#they were sadly alm trash

[deedguurl]

The Shelter of Horror: The Big Family

Rosa del Carmen Verduzco was very fortunate. Born in 1934, she grew up in an affluent family that owned businesses and farmland. At the age of 13, she had a vision of her future when she encountered an abandoned child. Against her family's objections, she decided to take care of him. Shortly thereafter, six more homeless children arrived, all of whom Rosa took under her wing. It was common to see the girl playing with her charges in the streets, and they even scavenged for food in the trash.

After her father's death in the late 1950s, Rosa managed to persuade her mother to give her a house. She moved her new family, which had grown to around 40 members, into this house. Soon after, Rosa acquired a piece of land of approximately 8,000 square meters, which would become the "La Gran Familia" shelter. Rosa supported her social work with her earnings as a teacher and the donations people gave her. Eventually, both the number of rescued children and the shelter itself expanded. A generous farmer donated 28 hectares of land for them to cultivate potatoes and strawberries, as well as raise livestock.

Inside the facility, they established a primary school, and later, they offered secondary and even high school education. Mama Rosa, as she was known to all her children, was very resourceful. She secured an agreement with the University of Guanajuato, enabling several of her children to pursue higher education. She also persuaded businessmen and politicians to make substantial donations. She founded an orchestra that helped rehabilitate children, including those no other orphanage would accept – children with criminal histories or addictions. Mama Rosa recalled the first time she registered one of her children with her last name: it was a newborn whose mother had attempted to suffocate him. Rosa visited the young mother, who immediately offered her premature baby without hesitation. Rosa took the child and registered him as her own. From that moment on, she continued this practice with all children under one year of age and those born at her shelter. As a result, these children grew into adolescents since, theoretically, they couldn't leave the orphanage until they turned 18. Many of them formed their own families within its walls. Everything seemed to be going wonderfully for Rosa, as her work was recognized even internationally. She was interviewed by major television networks, portraying her as almost a martyr.

However, thanks to complaints from five parents who alleged they were not allowed to see their children, a police operation was conducted on July 15. They rescued nearly 600 people, including newborn babies, children, women, and men. What the authorities found was simply inhumane. The children lived amidst filth, with no mattresses on their beds, rotten food, and years of accumulated garbage. Ironically, in some rooms that served as storage, they discovered donations of food, school supplies, clothing, and new mattresses that never reached the children. But the worst was yet to come. The victims' testimonies were heartbreaking. Underage girls were pregnant, and sadly, they were grateful for their lives because it was all they knew. Children were beaten for misbehaving and subjected to abuse by the shelter staff. Nevertheless, they also expressed gratitude to Mama Rosa, as they believed that life on the streets was even worse. If any of them broke the rules, they were locked in a small room without food or water for up to a week.

They were forced to beg for alms or steal to generate money to pay for their stay in that inhospitable place. In the end, they didn't even get to keep that money because the orphanage operated with its own form of payment. They were given vouchers to survive, with which they bought basic necessities like food at exorbitant prices since the staff preferred to let everything go to waste rather than giving it to the children, thereby inflating the cost of food. They were prisoners, and the promise that they could leave at 18 was a lie, as they were never released even after reaching that age. Their only option was to escape. Those who succeeded were considered lucky, as the area was closely monitored, and if they were caught, they were thrown into a pit for several days. Parents could only access certain areas of the shelter, and their visits were always monitored. If they wanted to take their children back, it was made nearly impossible, as when they left them there, they signed a custody agreement with Mama Rosa. However, they had an alternative: paying 50,000 pesos to release them, which was almost a mockery for these financially disadvantaged individuals. While these people lived in the most unsanitary conditions, donations continued to pour in for Mama Rosa. When all of this came to light, it was revealed that similar complaints had been made 21 years earlier. Even a local television station had reported on the matter, but nothing had happened.

If you're thinking that at least the culprits paid for the atrocities they had committed for over 40 years, that's not the case. Out of seven people, including Rosa, only two served sentences. Some paid bail, while others simply couldn't be prosecuted due to lack of evidence. Rosa was released because the judge accepted her argument that, due to her age and mental state, she was not legally accountable.

Rosa lived in Michoacán until 2018 when she passed away at the age of 84, victim of a stroke caused by complications from diabetes mellitus. It is believed that she quietly continued "saving" children for the rest of her life.

For her victims, all that remained was an attempt to reunite with their families. Thirty-three of them never succeeded, and some chose to take their own lives.

[1shadowhole]

This fic has to be one of the best-written fics I've ever read. Like, yeah, The Book of Merthur deserves the spot as the longest in the fandom. And I get there are longer overall fics, like Loaded March (and... Come one, it's Loaded March. If I remember correctly, with the extras it's like 1.6Million words.) and that now-deleted Master And... Series, (which is a shame it got deleted, because it was wacky as shit, but aside from the wackiness it had a level of world-building that was just amazing. I still ironically love that fic, wackiness included) but those are divided into different works that add up into one continuous story.

The Book of Merthur is built different, man. One whole fic of wonderful writing style, flawless characterization, and at some point Merlin and Arthur are running around desperate and walk in on poor Lance and Gwen trying to get it on and shout: "THAT'S NOT HER" and hightailed it out of there without so much as a hello. (or something like that, I can't remember the actual sentence. Maybe it was 'she's not here' I'm SORRY I FAILED THE QUOTE TEST)

This work deserves to be the number one Merthur work and I'm here for it. (I don't remember which one was the longest before it. I think the third part of Falconry? It was over 300k words so I assume it was. But I'm not sure. Also, I have been trying to finish that work in 2 years but I'm too scared :'( and my 'Protect Arthur at all costs' side is terrified)

I actually think that in the Merlin (not Merthur) fandom there was a even longer fic... I think it was a self-insert??? But it was not Merthur, and since I have a one-track mind I have no further info on that.

Still, like, you dropped a 400k (at the time) words long bombshell on me without warning and I am extremely grateful for that.

This comment has become more of a 'long Merthur fics' appreciation post, but honestly, with how good they are, they deserve the praise. And so, I absolutely will praise them from time to time. Historically, and from those I read, they are all so good. Again, with all its peculiarities, even the Master and... Series was awesome. It took a concept that could have been mundane and created this intricate story. I actually had to read it twice to catch more details and just HOW MUCH thought and foreshadowing there was. (I really like that series. Again, wacky, and SELF INDULGENT BUT GOD I LOVED IT SO MUCH)

And, given the length, they all have these incredible adventures and intricate developments and roller coasters. And there is never a moment of filler as well. Loaded March, Falconry, You Only Live Twice, the Master And... They are all just so filled to the brim with events, stories, and characters evolving. Even though they are so long, words are never wasted. That's incredible, and I am so proud of this fandom. The Book of Merthur is just as amazing, and I can't begin to express how good it is.

I went on so many tangents... I know, I'm sorry, it was supposed to be shorter and just about the Book of Merthur, but this fandom has such gems... And now we have THIS PARTICULAR gem. And it's wonderful. I love it.

@aemelia really out here recommending a fic to innocents, and not mentioning that it’s over 500,000 words and counting.

[kissmycoldclaylips-blog]

Smoke Ring Halo|| Katriel & Audun - Chatzy

[cutting for length]

Katriel knew Audun's order just about as well as she knew her own at this point. It helped that they both just basically shared containers and passed things back and forth, but the thought counted. Really though, her favorite part of picking up the take-out was that it actually kept pretty well, could be reheated if he was too invested in a painting to really want to eat at the moment. Though based on the fact he was actually answering messages, she rather doubted it. Either way, there'd be some in the fridge for him too, if he wanted, for later. Not like she actually really had an apartment she actually did much living in at this point - most of her clothes were either at the club or at Audun's. There was an apartment she kept, but it was pretty trashed with her clothes. It was for her work, more than anything. Not really a place she stayed at much otherwise and Katriel was perfectly happy to leave it that way. She liked Audun's far better, preferred his company there far more than the uncomfortable emptiness of an apartment to herself. Katriel made a face to herself, adjusting her grip on the take out bag while she dismissed the thoughts. Brooding didn't suit her, brooding was boring. Brooding just wasted time. And there was always something better to be doing, like actually opening the damn door. "So I brought a truly disgusting amount of food. Including egg rolls, pot stickers, and those little sugar bun things. Ooh and wontons. Can't forget the wontons." She grinned at Audun, setting the bag down on the table (nudging a few dishes out of the way first, because of course. One of these days she was gonna buy him a dishwasher) and shrugging off her coat, "We can call it a congratulations feast on the gala, if you want, but really I was just hungry."

A smirk curved over Audun’s​ lips as the loft’s door swung wide, a waft of chow mein and char siu drifting through the air. He was well used to this sort of thing, by now - they’d had nearly a century together, after all, to fall into habits, patterns. Like casual break-ins, Katriel’s usual approach; he’d only left the place unlocked, this time, because it was so wretchedly damp out. Most of the time, he was quite happy to let her have at his locks. She was wonderfully handy with those picks now, and seemed to enjoy herself. Audun wasn’t prone to denying Katriel her pleasures. Or turning down her companionship, even if he was in the very middle of working; she was the single soul who’d ever been able to interrupt him, amicably. If not for Katriel, he’d have absolutely no visitors. And he’d be quite happy that way. It would also be very possible that he’d just never leave his place, not for much more than supplies, a little life sketching, and food. In that order. Speaking of, food. That might, in fact, be a good thing to have. When had he last eaten? A good question. Toast. There’d been toast, at... some point. Earlier. Setting his palette aside, Audun cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, tucked the brush he’d been using behind an ear. He turned on the stool as the other Tainted slipped in, bearing what looked to be and sounded like a fantastical haul of takeout. “I say, let’s go with ‘just hungry’. That’s reason enough.” Strolling over, he bent to kiss her neck, softly. Rested there a moment, smiling, a hand coming to her hip. Then leaned back, reaching to unfold that brown paper bag, steaming into the air. “As for the gala, it’s only another showing. Like every other showing there’s ever been. Not terribly​ special. Not like PG’s wontons.”

"Still can be celebrated," Katriel pointed out, starting to rummage in the bag for the plastic silverware and handing one set over to Audun, "Your art is always worth celebrating." She never stopped being in awe of it, his ability to paint and create things. It was breathtaking to watch, to see every piece come together. All the more fascinating to get to ask him about it, to hear him talk about the piece as he worked. She'd spent several lives with him and could spend centuries more and always maintain that feeling - it was awesome in the original sense of the word, wonder and fear in one. Katriel laughed at the comment about the wontons, "You might have a point there. But showings in general rank pretty low for you, so it's not a high bar to beat them out. Especially when they're trying to make you speak. Wontons aren't nearly so demanding." As she spoke, she grabbed the topmost box of food and went to sit on the couch with her prize, snagging the bag of wontons as she went. Opening the box and making a small pleased noise at the pork fried rice inside, she started digging in. "We had a bartender had in his resignation today. He found a new gig and is moving out of town," Katriel wrinkled her nose at Audun, "You know what that means? Applications. Interviews. Misery, I tell you. You should definitely distract me from my impending doom."

Audun couldn’t help a soft, red-cheeked laugh, turning the utensils through his fingers. She always said such things. Still, after decades of looking over his shoulder, sitting with him as he worked, wandering by his finished pieces. This was a work in progress, eternally so. As attached as he might be, once each canvas was done? Audun was happy to see them go. They were over: that moment, that bout of learning, stroke by stroke. The next painting would always be better, somehow. And they all had their work to do, of course - out in the world. Such ​work​. While Katriel rifled through the food, Audun reached up to get that brush he’d tucked away, heading to the kitchen sink to wash that and his paint-flecked hands. With a rag in hand, he gave the bristles a careful scrub. He’d been entirely genuine about dinner; the things he’d tasted, in the years and years and years since he left home! Flavors that never would have crossed his lips, had he lived and died in that little mill on the Alme. “That they aren’t.” Some golden-green safflower oil, a few more scrubs. A dot of soap, smelling wonderfully of lavender. Audun’s cheeks dimpled as he glanced back over his shoulder, grinning the tiniest bit as Katriel lamented her lost staff. “My condolences.” Blotting the brush dry, he groomed it neatly, tucked it in with the rest in their jars. Stained faintly slate-blue. A distraction; he pondered this, fishing into the bag for those egg rolls. “Well, Yosef sent along some very promising productions the other day. ​Ondine, Onegin​...” Supper in hand, Audun joined her in the lounging. “And, ​The Damnation of Faust​.” Three old favorites; decisions, decisions. He stole a bite of her rice, beatifically, that grin curling wider. “Where shall we start?”

Katriel couldn't help but grin as he stole the rice, amused despite the urge to be mockingly offended. "Our kind of season, sounds like. We should take a trip and see a production live again, sometime. There's a production of ​Alcina​ that's coming up in the Santa Fe Opera House - the promotional pictures look gorgeous." Looking thoughtful, she started thinking about the ballets, trying to think what would suit for the night - and glancing sideways at Audun's eggrolls, waiting to nab one when he wasn't paying enough attention. There needed to be vengeance, after all. "​Ondine​ seems lovely. What company performed it this time? The Royal Ballet again?" She glanced back over and couldn't help but smile, distracted by a smear of paint across his face. High on his forehead, probably pushing his hair back while he was working, something like that. One of her favorite habits he had, little odd smudges and smears that were permanently part of him. Leaning forward, Katriel lightly traced it with her own finger, grinning more widely that it was already dry - usually a 50/50 chance if she got paint on herself too, with him. "You missed a spot," her voice was filled with amusement, leaning in to kiss next to it, "It really never stops being cute. Terribly unfair, I'm supposed to be the cute one." She stayed there for a bit, contentment flaring - she loved this. The quiet moments with him, that they'd built this. Nothing like what she'd expected, in her desperation. Katriel never imagined that she could have managed to be happy, when she made her deal. Thought all of it would be long gone, lost to hellish punishment for her impudence. Thought that God himself would strike her down, for ever making such a deal. And yet, here was this. Was Audun. Was these lives, the hosts she could meet and know for a time, something far more free and suiting for her. Couldn't help but kiss him, thinking of it, of the freedom they both had in each other, in these lives they chose. Closing her eyes as she deepened it, inching closer on the couch and only leaning away when she needed to breathe again. A gentle smile making its way across her face as she leaned her forehead to his for a beat. A smile that quickly morphed into a smirk when she nabbed an eggroll and leaned back again, taking a bite with more than a little bit of smug triumph written on her face. "So, ​Ondine​?"

“Mm, yes,” Audun agreed, humming at the thought, absolutely in agreement on both points. “It’s been ​far​ too long.” Decades, in fact. He shook his head at ​the Royal Ballet​, halfway through another egg roll. “The Bolshoi.” Ah, he did miss Moscow now and then. Perestroika had been such an exciting time. Not that London suffered for lack of such things. Or Madrid, or Paris... Nashville’s company was starting to get interesting, these days. Must be some new blood around there. Still had a ways to go before they were anything near world class, but. There was certainly boldness, artistry, and dedication. All of this Audun could and did appreciate, when he remembered performance schedules in time to buy tickets. Which was, sadly, not all that often. Things ​came up​. Inspirations, the odd commission. Dreams. Visions he simply had to get down, when they were fresh and rich in his mind. There was no putting off some projects. Tidying the apartment? That waited, often. Tidying himself? Well, he did his best. He sighed, warmly, as Katriel found a smear somewhere. “I assure you, I don’t mean to challenge for the crown. You wear it far better.” His fingers found her cheeks as she came nearer, and her hair, all cornsilk pale. Another face, but. She always looked like Katriel, somehow. Smiled like herself. Smelled like herself, the heat of cloves and cinnamon. Kissed like herself, too. Audun tucked a strand behind her ear as she drew back, and - scoffed, as she forked her prize. Rolling over and up, he swiped the wontons in revenge and darted off for his laptop, all those cords. “​Ondine​.” Popping a wonton into his mouth, Audun booted things up, plugged things in. Every time; he couldn’t help being wowed by the ridiculous, wonderful intricacy of the day’s technology. As the flatscreen - another wonderful, modern extravagance - lit up with the production credits, he dimmed the lights, and paused, hand circling over a ​certain​ drawer. “What do you think - would a little White Widow be a nice addition to the menu?”

She hummed her approval, settling more into the couch, "Even better." Few could beat the Bolshoi, in her opinion - one of her personal favorite companies, of the many they'd seen over time. Katriel smirked a little to herself at the thought, as Audun was setting up. So much had changed, really. Who would have ever guessed that such a simple woman, a housewife, mother, one who hadn't even been allowed to work, who'd thought her only job was to care for the children and her husband, to never look beyond the household and always be thankful for even those scraps - who would have thought she'd become all of this? That she'd live so many lives, had learned so much, seen so much that she now had a preference of ballets and performers, of art and literature. Who had owned more businesses, worked more jobs, done more than that little housewife would ever dream of. Who would have known what could come out of such a desperate, pleading bargain? At the time, she hadn't even given a thought what would become of her. Would she have been all the more enthused, had she known? Or would she have fainted in horror at the thought? Not that it would've made for a different choice, in the end - mothers were meant to give up everything to ensure the survival of their children. And Katriel was nothing if not a good mother, at least once. Now, well, she was hardly the same person anymore. The question brought her back from her musings, a little off put by the grim direction of her thoughts. She tried not to think of it, most years. Instead, she chose to live in the present, chuckling at the suggestion. "We certainly have enough food to balance it. Want to share one with me?"

Audun had a low, dimpled chuckle at that. “I can’t imagine it any other way.” Partly because she’d been stealing whatever was in his pipe, on his plate, and in his glass since they’d met. And, eventually, he’d worked up the boldness to do the same right back. That hadn’t come naturally. No, it was one of her many gifts; Katriel had changed him so, and he was grateful for it, deeply. How dreadful it would have been to carry on and on as meekly as he had, ​before​. How miserable, to die without knowing what it was to share ​everything​ with someone dear. Art did no one any good when it was kept shut away and lonely; so it was with most things, he’d discovered. All improved in the sharing. Even something so simple as a pile of takeout and a smoke. Still grinning to himself, Audun shook the grinder out and started to roll. With practiced hands. Certainly not his first attempt. Or rodeo, as these Americans liked to say. This particular batch, anyway. Tennesseeans. The south, or, was this the midwest? The Bible Belt? He turned with a smirk, licking the paper together. Ah, he simply didn’t understand so much of this country. But they’d taught him some wonderful things, nonetheless. A few finishing touches and Audun was back on the couch. The wontons wound up in Katriel’s lap; his lips, just under her ear for a beard-ticklish peck. The joint, that and a gleaming lighter got offered out. “If you would do the honors?”

Neither could she, come to think of it - ​Katriel​ couldn't really even consider ​not​ sharing something with Audun. It was habit, one she enjoyed to share with him for several lifetimes now. Hadn't even really started as anything malicious, simply her own lack of boundaries - enjoying her newfound freedom, really. The fact she could have what she wanted, for who could really stop her now? Who would tell her no? And why should she listen to anyone who would try? With Audun, though, it had been different - she'd taken from his plate, offered her own in exchange. A peace offering, in a way. Something natural and fun. And later, why not try cigarettes? For something considered so unladylike, there had been many who found it a turn on. And, well, Katriel simply liked how it felt. The drugs later were fascinating, a point of curiosity to try. For each step, she shared with Audun, they walked the paths together, and she loved that they had each other for company. He kept her grounded while showing her a whole other way to look at things. Helped her to live a life that was so much ​more​ than anything she had lived before - helped her to look into art and see another world. It was glorious, to see even a glimpse into how he saw the world. What could be seen, what could be experienced. She loved it, loved that they taught each other and learned together. It would have been dreadfully boring, without his company. Feeling the brush of his whiskers, Katriel found herself grinning again, laughing despite herself. "My pleasure," she took the joint and lighter, flicking open the latter with long practice and putting the joint to her mouth as she lit it. She closed her eyes as she inhaled, enjoying the taste. Exhaling slowly, she started to offer the joint to Audun and chuckled in amused surprise at her red lipstick marks, "I forgot I was wearing that, I'm sorry." She grinned again, leaning in to kiss him again while she murmured against his mouth, "Might as well have you match, right?"

With a satisfying stretch, Audun lounged into the cushions. There was that oh-so-familiar sound - the deep, inward breath, the hush of bluish smoke being blown out, curling and wandering in the still air. Such a lovely color. A beautiful contrast, next to that little touch of cadmium orange at the burning end. All set against the soft shadows of Katriel’s newest face, the darkness so carefully done up around her eyes. He might paint this, later. There’d been so many portraits. Different noses, irises, jawlines, cheekbones, some wildly abstracted into light and color, shade and shape.... but all Katriel. So many, but he never had tired of them. There was something delicate, intimate, in the act of transforming a blank canvas into a reflection. A true reflection, deeper than skin. Better still when the subject was somebody he loved; the only somebody he’d ever loved, in all his centuries. Audun’s lips quirked up at the thought, watching her snicker at that lipstick stain. How awfully romantic. Like her half-whispered words, the warmth of their breath, caught so close between them. “Mm, might as well...” He hummed, and brushed the line of his forearm - and a splotch of still tacky Prussian blue - against her cheek. Matching. “And there we are,” he settled back, smiling broadly as the strings of ​Ondine​ began to dance up. “Perfect.”