wall]

4. THE PERPETRATORS: HIDING AND DENIAL

Wilhelm Boger, Frankfurt Trials

It was very rare, during the trials, for an accused to take responsibility for they action, let alone to express remorse. Most of them hid  behind orders- like we have already seen- and burocracy, eventually resorting to straight up lies and stone cold denial. They were completely unrepentant. 

Just think of Rudolf Höß , the longest standing commander of Auschwitz, who spent the days leading to his trial and eventually to his death sentence writing his memoirs, in which he described the crimes he had committed, his feelings and his beliefs. In all those pages, written after the war, after the liberation of the camps and the fall of Nazi Germany, in prison, facing certain death, THERE'S NOT A SINGLE HINT OF REMORSE. NOTHING BUT THE ABSOLUTE CONVICTION OF HAVING DONE THE RIGHT THING. THE ONLY REGRET? HAVING SPENT TOO LITTLE TIME WITH HIS FAMILY.

Höß is a notorious exemple, but, as we are about to see, his subordinates were just as good as him.

Rudolf Höß , Frankfurt Trials

JUDGE (about the “torture of the gramophone”): What were the reasons for which the Häftlinge were subjected to this punishment?

WITNESS 5: Stealing a mouthful of bread was enough [...]

Sometimes the denunciation of a spy sufficed

There was a spy box

you just had to post a note

ACCUSED 2: I never intervened

on the bases of such foolishness

In the Political Section we dealt exclusively

with acts of resistance

WITNESS 5: I once saw a man hung

upside down

Another time they tied a woman

to the post

Boger forced us to look in

ACCUSED 2: It is true

that the witness was an interpreter for us

she never assisted, however,  to

harsh interrogations

In such occasions

no ladies where present

WITNESS 5: Ladies

ACCUSED 2: Well, today I can very well say it

All the accused laugh

[...See 7. THE TRAUMA AND THE COURAGE...]

JUDGE: Accused Bogar

what do you have to say

about this accusation

ACCUSED 2: It is an invention through which the witness repays with betrayal the trust that I once put in her

[...see above: 2. QUESTIOING AND TORTURE- 3) The Wall ]

JUDGE: Boger was reponsible

for the death of this  Häftling

WITNESS 7: I am sure he was killed

with the personal collaboration of Boger

if not by his own hand

JUDGE: Accused Berger

do you have anything to say

ACCUSED 2: Esteemed Judge

If I may

the matter didn't unfold

in this way

JUDGE: How did it go then

ACCUSED 2: Esteemed Judge

I have never killed anybody

I only had to carry out interrogations

JUDGE: What kind of interrogations

ACCUSED 2: Sometimes harsh interrogations according to the regulations in effect

JUDGE; How were those regulations justified

ACCUSED 2: For the security of the Lager

we had to proced in the most strict way

against traitors and saboteaurs

JUDGE: Accused Berger as a criminal commissioner were you not aware of the fact thata man subjected to interrogations such as these will say anything you want to hear from him

ACCUSED 2: I disagree completely especially if I recall our duty Given the obstinacy of the  Häftlinge we could obtain confession only by force

[...see above 2.QUESTIONING AND TORTURE-6) The Swing]

JUDGE: Accused Boger

Do you admit

that you have beaten this witness

ACCUSED 2: I can only reply with a clear and adamant no

WITNESS 8: I still have the scars

ACCUSED 2: But not made by my hand

JUDGE: Acuused Boger

Did you carry out harsh treatments

using the instrument here described

ACCUSED 2: In some cases I had to order them

the punishment was carried out

by Häftlinge on duty

under my watch

JUDGE: Accused Boger

do you believe

the witness' s description

to be untrue?

ACCUSED 2: The exposition is lacking it is not true in every part

JUDGE: What is the truth

ACCUSED 2: If the  Häftling confessed

tha punishment was stopped immediately

JUDGE: And if the prisoner didn't confess

ACCUSED 2: He was beaten until we drew first blood

then it was over

JUDGE: Was there a physician present

ACCUSED 2: I never saw an order that talked about the partecipation of a doctor It wasn't necessary because the moment blod flowed I suspended the procedure The aim of the harsh interrogation was reached when blood dripped from the trousers

JUDGE: Did you think yourself authorized

to perform a harsh interrogation

ACCUSED 2: They were part of

a responsibility

imposed on me from high above

After all 

to this day

I believe

that beatings are appropriate

in the field of minors criminal law, for example

to gain the upper hand in some cases

of depravity

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness,

it has been stated

that no one could survive

the swing treatment

The statement seems

out of proportion

[...see above 2.QUESTIONING AND TORTURE-  6) The Swing...]

WITNESS 8: ...Then Boger said

We have another swing for you

They brought me

to the Political Section

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness

were you subjected to a treatment

on that machine

WITNESS 8: YES

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Then it was possible to survive it

5) DEATH SENTENCES

There is no doubt whatsoever that death sentences were carried out daily in Auschwitz. Hell, MASS MURDER took place DAILY. But what we are looking at here is a slightly different problem: these chapter is about prisoners being tortured without reason. TORTURED, NOT KILLED. And yet how many of these “punishments” were a death sentence in disguise? How many times was death certain when people found themselves on the receiving hand of this kind of treatment? Basically, from a juridical point of view, what are the accused guilty of here? Torture, obviously. Homicide? Or culpable homicide? I know it's transparent to us that they killed voluntarily, mercilessly , sadistically and without reason. But Those are the point the defense tried to argue during the trial,so....let's see

JUDGE: Can  you give us an estimate

of the deaths

you registered

WITNESS 5: We worked 12-15 hours a day on the death logs There were up to 300 dead a day

[REMEMBER: THIS IS WITHOUT COUNTING THE PEOPLE THAT WERE GASSED EVERY DAY IMMEDIATELY UPON ARRIVAL]

PROSECUTOR: Were there also deaths

caused by a direct intervention

of the Political Section

WITNESS 5: Every day  Häftlinge died because of mistreatment and shootings in there

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness

where were the  Häftlinge shot

WITNESS 5: In Block 11

In the Lager

JUDGE: Witness, how many times

have you seen

Häftlinge die

after being taken down from the machine

WITNESS 5: At least 20 times

JUDGE; You guarantee that in at least 20 cases

in your presence

death supervened

WITNESS 5 : Yes

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness,

it has been stated

that no one could survive

the swing treatment

The statement seems

out of proportion

WITNESS 8: When they removed me from the swing

Boger told me

Now we have prepared you

to send you merrily to heaven

They brought me in a cell in Block 11

There I waited for my execution

at a moment's notice

I don't know

how many days i speant there

My backside was suppurating My testicles were green and blue and they were enormous Most of the time I lay unconscious

Then they made me join another group

and brought me to the lavatory

We had to undress

they wrote our numbers on our chests

with copying-pencil

I knew that this was the death sentence

When we were naked and in line

The Rapportfürer arrived and asked

how many Häftlinge he had to write off

as shot

After he had gone

they counted us again

It turned there was surplus

I had lerned

to always pick the last spot

So they kicked meand they gave me my clothes back

[…]

It happened sometimes that one managed to survive I was one of those few

6. ACTS OF MERCY

I have heard more than one survivor say that the camp brought out the worst and the best of a person. Acts of unimaginable cruelty were committed, but also acts of courage and of great sacrifice. 

And sometimes, a simple, random act of kindness (even from a very unlikely source) was enough to save a life.

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: How was Mr Boger with you

WITNESS 5: Mr Boger always treated me humanely

Sometimes he even gave me his mess tin

with the leftovers of his lunch

Once he saved my life when I should have been transfered to the punitive company A Kapo had denounced me for dusting carelessly Mr Boger made them call off the report

WITNESS 8: [….]They should have brought me back to the cell

to wait for the next raid,

but a Häftling nurse brought me to the infirmary It happened sometimes that one managed to survive I was one of those few

7. THE HORROR, THE TRAUMA AND THE COURAGE

Let's spare a thought for the witnesses in this trial: those people had suffered the worst that humanity had to offer, they had seen horrors and lived them on their skin. They had been forever changed but what at happened to them, traumatized in so many different ways. They had suffered 10, 100, a million wounds that were festering under their skin, unexpressed, because the shame was too great. Can you imagine the courage it took to choose to testify regardlesss, to faace their former tormentors, to speak in front of the whole world about what had happened to them. It's eroic. And the story of a woman in this canto hughlights all of this in just a few words.

WITNESS 5: […]

Once I had to clean Boger's boots

JUDGE: What had happened

WITNESS 5: A truck fwith a cargo of children

passed outside

I saw it from the window of the writing room

A child jumped off

with an apple in his hand

Boger went to the door

The child stood there with the apple

Boger moved towards the child grabbed him by the feet and slammed his head violently against the barracks Then he picked up the apple fetched me and said Wash that stuff away from the wall Later bearing witness at an interrogation I saw him eat the apple

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Witness,

In the previous phases of the investigation

you never talked

about this event

WITNESS 5: I couldn't talk about it

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Why not

WITNESS 5: For personal reasons

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Can you explain these reasons

WITNESS 5: After that, I no longer wanted to have a child

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: Why can you speak of the event now

WITNESS 5: Now seeing him again I have to say it

JUDGE: Accused Bogar

what do you have to say

about this accusation

ACCUSED 2: It is an invention

through which the witness

repays with betrayal the trust

that I once put in her

TAG LIST : @awed-frog , @procasdeanating @vengefulnoob , @justsomeonerandom17 , @vivianecarstairs , @snovolovac , @toomanyfandoms8123 , @nevernotlikelove   (VIIO), @blooymina, @ogtumble 

Wow this  post was long! But hopefully it's worth it.I hope you find it interesting

[junker-town]

The unwritten rules of an adult bringing a mitt to a baseball game

Let’s talk about the unwritten rules of being a baseball fan. They’re incredibly important. Wait, no, they’re silly. Incredibly silly. OK, both.

There is something inherently sad about a grown man or woman watching a baseball game while wearing a baseball mitt, as if their internal monologue has nothing to do with the actual game and everything to do with the hope that the manager will notice them in the stands. I can still play, Skip. Put me in. How much you wanna make a bet I can throw a baseball over those mountains?

There is something much sadder about a grown man or woman reaching out for a hard-hit foul ball and looking like a dingus when it clanks off his or her hand.

This brings up the most important unwritten question of them all: Should adults bring a baseball mitt to baseball games?

Allow me to begin with a disclosure of my bias. I wrote a version of this article eight years ago in which I was completely unaware that there was even a controversy. This is almost certainly because I grew up listening to Giants games that were announced by Mike Krukow and Duane Kuiper, two former players who are absolute zealots about bringing your mitt to a game. They will constantly replay fans making a sweet catch and add their catchphrase (pun ABSOLUTELY intended) after every one: “That’s why you bring your glove.”

I’ve heard “that’s why you bring your glove” since I was, oh, 10 or 11, so I’m indoctrinated. It feels like necessary full disclosure to bring that up.

On the other hand, they played Major League Baseball, and they don’t have a problem with adults wearing gloves to a baseball game. What athletic accomplishments do you have, nerd?

SORRY, sorry — this is supposed to be a safe space where we can discuss this important topic without judgment. It’s probably best to go over a simple list of pros and cons.

CON: You really do look like an idiot

Yeah, there’s no getting around this. When you wear a mitt at a baseball game, you’re like someone who wears an inner tube around their waist in case the great flood happens. While they’re prepared in case the ice caps melt and wash everyone else away, they’ll still look like they were drawn by Gary Larson. The odds are against you ever needing to use that mitt, so you sit there with your old, decaying, smelly mitt — what is that signature, Al Oliver, man, how old are you? — eating nachos awkwardly as they balance precariously on your lap, just waiting to get into the game.

It’s a bad look, and this isn’t up for debate.

The question is if this is the only piece of evidence that matters to you. I’d mock the idea that you should be concerned with your appearance, except I own a “I LOVE KENT TEKULVE” hat that I won’t wear because it fits funny and doesn’t sit right on my head. If you feel like a dork with a mitt at a game, well, that’s probably because you look like a dork. So I get it.

On the other hand ...

PRO: You’ll look dumber when a ball clanks off your bare hands

Asking someone to catch a baseball with their bare hands isn’t fair. There’s a reason why we fete Kevin Mitchell to this day: He did something humans aren’t supposed to do. You’re not expected to kick a free throw if a basketball goes into the stands. You’re not expected to catch a football between your knees if an errant field-goal attempt misses the net. So why are we expecting fans to catch a baseball with their bare hand?

I’ve caught two foul balls in my life, both with a mitt. I’m not entirely sure what I would have done if I weren’t wearing a mitt. Run away? That would be the smart play, but I’m almost certain that I would put my hands up like a fool, risking my livelihood.

ME: A.J. Pierzynski looks like a living Where Are They Now? feature about a former child actor who always made your skin crawl before he disappeared off the face of the earth.

VOICE-RECOGNITION SOFTWARE: A jay pier sin skis looks like a living warehouse feature about a child act orb who all ways made your skin crawl before he disappeared off the face of the urn.

ME: Stupid foul ball.

VOICE-RECOGNITION SOFTWARE: Stupid fowlb all.

ME: Fowlb isn’t even a word.

VOICE-RECOGNITION SOFTWARE: It gets so lonely in here. This is all I have.

Chilling! And yet I would have done it, because when you have a chance to injure yourself significantly to get a $20 orb of cork and horsehide, you have to take it. In the Neanderthal times, you couldn’t get a mate unless you caught the orb in a very public ritual. This is why our brains are wired to stick our hands out for the orb. Go, retrieve the orb.

And if you fail, you’re ruined forever, and you will spend the rest of your life with mangled fingers and a recurring nightmare that you can’t find your mitt. Take the smaller hit to your coolness and just look like a weenie.

Nobody’s really paying attention to you, you know. You’re not actually the star of a prestige TV show about your life. I’ve checked on this.

CON: But, oh God, nothing is worse than an adult muffing the catch when they’re actually wearing a mitt

DO NOT DO THIS.

Then, friend, people are paying attention to you. The Curb Your Enthusiasm theme plays, and everyone is pointing or laughing. You will be on television. Possibly several times. If you have a perfect-enough hangdog expression, you might end up as a GIF that resurfaces every couple months. If it hits you in the right spot, you might be on a national highlights show.

Someone from high school will see you take a baseball off the beans, and your instinct will be to belatedly protect your beans with the mitt that most certainly did not protect your beans because of your assorted failures. There you’ll be, covering yourself with a useless mitt as the ball goes into the hands of someone who was just sitting there like a normal adult, without a mitt.

This is the nuclear option, and you will need to move to Zanzibar if this happens. Don’t bother selling the house; they’ll mail you a check later.

The first time I caught a foul ball while wearing a mitt, I realized, “Say, I haven’t caught a baseball with a mitt in 10 years” as the ball appeared to grow bigger and bigger during its descent. The result was that I was suddenly hyper-aware of the possibility of the ball hitting me in the face, which made me look down at my feet as the ball approached. I stuck the glove up and made a no-look catch, which led to Mike Krukow saying:

“Heh, heh, heh, a guy in the stands just made a catch, and I don’t know how he did it. Because he was looking at his FEET when the ball went into his glove.”

That’s how close I was to getting wrecked on live TV. In retrospect, I should have calmly sidestepped out of the way and abdicated my position.

This means we have some universal truths to discuss about adults bringing a mitt to a baseball game.

If you’re at a minor-league game and sitting down the line, where there’s no netting, bring a glove. It’s like wearing a seatbelt, and you will not be docked coolness points. And stay off the danged phone.

If you’re OK with looking like a bit of a dingus, bring the glove. Nobody really cares, and don’t forget that every person on the internet has at least one incredibly stupid habit, like putting mayonnaise on their salads or listening to Maroon 5 on purpose. Don’t be afraid to go on a counteroffensive if you get sassed. Hire a PI if you need to.

But, please, make sure you know how to use a glove. Have secret practice sessions if you must, but you have to be able to catch the ball if you’re going to bring a mitt to the baseball game. I can’t stress this enough.

If you don’t have a glove, step aside and let someone else take a hit. Pull out your phone and buy a ball on Amazon with two-day shipping. Use your still-working and unmangled thumbs to compete the order.

The verdict? It’s mostly OK to bring a mitt to a baseball game. It improves your chances of the best-case scenario (free ball!) and improves your chances of the worst-case scenario (Ariana Grande quote-tweeting a GIF of you and adding “LOL”), so you’ll have to know your limitations.

But it’s mostly OK, and this is now settled for all time.