#“closing the border is fine those people are criminals”

[fandomfloozy]

"we thought he was just going to deport the 'bad ones' 😰 why is he coming for us too???"

lemme make one thing FUCKING clear

he CANNOT tell the fucking difference and he doesn't care

deportation for some is deportation for ALL. the very second documented immigrants lost compassion for people who are in the very same shoes they were one, two, three decades ago is the SECOND that they played themselves

and if you latinos for trump thought for ONE MINUTE that evil, evil man was on your side you were a blind fucking idiot

[scoutofmymind]

Bestie drop the knight fic lore pls 😭💘💘

Okay, so here’s some lore!! I’m glad you asked this actually, because it could help with understanding a continuation, which I am currently writing tiny moments between reader and Luigi since one of my little babies asked for some more moments of them between nights in the princess’ chamber where they have to act ‘normal’.

You'd first glimpsed your father's true nature at fifteen, during your first Grimguard Breaking ceremony. The sight haunts you still. A merchant's son forced to maul his own brother while the court watched in silence. That night you saw your father's face in the torchlight — not the grieving widower who'd lost your mother, but a man who smiled at the sounds of breaking.

In just ten years, he'd transformed from a man who wept at your mother's garden into someone who collected his army of hounds.

You remember how he'd stroked the newly-made Grimguard's head afterward, the same way he used to pat your hair when you were small.

Luigi had been fifteen when they caught him on the cliffs of Ironmere, fingers bloodied from climbing, still wearing the soot of his village's ashes. He'd nearly made it, too — just a hundred feet more and he would have crossed into Brightshore's borders. But the patrol had watched him scale impossible heights, tracked his desperate ascent through knife-edge rocks where even mountain goats feared to step. The king's hunters didn't see a refugee that day — they saw raw potential.

A boy who could climb sheer cliff faces would make a fine hound, they reasoned. Better to collar such agility than waste it in a prison cell. So they took him, not because he was a criminal, but because he'd shown such magnificent desperation. After all, the best Grimguards are made from those who have nothing left to lose.

The story of Luigi's thorned muzzle is written in the scars around his mouth. During his fitting, he'd stood straight-backed while other captures cowered, meeting each handler's eyes with unflinching defiance. "I'm not your dog," he'd declare, voice steady even as they approached with the steel. "My name is Luigi." He'd repeat it like a prayer, like a challenge, like the last ember of a fire refusing to die.

The irony wasn't lost on anyone when he finally snapped — literally — taking a handler's finger clean off at the second knuckle. They'd laughed as they fitted the first row of thorns, silver needles placed with surgical precision around his jaw. "See?" they'd mocked, "Bites like a proper hound after all." Each word spoken now draws blood, the thorns kissing his flesh, but still, he speaks.

The Teething is the kingdom's favorite sport — a bloodied ballet where fresh captures learn to dance.

In the training arena's dust, new pups clash with only muzzles and bare hands as weapons. These matches run brief but brutal, lasting until first blood or submission. Merchants close their shops to watch, peasants press against the arena's bars, and children perch on shoulders to glimpse tomorrow's hounds. It's a grim circus where the kingdom's people can witness their future protectors being forged, betting copper pieces on which pup will break first — both bone and spirit.

The Muzzling, however, is high art for the nobility.

Full-ranked Grimguards locked in formal combat, their muzzles gleaming with wrapped thorns and ceremonial spikes. They fight until one lies still or submits — though death, while officially forbidden, is an open secret in these matches. Noble houses sponsor their favorite Grimguards, wagering fortunes and political favors on the outcome. The King himself often arranges these matches with careful purpose — nothing demonstrates power quite like watching your rival's prized hound writhe in the dirt, choking on submission.

Some say more wars have been prevented in the Muzzling arena than at any treaty table.

(I am writing currently Luigi’s first Teething match for the previously mentioned request!)

This is some lore and backstory!! But I am totally willing to answer any more specific questions, too!

[suomeen]

Chapter 3: The Longest Journey

We departed on December 20. Took the bus at 2 pm and went through 3 of Ukraine’s major cities to pick up other passengers and head for Poland. The trip started out well but soon things began to go south. The bus itself was alright. However, the site boasted outlets for your devices and free wi-fi. Which is true technically. Except the outlets were the type basically nobody uses in Europe and the wi-fi… there was a whole of 250 MB, all for the taking for your 16-hour ride. The seats were fine but the human body is not really made to sit in one place for so long. My knees were soon hurting and I barely had any sleep.

The trip itself was a bit of a mess too. Flixbus clearly doesn’t want to pay for extra buses for emergency situations so when another one of their buses broke, our driver had to pick up its passengers. Then another company’s bus broke and we took some of its passengers too. Sitting in a bus for hours is bad enough, but at least we weren’t the ones standing in the aisle, wet from the rain. We felt sorry for those people but it was very frustrating for everyone. This incident set us back a few hours. Then there was the border crossing.

Poland was startlingly unwelcoming. I didn’t expect much. I knew we were way past the “Poland is our best buddy” early war honeymoon illusions but this encounter still took me by surprise. We arrived at about 5 am but had to wait for a few hours in a line of other buses before finally proceeding to the border control. At first, they had the few men on the bus go there, making sure they had the right to leave the country. Then it was the rest of us. There were about 5 Poles at the checkpoint and they were not happy to see us. I honestly don’t know what our people did in these 2 years that they hated us so much. First a blond middle-aged woman came up to the bus and began to shout at us in Polish to get out in groups. I understood most of it, but I shouldn’t be expected to. Then we went to show our documents to a few dudes in booths who asked us where we were going and why. After that, a tall handsome young man began to rummage in some people’s bags. He took his time dismantling one woman’s bag, which mostly contained children’s clothes. Her little son, about 3, wanted to help and I don’t like children much, but he was adorable and made all of us passengers smile. Not the Poles though, they didn’t budge. None of them spoke Ukrainian or Russian, or maybe didn’t want to. I wonder who pissed them off so much. We were tired and stressed out as it was and this felt like we were some sort of criminals, not women and children fleeing from a war.

I managed to book a trip directly to the Warsaw airport so, despite the delay, we still had 2 hours to get on the plane. I was just glad we took a plane because 16 hours on a bus wrecked me and I can’t imagine 40, which is what most other people had to endure. We got the world’s most expensive coffees and muffins and took off. The flight was delayed but only by about 10 minutes so it was fine. The Finair plane was kinda small but the flight was very smooth. The weather was rainy but up there, above the clouds, the sun shone brightly and I felt my heart healed a little.

Finland greeted us with blinding whiteness and I felt a strange comfort when we finally arrived. But there was still a good chunk of road ahead.

Normally, most people in our situation would just go to Helsinki and apply for asylum at the closest police department. But this way you get assigned to any place in the country they see fit. Our plan was different. Since we had a friend there and we wanted to be close to her, we were to go to the large city nearest to her and apply there. She even asked at the reception centre and was told they would be expecting us and we would probably get an apartment that was prepared for moving in.

So first, we had to take a city train to get to Tikkurila. Then we had to take the intercity train to a city where we would later be living. But instead of going there, we were to stay at our friend’s so we then had to take another train that got us closer to her where she could pick us up.

I had no internet connection of my own and got to rely on whatever hubs were available. There were none at the station and I was getting a bit panicky that I would miss the train. I had to bother a few Finns for directions, the first of many. They were very friendly and tried to help the best they could. As I got into the train, I had trouble opening my ticket on the ancient tablet I had but the conductor was nice and patient with me and let me take my time as he went on to check the tickets of other passengers.

The intercity train was great. Fast and smooth, it was the best part of the trip. The cars were clean and comfortable. Everything was designed to make the trip enjoyable for everyone. The Finns looked relaxed and many took off their shoes for the ride and stretched their legs languishly.

We also found ourselves in the children car. The idea of such a car would probably sound a little annoying to me, but I was happy to be there. There were many parents with small children and a part of the space was free of seats with some stuff for them to play in. Small kids were running around back and forth in the aisle. Some fell a few times but nobody seemed to worry, kids or parents. They just got up and continued on their way. I sat next to a Finnish mother with a tiny baby. I don’t care about babies that much but I couldn’t stop looking at her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so gentle and tender and loving as she was with her child. The whole car had such a soothing atmosphere of peace and joy. It later turned out that we took the wrong car and when the rightful owners of these seats came, we had to move to another. But I’m glad we made that mistake so I could experience this.

This train was also slightly late. Not by much, but enough that we were risking to miss the transfer. I’m glad I decided to seek help from the lovely young woman staff, so we just barely made it to our final train, which was a small local train, far less glamorous. After bothering some more Finns, we finally got help from a nice older man and made sure we were going the right way. After another 40 minutes, we finally stepped off the train and into the dark, immediately greeted by our friend and her husband.

It wasn’t the longest trip of my life but it sure felt like it and was certainly the most intense and nerve-wrecking. Honestly, I don’t even know how I survived the journey, let alone got it all right, though a lot of it was thanks to the lovely Finnish people.

We did not immediately go to their place. First, we went to the nearby building to have our photos taken for the police. Your document photos never look good but having them taken after a 28-hour journey makes them extra ugly. Though I suppose fitting for a refugee application. Finally, after a short drive, we arrived at the house we would spend the next week at.

[experimentalfma]

Greed's avaricious eyes never left Kimbley as the other man strode into the room without the slightest bit of interest in the things Greed had collected since taking over the Devil's Nest. Though he doubted most people would be foolish enough to try to steal from him, he rarely let anyone into the room except to impress his partner - or partners - of the night and make use of the bed. Even then, he was hardly the romantic type, so while he'd allow them to spend the night with him, they never lingered long after waking up except to take advantage of their time together for a little more fun.

Kimbley, however, gave the impression that even if the room had been furnished as lavishly as a museum or palace, it would have been beneath his notice. It wasn't a mindset that Greed could particularly make sense of, but if there was one thing he could identify with, it was a fine-tuned focus on the moment's object of desire. That that seemed to center on himself was intriguing considering how infrequently he'd noticed any interest in any object in particular, but Greed had never kept an eye out for it or bothered to ask what Kimbley's wants actually were.

However, fleeting interactions between the two that could pass as what could be interpreted as bordering flirtation in a way that would hardly be misconstrued as romantic led the homunculus to entertain the idea that there was some sort of desire behind those cold golden eyes. Whether that was a reflection of Greed's own building hunger that ignited whenever he glimpsed a flash of the tattoos gracing a war criminal's palms coupled with elegant curve of sharp talons that would look so enticing shining his own person shade of crimson had inflamed a growing curiosity toward what it would take to see that same sort of desire smoldering in his gaze. After a few recent more vivid fantasies of what kind of visceral carnage only one man could make of him, Greed had determined the best way to find out was the most direct approach to see if his own regeneration would finally reveal what made him tick.

The door swung shut behind them, and Greed sauntered into the room, watching Kimbley intently as the other man unbuttoned his suit jacket and slid his arms free. Violet eyes sparked fervently in approval. "You won't hear any complaints from me. It'll be just as satisfying seeing my blood splashed over your shirt as your jacket. Hell, I don't care if you want it straight on your skin if that's your thing."

He shrugged off his vest and let it fall carelessly to the floor then closed the short distance between them. With a sharp smirk, he locked their eyes and hooked a finger behind the knot of Kimbley's tie, jerking it down so that the tail end slipped free and the tie dropped to the floor by their feet. "Just do me a favor and don't get bored after blowing my head off once. I want this to last. Don't stop until the walls are dripping red."

The closer they approached the Homunculus’ private quarters, the more Kimbley’s anticipation mounted---ah, yes, an actual sensation of a noticeable magnitude. Such a stunning event that he would savor as far as he could.

And once they had arrived, he offered a fleeting glance toward the obvious flex of the bicep as the Homunculus propped open the door---such promising meat---and how that anticipation seemed to spike, always a prelude to his certain satiation.

The door secure behind them, Kimbley’s eyes beheld every detail they could as he began to undo the buttons upon his suit: truly the chamber of a covetous creature, decked out in as many fineries as could be found---knick-knacks; slick clothing; glimmering jewelry that, of course, the Homunculus never wore, but nonetheless would expectedly own due to such an avaricious nature---and present nowhere else in the Nest. It was merely a showcase for his preferred audience---a male bird showing off its flashy feathers for those that would wander into its territory.

Kimbley was unimpressed.

“I do hope you don’t mind my removing a few garments---” he stated as he slid out of his suit jacket and folded it, placing it upon the backrest of a gaudily-cushioned chair, pushed up against a sleek desk topped with a lavish lamp with a stained glass shade, amongst countless other “treasures.” Then, beginning to loosen his tie, “Habit, you see.”

[simultaneously-sick-and-calm]

So this prompt list really stuck with me, and I decided to pull some ficlets from it to get back in the swing of things.

I have 8 randomly selected pairings of character and numbered prompt, thanks to the help of a friend blind choosing for me 😂

I'll be yeeting these into the void as I finish each one and then I'll make a master list afterwards. They will be tagged with [#prompt run] in the meantime. These are unedited and unbeta'd - we die like men I guess lol

By interacting with this content you acknowledge that you are 18+. Minors DNI.

Aizawa Shouta - #4 “I swear i’ll do things differently this next time.” - angst - approx 1k.

You knew his injuries were more severe than he would let on, simply from the way that he held himself during your shared patrol debrief. What should have been a quiet night had turned into a dangerous take down of one of the low-life criminals who’d been skulking too close to UA’s outermost border. He looked just a little too rigid, speaking only when prompted by the Commision rep who sat at the head of the hastily arranged ‘conference’ table which now took up the back half of the teacher’s lounge. Any other onlooker would think nothing of the large hand spread carefully over his ribcage, or the way that he hovered behind the chair instead of taking a seat. But you knew better.

Shouta always shrugged off the healing heroes and EMTs unless he had no other choice. If he could walk away from the scene, he did. Even when–much like today–he should have allowed someone to at least check him over. You had seen his right side had taken a few too many direct hits during the battle. A risk that he ~~and you begrudgingly~~ accepted, since his quirk required a direct line of sight.

The last three years as his patrol partner gave you more insight into the man than most other people had been granted, more even than you bargained for to begin with. His silence spoke loudly, but by the end of the first year, the language of his body was even louder. Whole patrols often passed without a word spoken between you, and it felt natural.

From the very beginning, moving with and around one another in a way that allowed your quirks to work together effectively, happened without so much as a forethought. Being with him was easy. And recently, your thoughts about the ease of being near him were beginning to bleed into other parts of your imagination.

You had to get away, while you still had a little of your resolve left to spare.

But those feelings had been easy enough to bury, until now.

You couldn’t afford to get caught up emotionally with a partner. Especially not with Aizawa, and especially not now, with the League of Villains sniffing around at his first-year students. Since the battle at Camino, he’d been getting progressively more reckless, and you didn’t like it.

You knew where he'd be, and you found him just as you knew you would. Rounding the corner into the large locker rooms, you caught a glimpse the black and purple blooms decorating his ribs just as his shirt fell into place over the expanse of his back.

"So are you just determined to make a martyr of yourself before the end of the year, or are you going to let someone look at those clearly broken ribs?"

The way he went rigid made clear the fact that you'd managed to startle him, yet another thing that grated at your patience. If he hadn't heard you approach in the quiet school, how could he possibly ward off a villain in the field while in this state?

How could he possibly keep himself safe if he kept going like this?

"I'm fine." His words came back sharper than he usually spoke. Threatening to cut the fine threads of his tolerance that remained in place.

"You're not fine, Shouta. I mean fuck, with the way those bruises look, you could be on the cusp of an internal bleed! Why won't you just let them heal you?"

"Because that will take me out of the patrol rotation, and we can't afford to not have my quirk available during an attack on the grounds."

"What we can't afford, is for you to be killed!" You practically scoff in your frustration, trying to keep the angry tears from escaping. "If you won't let me have your back out there instead of running off headfirst at every one of these low-life thugs that skulk around in the woods, then I can't–"

He spun on you as quickly as his injuries allowed. Dark eyes glazed over with something even darker, a scowl more menacing than anything he'd turned in your direction before. Your hero name sounded wrong, foreign In the way he nearly barked it out to cut you off. "Can't what? Can't trust me?"

He pressed closer, his nose nearly bumping yours as his steely resolve met your angry tears head on. "You know that nothing and no one will keep me from trying to protect my students."

"That's not what I'm asking from you, Eraser. I care about those kids just as much as you do, and you know it. Your hurt, and you're angry, and you're not fucking listening to me!"

He softened suddenly then, as if he finally realized the way he'd been crowding you so aggressively. He shifted back slightly, granting the both of you a moment to breathe. Then..."I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–" he rushed, reaching out to you.

"I just can't let myself do this." You choked the words out, your resolve buckling under the weight of the hand that came to rest on your shoulder, sliding down to catch your wrist when you finally turned away. "I'm sorry, Shouta, I can't. I, I'm putting in for a transfer."

"What? No, I'm sorry– you know I wouldn't hurt you." he said matter-of-fact, gently squeezing the hand that remained firmly in his grasp. "If I don't know what you mean, we can't get past this."

"I can't do my job if I'm constantly distracted by you. Worried about whether or not you're safe."

"Please, just hold on a second and let's figure this out. I can't afford to lose you, you're the best partner I've ever had. Just tell me what's going on, and I swear I'll do things differently next time."

You met his eyes again and found them no longer angry, but still intense. Relentless.

Finally pulling your arm away from his grasp, you began to step away "No, I can't. It's too dangerous."

Those hero's eyes that saw everything, and usually understood even more than that, looked helpless.

Like he was already lost.

Like he was almost afraid to ask.

But he asked anyway.

"I'm too dangerous?"

"No. Not you, Eraser." With that you turned away fully and took one step, and then another away from him.

"What then?"

You stopped then, and hesitated. You knew that if you turned around, you wouldn't have the strength to leave him alone. So when you finally answered him, you didn't look back.

"Falling in love with you."

You left him standing there, shocked, alone, and unable to tell if the echo of your words came from the concrete surrounding him, or simply within his own mind.

[tricksters-captain]

Helmut Zemo imagines - Hostage Part 1

AN: I came up with this idea for a series in the shower and I hope you guys are as intrigued by it as I am. Also I’m aware it’s posted later than I said but I’m a perfectionist and couldn’t post it until I was happy with it!! To make up for it, I have some Laszlo Kreizler smut coming up soon for you Alienist fans. 

Summary: You were chosen as one of Karli’s elite. You became a super soldier to help your cause, make the world a better place but taking the serum came with a price. After being cornered one day, you’re taken by the famous Helmut Zemo to give him answers or face the consequences. 

In This Chapter: Introductions. You are sent on a mission for Karli, only for it to turn bad. 

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, Karli Morganthau x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 2,703

Warnings: Spoilers for TFATWS, violence, strong language 

You stared back at the burning building as the truck pulled away. 

Despite the rumbling of the thick tires on the tarmac beneath you, you could hear the screaming. 

“Hey.” DeeDee placed a hand on your shoulder and tugged you round. “Don’t look.” 

You could see in her eyes that she was just as shocked as you were but was trying to hide it.

The task had been to remove as many supplies as possible from the GRC depot to take back to the camps in Riga. There had been no mention of bombing the place. 

Lennox’s eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror. You were all thinking the same thing. 

Why would Karli go through with something that hadn’t even been discussed?

“Turn here. It’s faster.” DeeDee leant forward pointing towards a more narrow alley as fire engine sirens echoed up ahead. 

Lennox did as suggested and the others followed close behind. 

It wasn’t a long drive from Vilnius to Riga but you all stopped when daylight broke to take some time to eat something. 

You sat down beside Diego, your eyes flickering to Karli every few minutes as she dished out supplies for you all. 

She noticed. 

“(Y/n).” Karli remained standing as she handed out the last can to Dovich. 

You took the hint and rose to your feet. 

You followed her to the side of the abandoned structure as the others tried to tune the radio. 

“What’s the problem?” Karli asked you, a hard expression across her features.

“What’s the problem?” You couldn’t help but scoff at the question. “Karli, you blew up a building with people still tied up inside.” 

“I did what I had to do. It’s the only language these people understand. You saw just how much food, water and medicine they were sitting on. If we had a fraction of that just a few months ago Mama Donya might still be alive.” You could see the tears Karli was trying to suppress as she spoke of Mama Donya.

“You still should’ve consulted us before you went ahead with it. We’re better than an eye for an eye and you know that.” You cautiously took her hand into yours to try and comfort her. “We’re trying to make a difference here.”

“And that is how we do it.” She dropped your hand as she defended her actions. You shook your head but didn’t retaliate. You knew there was no use in arguing with her in that moment. 

“There’s something I need you to do after Mama Donya’s funeral today.” Karli was quick to change the topic. “A mission for you and DeeDee.” 

“What is it?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest. 

“I need you to go to these coordinates immediately after the funeral. One of our allies will be expecting you both. He has information and something I need. It’ll be a parcel, small enough to conceal so you can make your way back to us without any suspicion.” Karli texted over the coordinates and the information on the contact. 

“How can you be sure it’s safe?” You asked as you studied his profile. 

“I wouldn’t send you if it wasn’t.” Karli paused before she wrapped her hand around the back of your neck and brought your forehead to hers. “We have to stick together now more than ever.” 

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. 

“One world.” You muttered. 

“One people.”Karli pulled away just as Dovich called over to you both. 

They had managed to get the radio to work. 

You sat down and opened a can of fruit slices to try and quench your hunger. 

“The depot that was bombed was funded and run by the GRC, the Global Repatriation Council. One of the workers killed was the father of two and had only been on the job for one week. After condemning this latest action by the radical group known as the Flag Smashers, the GRC formally began drafting legislation known as The Patch Act, which would seek to restore traditional border regulations and fast-track the return to normalcy. The act of violence has also brought attention and followers to the Flag Smasher cause. No one can deny the world-wide reach of this group is growing, as is the danger.”

You shared a look with Gigi and Dovich as you listened to the broadcast. Your stomach churned at the mention of the father. You swallowed hard as you placed your food down. 

Karli parted from the group again, feeling the pressure of the eyes on her, but you chose not to follow. 

You had known Karli for 3 years. You met in Riga and became close quickly. You both had lost everything and then you had each other. When she took off to Madripoor, you followed. She always knew how to get people to see things her way, she had a spark inside of her that drew in those who wanted to fight for something; she was powerful for 19. She only grew more powerful with the serums. 

You had backed her and supported her from the start but something was twisting. Something was going sour. You had never killed innocents before but in Karli’s eyes; was anyone on the side of the GRC innocent?

“Finish up. We need to get to the border in time to meet our contact.” Karli strode past the group and didn’t stop until she climbed into one of the cars. 

You cleaned up after yourselves, leaving no trace that you were there, before you got back on the road. 

You were back in Riga soon enough, your contact at the border let you through without any issues and you made it to the checkpoint with all the supplies safely. 

Fortunately, you still had time to spare before Donya’s funeral. 

You remained hidden, on the low, whilst Karli went with Nico to pick up the leftover serums. 

You had previously spoken about creating more super soldiers. You had been against it. There were more than enough of you for the moment and the process of turning into one was beyond any pain you’d ever felt. You didn’t think more people needed to go through that. However, the vote passed and more were to be created. 

“You ready?” Karli asked you as she returned. You nodded. 

You headed to the secret location of Mama Donya’s funeral and fell into the crowd as the body came into sight. Mama Donya had been important to Karli and therefore important to you. She had been a kind woman. Kind to you. But Karli had a bond with her that you didn’t. This was Karli’s time to heal, to grieve, to help those who also relied on Donya. 

You watched Karli step up to say a few words. 

“I don’t remember my mother or my father. Same goes for siblings, grandparents, cousins. What I do remember is being alone. Worse than being hungry or cold or scared. I was alone. Until Mama Donya. Like a lot of you here, Mama Donya saved me. She clothed me, fed me, loved me.” You followed Karli’s eye line when she gasped softly. 

It was Sam Wilson. Avenger. 

You felt your blood go cold. Usually where there was one avenger, there were sure to be more. 

“She taught me that we have to do for each other because they won’t. And we know who they are. They imposed struggle and hardship on us, then labeled us as criminals for pushing back. But the struggle is what brings us all together. People who have nothin’ in common. For we are, after all, simply one world and one people. So live accordingly.”

As you stepped forward and placed your bouquet of flowers down beside Donya, Karli clasped hold on your wrist. 

“Go now.” She whispered under her breath. 

“What about you?” You asked. 

“I’ll be fine. Get to the contact.” Karli tried to assure you but you weren’t certain on leaving her. Dovich guided you away to stop you from arguing with Karli about it. He told you that he was going to stay behind to help Karli and that you had a more important job to do right now. 

You had to give in and leave. 

As you made your exit, you grabbed DeeDee and the keys to the motorbike outside. 

“We gotta make a detour. Make sure we aren’t being followed.” You announced as you climbed onto the motorbike. 

“Karli said our guy would wait for us so it’s better to be safe than sorry. We can’t mess this up.” DeeDee agreed with you as she placed herself behind you. 

You took off down the street and did your best to lose any tails. 

You ended up ditching the bike and moving underground once you were sure you were alone. 

You were either really lucky or they had only brought enough backup to deal with Karli. 

“We should be close.” You checked your phone to read the GPS before placing on your mask. 

DeeDee held the flashlight up as you worked your way through the empty tunnel. 

“You’d think Karli could organise a rendezvous point somewhere a little less musty.” DeeDee grimaced as a trio of rats scattered past you both. 

“This is the safest way. We may have gained a lot of supporters above ground but we have a lot of enemies too.” You tried to defend Karli’s choice but even you had to admit that the sewers were a low point for you all. 

“You think she got away okay?” DeeDee asked, the concern obvious in her voice despite her blank expression. 

“I think Karli’s smart and she wouldn’t stick around if she knew she couldn’t win.” You may have been anxious for her but you rarely had doubts with Karli. Even without the serum she always managed to slip through the cracks. 

As you continued to make your way through the tunnels, you spotted a silhouette up ahead. 

You narrowed your eyes as DeeDee shone her light on him. 

Fortautely, it was your contact.

“Greetings.” The man smiled widely at you both. He wore a bright head torch that stopped you from looking him in the eye and a large forest green coat. 

“We’re here to collect the parcel and information for Karli.” DeeDee informed him, shading her eyes from his light as she tried to lift her gaze. 

“Yes. Yes. I know.” The short man pulled out a small object wrapped in brown paper from under his coat. “Karli said you would be coming.” 

As the man spoke, you heard something splash in the water behind you. 

“What was that?” You asked, looking back to see if you could spot anything. 

“It was probably just one of the rats.” DeeDee tried to assure you but the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand up. 

You had a bad feeling about it. 

“I’m going to check it out.” You whispered to her. “Better safe than sorry.” You repeated what she had said earlier. 

“Be careful.” DeeDee handed you her flashlight before letting you go. 

You crept back round the corner from whence you had came. You remained close to the wall to avoid any oncoming intruders head on. Peering down into the water, you saw that it had been in fact just a rat that was now paddling through the sewage. 

“It's okay.” You relaxed, shouting ahead so they could hear you. “It was just a ra–––” You were cut short by a gloved hand covering your mouth. 

You sent your elbow backwards instinctively which threw your attacker into the wall. 

You spun around to see a figure dressed in a lavish coat with a purple mask covering his face. You furrowed your eyebrows at his appearance. You didn’t recognise him as an Avenger. 

He came towards you, sending a fist to the side of your head. You managed to block his attack, kicking him in the chest. 

You thought he’d be no match for you with your enhanced powers but he managed to put up a good fight. 

He wrestled with you against the wall as he gained the advantage. You resorted in head butting him to get him off you. 

You sent your leg up into his side but he wrapped his arm around your calf and yanked you forward. You lost your balance as he grip moved, hooking under your knee. He squeezed your thigh against him as he pulled out a rather large syringe. 

“DEE! RUN!” You managed to howl before the needle sunk into your thigh. 

You tried to fight again as he dropped your leg but your vision became patchy and your balance began to sway. 

Not to your knowledge, he had injected as much tranquilliser into you as one would a tiger. Your enhanced abilities wouldn’t help you with that, you were soon out cold. 

--

The stars shone above you as you and Karli laid back on the bonnet of the car. 

“I genuinely believe that you could be the one to change things, Karl.” You said as you munched down on the chocolate bar she had gifted you. 

“What are you on about?” Karli furrowed her eyebrows through her smile as she turned her head to face you. 

“I mean look what you did for my birthday, just using your powers of persuasion.” You smirked.

“Persuasion isn’t enough to change things.” Karli disagreed. 

“You’re right but right now, people need someone to look up to. Half the world is gone and hope isn’t something that's easy to come by anymore.” You stated. 

“And you think that person could be me?” Karli scoffed at the idea. 

“I think you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.” You broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to her. 

“I think you’re spending too much time around Mama Donya.” Karli took the chocolate and popped it in her mouth. 

“We’ll see who’s right one day.” You mused with a small smile. Karli rolled her eyes before trying to steal another piece. “Hey! It’s my birthday present!” 

--

When your eyes finally opened, you realised you were no longer in the sewers. 

You were standing but your hands were up above your head, chained to the wall behind you and a large metal strip was around your neck also. You desperately tried to search your surroundings through your mask but the restraints stopped you from moving much. 

The room was dark, no windows, a few dim lights dotted around caused the room to seem almost a brown colour and there was little furniture. 

You would’ve been a fool if you didn’t noticed the gun on a small table off to the side as well as the medical equipment glistening on a tall metal cart. 

Your head throbbed and your mouth held the metallic taste of blood. You tugged at your wrist restraints to test their strength and to your luck they were holding. 

“You’re awake.” You heard a thick accented voice when you stopped rattling your chains. “Good.” 

The possessor of the voice, your kidnapper, stepped into light and you clocked who it was immediately. 

It was Baron Helmut Zemo. 

Zemo could not see your face as he had left the mask on you but he could tell from your eyes that you knew who he was. 

“I bet you are wondering why you are here. Tied up in this basement.” Zemo started. “Let’s start with introductions, shall we?” 

You remained silent.

“My name is Helmut Zemo––”

“––I know who you are.” You retorted. 

“Then you know what I am capable of.” Zemo glared at you for the interruption. His hands finding his pockets as his eyes settled on your own. 

“I know you’re going to kill me.” You knew of what happened with the Avengers. You knew of Siberia and the destroyed soldiers. You knew of his hate. 

“I’m not going to kill you.” Zemo wagged his finger at you. “Not yet at least. No. We have a few things I’d like to discuss first.”

“Like what?” You scowled at the man. 

“Like the whereabouts of Karli Morgenthau.” 

(PART 2 HERE)

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[tempenensis]

Halo! Here's a reddit link to information and research papers about onmyodo consolidated by other people and a link to an overview. Tried to summarize below bits and pieces that may be relevant to jjk (and which I tried to understand to the best of my abilities :P )

I think this will be the last time I write such a long-ass ask again, my apologies

About cursed spirits and mono

Court onmyojis in Heian used divination to find out the cause of things like curses, strange events (kaii), natural disasters, illness, why your dog is barking at a seemingly empty spot (answer: Megumi's divine dog is barking back) and so on. Strange events were referred to as mokke (物怪) or mono no satoshi (もノノサトシ) and believed to be omens of calamity that were caused by mono or "things" which could be anything like the curses of gods or something from the Imperial mausoleums. Furthermore, during the rule of Emperor Kanmu from end of Nara to early Heian, the Ritsuryo system of government began to crumble as imperial rule changed hands and political victims were feared as onryō (怨霊) that caused disease or death to the Emperor's nearest relatives (but not the Emperor himself). The fear of strange phenomena spread through the aristocrats and became commonplace. Onymojis were believed to be able to deal with the curse of mono as well (otherwise it's off to the chopping board for their jobs (and lives) they go, chop chop). And so the Imperial Court funded them to perform quelling rituals and ceremonies to appease gods, clear away damages by insects, pray for harvests and prevent the spread of epidemics (which ironically was exacerbated by the court's overspending and large-scale deforestation but that's another story). For individual cases like the spirits of living persons (ikiryō or ikisudama), or spirits of dead people (akuryō, ryō, onryō, shiryō or bōkon), onmyojis might determine that spiritual energy or evil spirits (mono no ke) was the cause but mikkyō genja (験者) or ritualists were the ones to subdue it by incantations. JJK cursed spirits resemble mono no ke in that they cannot be seen and may harm humans. Whereas jujutsu sorcerers are more like genja ritualists (complete with flashy kamehameha bombs) (and besides being cursed).

Lifespan rituals

The most popular theory for Sukuna's fixation with Megumi has already been covered by this blog owner with additional info on the Ten Divine Treasures. Another theory is that Sukuna could have been aiming for a higher level of enlightenment. Besides the Shinto-Buddhism angle, Onmyodo also has its own set of rituals concerning life and death. Onmyodo is basically a system of divination and techniques that focuses on worldly benefits and has no vision of the world after death. The rituals were instead based on the Chinese beliefs in honmyō (本命), Zokushō (属星) or the realm of the dead (冥界) and by the end of Heian, there were more than forty Onmyodo rituals to pray for the individual health and longevity of aristocrats (commoners: eat the rich 👎). For the terms honmyō and Zokushō, the closest meaning I can give without being too horribly misleading would be the life/destiny that you are born with according to your birth year, zodiac, constellation and so on. The most popular ritual was Taizan Fukun sai (泰山府君祭), which originated around the beginning of the tenth century and was closely associated with Abe no Seimei (yes that guy you keep seeing in anime). Taizan Fukun (泰山府君) is the lord of the eastern peak of Mt. Tai in China, a deity that summons the spirits of the dead and administers the lengthening and shortening of human lifespans. Twelve deities of the realm of the dead including Taizan Fukun were involved in this ritual. It was implemented on every honmyō day, but also as needed for illness, childbirth, natural disasters, and strange events. Media adaptations often depict Abe no Seimei (or other onmyojis) using the ritual for resurrection or reincarnation 😅 e.g. Tokyo Ravens, Shaman King, Onmyoji (2001). I don't think Gege will go for the same cliché trope for Sukuna but it's still interesting to know.

Seimei and Dōman (Gojo and Getou)

Anyone who knows about the folklores of Abe no Seimei 安倍 晴明 would be familiar with his eternal rival, Dōman 道満. Like Gojo who's the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, Seimei was the leading onmyoji specialist of his time. His position as the Kurōdo-dokoro onmyōji (highest-ranking onmyoji), legendary reputation and long lifespan lent to the notion that he had mystical powers due to being born from a human father and a kitsune mother. During Heian, Onmyodo referred to the organization of onmyojis under the control of high-ranking people of the same profession (kinda like the JJK elders) rather than the system of beliefs known today. Onmyōji with official status like Abe no Seimei would be kanjin onmyōji (官人陰陽師) or official onmyōji. Non-official onmyojis would include hōshi onmyōji (法師陰陽師) or priest onmyōji, who had the appearance of Buddhist priests (like how Getou was dressed as a cult leader), and presumably the control of the Onmyōdō did not extend to them. Official onmyōji, under the strict supervision of their superiors, would not have been permitted to have any connection with criminal acts such as curses. Instead, the Heian nobility turned to hoshi-onmyojis like Dōman to lay curses on their political rivals. There were many incidents involving curses within aristocratic society in Seimei’s time, and in a majority of cases the curses were placed by hōshi-onmyōji. Dōman himself had been spotted visiting a noblewoman, Takashina no Mitsuko, who employed hōshi-onmyōji to put a curse on several prominent political figures. Getou: "Let's curse each other... to our hearts' content!"

War onmyojis (and questioning of Gege's probable naming sense)

The Sengoku era treated court onmyojis poorly (ceremonies were expensive to fund). Warrior onmyodo being more practical (divining auspicious days for battle/forming alliances and exorcising evil spirits) became prominent instead. Academies that taught Confucian studies with divination and medicine as part of the curriculum flourished and the most famous was Ashikaga Gakkō (足利学校) (not as modern as Tokyo Jujutsu High though). Like Nanami and co. who became professional sorcerers, many of its students went to the battlefield as diviners and doctors. When peace returned during Tokugawa Ieyasu's rule, a few practitioners thrived by attaching themselves to powerful men. One would be Tenkai (天海) and another Kanshitsu Genkitsu, head of the Ashikaga Gakko. Being Ieyasu's bff, a temple Fushimi Enkoji (伏見円光寺) modeled after Ashikaga was built and Kanshitsu appointed as its head. Ieyasu also sponsored Kanshitsu's Fushimiban (伏見版), a publication project printed with wooden blocks. I'm definitely reaching here for Tengen and Fushiguro but I do wonder if Gege ever chanced upon those names.

🦆A Tail of Many Kamos: 鴨川, 下鴨, 鴨, 加茂, 賀茂 🦆

鴨川 - the Kamo river northeast of the Heian capital (modern Kyoto)

下鴨 - the Shimogamo Shrine (下鴨神社), a Shinto shrine dedicated to the Kamo family of kami

鴨 - the clan associated with the Kamo shrines and the famous poet-priest Kamo no Chōmei (鴨 長明) who witnessed the end of Heian. Also Bucephala albeola.

加茂 - Kamo no matsuri (加茂祭) or Aoi no matsuri (葵祭), an annual festival of Shimogamo Shrine and Kamigamo Shrine and one of the three major festivals in Kyoto, also one of the three big jujutsu clans (加茂家) in JJK. It's funny that Gege would choose a name with the same pronunciation as a real-life historic clan, which brings to the next point.

賀茂 - the formal name of the Shimogamo Shrine (賀茂御祖神社), also a once-prominent Heian Onmyoji family that died out during the Sengoku era. Thereafter, the Tsuchimikado (former Abe clan) took over their hereditary duties of keeping the calendar. Abe no Seimei's teacher was the astrology scholar (tenmon hakase 天文博士) Kamo no Yasunori (賀茂保憲). Could Kenjaku be based on Abe no Seimei as well?

The Musical Exorcist

The rock-n-roll grandpa, Gakuganji, might be based on the lesser known lute-priests called biwa-hoshi (琵琶法師) or zatō (座頭). Their musical style is referred to as heikyoku (平曲), which literally means "heike music". Accompanied by their mōsō-biwa (盲僧琵琶), the often-blind lay priests would chant Buddhist mantras, placate earth deities, perform spirit pacification chinkon (鎮魂) of vengeful spirits including onryō, communicate with the dead (Principal Yaga 😢), purify defilements haraikikyomeru (祓い清め) and border rites kyōkai girei (境界儀礼) that expel malign forces. The thesis "From Heike to Nomori no kagami" suggests that the musical practices and theories of Heike correlate with Yin-Yang principles. Which I will not further expound bcos I haz zero music theory knowledge and also this ask is far too long 😛 Hopefully Gakuganji will not remain blind to the less-than-holy intentions of the jujutsu higher-ups as the story continues.

Hello, lore anon! Thank you for compiling another stellar read!

Aaw, you'll be missed, but it's fine. Just do things and drop by if you feel like it.

Yes, onmyodo has a large influence on Japanese pop culture. Numerous manga takes their inspiration from onmyodo, jjk only one of them. Onmyouji had a very large political influence in the court. They were also a legit government position, literally civil servants back in the day.

The legend of Abe no Seimei and his rival Ashiya Douman is also famous. Abe no Seimei was said to be born from a kitsune (fox spirit) mother and human father, so he is often thought to not be fully human, hence his supernatural ability. I wouldn't be surprised if one of these characters is inspired by either Seimei or Douman; Sukuna, Kenjaku, or Tengen.

Kamo, yes, it seems that Gege actually takes the name of the clan. The fanbook said that Kamo clan arised to influence during the heyday of Heian period, the Golden age of Jujutsu. While it's lesser known, Kamo family is quite a legend too alongside Abe no Seimei in onmyoudou. As you said, Kamo no Tadayuki and his son Kamo no Yasunori has been known to teach Abe no Seimei.

[lostmyhufflepuffstatus]

Death by Peanut Allergy

Word Count: 1306

Summary: While on a quest Dave, the Son of Demeter comes into contact with an abandoned peanut packaging warehouse with some friends. Little does he know that this is the final quest.

Warnings: Named Character Death

A/N: Not going to lie this was supposed to be a comedy piece but I did the thing that writers do where we black out and then suddenly it gets weirdly sad. Also, I know this is different from my usual Criminal Minds fics, don't worry I still have plenty of those! I had this idea a few days ago and needed to write it. I hope you enjoy it, again my inbox is open for ships, requests, and questions!

The year was 1992. This was supposed to be my final year of Camp Half-Blood. Being a half-blood is probably the most dangerous job in the world, and worse there is no pay and no benefits. But regardless someone had to do it so the gods went around mating with mortals and these demigods were born to do their bidding. There had been little to no missing or dying campers in at least 5 years, which was a huge deal considering how many were lost in the past. It isn’t uncommon for campers to go missing or die. As I said being a half-blood is a dangerous job. If they went missing it was somewhere near Zeus’ Fist, and death was common, especially for those who were dumb enough to go into the woods unarmed to fight the monsters in hand-to-hand combat, RIP Trevor you will be missed. Hopefully, there will never be such a significant loss again, but it’s Camp Half-Blood so who knows for sure? 

Anyway, everyone knows that being a demigod can kill you because of gods and monsters, and you have to be careful about who you piss off, but most people don’t assume the mundane will kill them, especially not allergies. Sure there was the occasional camper who was allergic to hay or horses or goats, those can be really awkward to explain especially since a lot of the staff here is half barnyard animal, oh and pollen allergies are pretty common too, friendly reminder that the Dryads do NOT like to be sneezed on, again, sorry about that Juniper. There have even been stories of demigods having lactose intolerance. But no sane demigod believes that their allergies are going to kill them. Death by a monster? Yeah everyday concern, but not something as dumb as a nut allergy, which is exactly what happened to me. My name is Dave Gardner. I was a demigod, a son of Demeter, and I died…because of my peanut allergy. 

The quest was going normally. We had a lot of close encounters with death, which nobody was a stranger to. That’s just a typical Tuesday for a camper. On this quest I had Steve and Greg as my group, a son of Hephaestus and a son of Apollo, yes I know how ironic that is; me dying on a quest with the son of the god of medicine. I have to give him credit though, he tried hard to save me. Everything was fine until the Canadians attacked. Technically not Canadians they’re Listerine giants or something like that. I can never remember their proper names though, that was for the kids of Athena. 

We had gotten pretty damn far, finally getting to Fairbanks Alaska in order to get some weird herb that Chiron needed for some kind of protection thing for the camp's borders. You see, there was something really weird going on, there were way more monsters out and about than usual. To make a long story short the giants caught up with us because I had made a wrong turn and gotten us lost and we were forced to leave our supplies behind, including my bag which had my epi-pen and my emergency stash of nectar and ambrosia, the food and drink of the gods that was able to heal demigods, but not too much or you’d spontaneously combust. I figured that we’d be able to circle back and grab our gear before moving on, but boy was I wrong. 

We were forced into an old warehouse to hide, immediately I thought it was a bad idea, and started having an anxiety attack and everything, well I thought that it was an anxiety attack. All of the symptoms were there for a panic attack, I had clammy skin, uncontrollable sweating, lightheadedness, and of course breathing problems. Still, my choices were either becoming a toothpick for giants or forcing myself to hide in an old abandoned warehouse. I chose the latter. 

There were old crates and boxes everywhere with faded writing, nobody would be able to read that even if they didn’t have dyslexia. Greg had managed to confuse the giants with some weird arrow that was given to him by an older camper from the Hermes cabin, I couldn’t remember his name though, but it managed to give us time so we had a few seconds to hide and pray to whoever would be listening that they wouldn’t find us. 

We found an old storage closet with even more barrels and crates and decided to hide in the largest one, all three of us fit in there okay, it was a little cramped. As we were hiding I felt that panic attack getting worse, my throat had started to swell big time and it was getting hard to see, not just because it was dark, but because my vision had become very blurry. And that is when it hit me, I was having a very bad allergic reaction. I had never had one this horrible and painful before. I hate to admit it, but I was absolutely terrified. Not being able to breathe and knowing that I am actively dying was worse than staring down any monster. 

I couldn’t help but think about my baby sister Katie, she was barely 9 years old, and I had only been able to see her a handful of times. I thought about my Dad, I don’t know where my mom was or if she could even hear me but I was still praying to her. Not for my life but for the protection of Katie, I wish I could see her one last time. 

The rest of my death felt like an out-of-body experience, it was like I was watching a movie, where some random side character that people still loved for whatever reason, died. I saw my body collapse to the floor, my friends turned quickly. Thankfully Steve managed to catch my body before I fell too hard, which would give away our position. The giants were in the warehouse now, I could still hear them throwing things around yelling about how much they wanted to destroy me and my friends. I don’t know how I knew but I knew that they were getting closer, the guys couldn’t hear me as I was screaming at them to run. 

Greg was looking around the box and the storage room for something, anything that could be used to save my life. My voice was silent as I begged them to run, to leave me behind and save themselves. If they died too I would never be able to forgive myself, they had brothers and sisters back at camp. I tried banging on the walls, banging on the crates, the barrels, and even the guys themselves but nothing worked. I tried everything I could but I knew that I couldn’t do anything. I could see Steve crying, he never ever cried. 

I closed my eyes and turned away but when I opened them again, I didn’t see my friends or the storage room, I saw a line, a line of people standing in front of a gate, and a large dog with three heads. I knew where I was, I was in Hades, the underworld, the afterlife, whatever you want to call it. I had accepted my death towards the end, but what I couldn’t accept, was not knowing if my friends made it or not. I had no idea if they made it out of the warehouse in one piece. I have no idea if they survived the giants. I hoped that they did. People say that the worst part of dying is that you never know what happens to those around you. But the worst part for me is not having a chance to say goodbye.

[skylarmoon71]

Harry Wells x Angel Reader- Oneshot (Flash)

"Are you shitting me!" Cisco yelled.

Cisco, Barry and Caitlin were currently locked in the pipeline. The meta responsible grinning at them. 

"You really shouldn't be so trusting. " 

The female snickered, waving the meta cuffs in her hands. Harry handcuffed at the side. He was pulling against his restraints angrily.

"Once again you've failed to keep our security up to mark Ramon."

"Not exactly the time for a lecture don't you think Harry!"

It was only a matter of time before Iris or even Joe realized something was wrong. The alert had already been sent out. What they didn't account for was you skating into the room. The urgency is clear on your face. You must have gotten the notification.

"Guys!!"

This particular meta was sporting super strength.

"And who is this, another member of team failure."

"Hey!" Cisco protests.

Dangling the power dampeners in her hands, she smiles at you. "If you're nice and obedient I just might let your friends stay in one piece. Now be a good girl and come here."

"(Y/N) get out of here!" Barry orders. You out of all of them did not have the advantage of being a meta. You did have something else however.

Something you hoped you'd never have to reveal to them. The situation right now though, it wasn't looking good. You weren't exactly sure just what this woman was after, but it was obvious you couldn't let her have it.

She moved closer, swinging a fist. You duck, kicking her in the stomach. Her body goes flying into the opposite wall. The force of your kick knocks her out completely, her body laying still on the floor. Harry's mouth falls open, stunned. You just kneel, bending the metal at his wrist so he can break free. He does, eyes never leaving you. Caitlin and the gang are still partially star struck. You just rub your arm nervously.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about. "

"You think!"

Today would be longer than expected.

~~~~

"Let me get this straight this whole time you've been a metahuman. Why didn't you tell us?" Cisco looks a bit hurt.

"I wasn't trying to keep it from you I just, I didn't know how to go about telling you. Cisco...I'm not a metahuman."

"Pardon?"

"I'm..well I've always been, you know. An angel."

"Angel as in, you're a really nice person or, like an actual winged flying celestial being?"

"The second one."

"This is...something." Caitlin mumbles. You knew it would be a lot to process. It's why you'd been doing such a good job at keeping it on the downlow.

"But aren't angels meant to be, up there?" Cisco points to the sky.

"We are usually. Some of us come down every once in a while to study humans. You guys are just really interesting." You try to hide your excitement, because the last thing you want is to make them uncomfortable.

"A-Anyway, I was just checking out some stuff and then well, I started to like it here so I stayed. I liked being around you guys. Amenadiel said it was fine as long as I didn't cause any trouble then I could stay." you gave an awkward smile. Harry is still in a state of shock. So is everyone else.

"Are you saying that you're an...actual angel?" Cisco questions. You nod. With a shrug of your shoulders your wings appear. It's so sudden that they all take a step back. The blue feathers look so beautiful. It spreads all the way out, probably a few inches longer than your arms. You shift, letting them slide back into your shoulder blades. Team Flash is still staring at you.

"Please say something." you plead.

Barry steps closer. "Are..are my parents.." He doesn't have to finish.

"They are." You smile. Barry lets out a soft relieved laugh. "Everyone is." you assure. You're referring to all of their losses, not just Barry's. Caitlin and Cisco appear a bit more relaxed, even a bit happy.

"So..c-can I stay?"

Harry folds his arms. "Of course. With Ramon's lack of intelligence when it comes to security I presume we'll be seeing a lot more criminals walking in and out of here."

You clap your hands together, doing a little happy dance. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" you run over giving Harry a hug, lifting his feet off the ground and his eyes go wide in alarm. You drop him back just as quick. "S-Sorry I, I forget my own strength sometimes." Cisco is snickering from the side.

"If you'd like to keep all your body parts attached I suggest you stay quiet Ramon." That shuts him up. He walks off, muttering about some upgrades. You're still grinning like a child.

"This is gonna be great!"

It felt nice to have everything out in the open.

No secrets. ~~~~

So Team Flash carried on as usual. You really thought things would get weird. It wasn't everyday you found out your friend was an angel. You told them of some of your adventures, and stubborn siblings.

The outcome was more beneficial than anything else. You had no idea it would turn out this well, otherwise you would have said something ages ago. All you really wanted was acceptance, and that's what they gave you. For you though, the person's opinion who meant the most was Harry. Heaven knows you've been crushing on him for ages. You were making your way through Star Labs to that very person now. Coming around the corner, you smile when you see him sitting in his chair, working on another great piece of tech.

"Hey Harry!"

Your usual peppy energy was quite the same as the day you got there. Harry was always curious behind your endless supply of optimism. You were like a ray of light, forever shining over him. Not that he'd admit that to you. He'd already been doing a poor job of keeping his feelings in check. Your true identity just added to the allure. He wasn't sure he could be more in love, then you had to be a freaking angel of all things.

He groaned internally.

"I'm definitely going to hell for some of the dreams I had about her."

Harry doesn't fully acknowledge you, and it's a bit worrying. You were hoping you'd never have to ask the question, but with the way he's been moving around you, you just had to ask .

"Are you afraid of me?"

He pauses, wondering if he heard that right.

"I know things are a bit different now, but I'm still the same person, Harry. I just hope that this doesn't change anything. " You look a bit more guarded, and Harry drops the wrench in his hands, moving from his desk.

Maybe he needed to work on his reactions. He never wanted you to feel like he was afraid, or even angry at you for holding such a secret.

"I'd never be afraid of you. You're one of the few people I trust with my life (Y/N)." Your face lights up.

"Somewhere deep down I always knew there was something extraordinary about you. I suppose now I know why." You press your hand on the table behind you, taken with the way his blue eyes gaze at you. You lower your eyes with a shy giggle.

"W-Well I'm glad! Thanks Harry." you're about to leave. You've said all that you needed to. But he stops right in front of you.

"Harry?"

"Would I get smited if I were to take advantage of this adorable angel?" The back of his hand brushes against your cheek, and you become a little light headed. He cups your face, and you can't produce words. He's close...so close.

"Umm..I.." You're babbling, and it makes Harry smile. He leans in, leaving a soft kiss on your lips, pulling back to gauge your reaction. Your lips are parted, eyes a bit glossed over.

"I think just a peck is still on the border of innocence, don't you agree. " His thumb slides over your plump lips, and he pulls back, about to move away. You grab at his sleeve, your desire clear as day. "One more.." you beg. Harry smirks. "If you insist."

He goes in for another and you sigh in content. Those pink lips of his are every definition of sin. His body is sturdy, taunt, firm. With his arms around you, it's near impossible not to feel everything. His hands have ventured down, and his palm slides up your thigh, hiking up your skirt. You need to regain some type of control on your body. 

With a huff, you pull back to get some oxygen back into your lungs. Harry kisses your cheek, chin, then your neck. You whine, because his hand is so warm against your skin, and his lips are trying to leave a mark everywhere they go. You close your eyes, hands trailing up his neck, gripping at his short dark hair. He responds, using his free hand to lift you onto the table. He still hasn't stopped his assault on your neck. He's driving you mad.

"Angel.."

The whisper topped with his teeth nipping at your neck makes you mewl. You jolt slightly when your wings pop out. The wind and length knocked a few papers over along with a cup that was sitting there. Harry looks up, chuckling under his breath. You blush, covering your face.

"I-I'm sorry."

That was embarrassing.

"Don't be." He doesn't look fazed in the least. Just continues kissing you. You laugh into the kiss, running your hands through his hair. 

"Seems like you got a thing for angels Harry."

"Guilty as charged." He mutters pulling off his shirt.

Some secrets weren't that bad he supposed.

[cosmic-conundrums]

Someone is singing on the Castleway. Now, this would typically be considered a fairly ordinary occurrence, if not for the fact that the singing is rarely being done by the corpses.

Passing through all four central kingdoms as it does, the Castleway is used for a multitude of purposes, not least among them the punishment of traitors and criminals. The lesser ones, generally. Those of import are most often dealt with personally by those they have wronged, and often with a certain flair and originality befitting their crimes. But for most, the Castleway is where they face their retribution, though it is sometimes considered more than they deserve.

The road itself is a patchwork of hard-packed dirt, cobbled stone, and tough wooden slats, depending on where you stand. As borders and rulers have changed, so too has the Castleway, going through countless damages and repairs until it is unrecognizable from the wide earthy trail it was in the early days. It is still wide, of course, wide enough to fit three full-size wagons side by side. And it is busy. The people flow like fish through a river, on carts and horses, in groups and as one; shouting, talking, laughing. Trading amongst themselves, breaking off old relationships and forging new ones, gathering fame and fortune and everything in between, all in the course of one journey. One can learn more about the world from following the Castleway than from any storyteller or newscarrier in the realm, it is said.

None of this is entirely relevant to this particular tale, however, or at least not quite so relevant as the stakes.

The stakes, referred to as ‘the Judge’s fingers’ by the general populace, line the Castleway on the left side. Heavy wooden stakes, as big around as trees, taller than even the most towering of persons, driven into the ground, each through a small wooden platform. They are spaced out irregularly along the path, so it is nigh impossible to guess how close one’s proximity will be to the next (nigh impossible only when considering the factor of luck. Remove that and it is simply impossible to guess).

These Judge’s fingers are where the aforementioned traitors and criminals face their retribution. To be sentenced to the Castleway is to be sentenced to either a slow, excruciating demise or a merciful release, on the whims of the Judge Eternal and Final. It is to be cruelly and brutally abandoned, to have the strings cut on your control over your fate. It is to be tied to a stake by the side of the road, and left there; handed over to the gods and the elements. Most die after only a couple of days. Brought down by starvation, storms, fires, the savagery of beasts or humanity. There are endless forms of death waiting on the Castleway. It is simply a matter of which one gets to you first.

There are not always occupants of the fingers, but it is often safe to assume that there will be one or two watching you as you pass by, eyes bright with anger or dark with despair. Some will shout, some will beg, some will cry. Some will say nothing. Most are already too dead to make a sound. This one, however, is singing.

It’s an unfamiliar song, the tune high and haunting, the voice sweet and rough, like crystallized honey. And it is ruining Ridley’s day.

It is incredibly bothersome to have your entire life’s purpose usurped by a corpse that refuses to die or shut its mouth. Alright, Ridley supposes, that’s a bit dramatic. But drama, as well, is a piece of what he was born to do, and at this particular moment he is having a disastrous time attempting to do it. The song on the breeze has a nasty habit of throwing him off his own melody, and every attempt to drown it out is met with new fervor from the singer. It’s frustrating as all hell, and Ridley has yet to see the face of his foe, which only stokes his ire further. He keeps his eyes on the fingers, scanning the expressions of those both alive and dead, watching their lips to see if they move. He wants to look upon the one who is ruining his day… and perhaps punch them. He hasn’t quite decided yet.

He’s nearly given up on trying to locate the singer and decided to push on and ignore the irksome voice, when he sees them. He can’t quite see the figure’s mouth moving from his vantage point a ways down the road from them, but he knows it’s them upon first sight. It can be no one else.

The figure stands tall and proud, despite being tied to a stake and the fact that they appear to be no more than five and a half feet of height. Unlike the others, they hold their head high, not a hint of defeat shown. As he gets closer, it becomes clear to Ridley that the figure is smiling as they sing, a soft, smirking grin, as if they know something everyone else does not.

Up close, Ridley can make out the words on the sign nailed into the post above the singer’s head. The letters are a slash of sanguine paint on dark wood, but they are easy enough to interpret: This man is sentenced to the Judge for heresy and refusal to submit to arrest.

The heretic himself is slight of build, with the type of lean muscle that comes from working with a weapon. His features are sharp yet fine, as though delicately cut from a rough stone; pointed chin, high cheekbones, distinctly sloped nose. There is a pale smattering of freckles across said nose and cheekbones, standing out prominently in the brilliant sunlight. His eyes glitter silver with humor and defiance, the expression turning their swampy grey color to radiance. His lashes are unusually long and dark, giving those eyes a captivation that is difficult to look away from. His hair, an auburn reminiscent of leaves in the falling season, falls just to his shoulder in the slightest of waves. He is dressed in the simple white shirt and leather breeches granted to prisoners, but he manages to make them look like the garb of a prince.

He continues to sing as Ridley watches, despite how he must have noticed the other standing there. He doesn't give any indication, however. Ridley folds his arms and glares, a challenge waiting to be met. The singer's eyes flick to him briefly, and he lifts an eyebrow in… invitation, it almost seems like. Well, Ridley’s not about to let that opportunity go.

With a flourish, the bard twirls around and deposits himself on the wooden platform at the base of the stake. He makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other with pointed elegance. He flicks his eyes up to the heretic and attempts a scowl, and is met with absolutely nothing in return. So it’s going to be like that, is it? I see. Well, two can play at that game.

Two, as it turns out, cannot play at that game. The heretic continues to sing, and the song continues to distract Ridley in all his attempts to drown it out. To be honest, the bard isn’t exactly sure what he had intended to do here. He has a habit of making decisions like this, taking action without even considering what action to take.

The song never seems to end, the verses carrying on and on until Ridley nearly becomes convinced that it’s the only song he will ever hear again. No matter how intently he listens, he cannot for the life of him figure out the language. The words flow like a river, the vowels rolling like waves and the consonants crashing on the shore. It fits beautifully with the singer’s voice, Ridley has to admit, the slightly rough tone adding an unexpectedly welcome contrast to the smooth melody. The tune is just begging for a harmony.

Damn my nature, Ridley thinks as he begins to hum, testing the notes until he finds the ones that fit, turning the heretic’s song into a duet. He can’t follow along with the words, but the rest of it is easy enough to pick up. He sings loudly, lifting his voice up to carry along the Castleway. He’s always had a powerful voice, it’s one of the qualities that determined his prowess as a bard from a young age. There had been people listening to the heretic’s song from the start, but once Ridley joins in, more and more heads turn as they pass on the road, and some even stop to listen. Mostly families, dragged over to the side of the road by young children captivated by the music. Some merchants stop by, nodding gently along to the tune before moving along on their path. A group of soldiers for hire scowl at them as they pass, and Ridley scowls back. He’s never much liked soldiers. There’s another bard that stops as well, and performs an elegant dance for the heretic, bowing at the end before skipping away, humming the tune as she does so. And there’s an oddly pale figure, with strange colorless eyes and silvery hair despite its apparent youth, who stays longer than the rest, standing before the platform with its head cocked to one side, a mysterious glimmer in its eyes. The heretic ignores it, but Ridley stares right back at the figure, taking in its expensive clothing and well-groomed facade. It met his eyes with a cool, amused gaze, as unbreakable as stone. Now, Ridley may have a strong voice and a stronger will, but he folds under that gaze. He lowers his eyes as the figure smirks and walks away, strolling as though it has all the time in the world.

Not long after that, the song ends. The heretic’s voice trails off into the wind, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough wood of the stake he is tied to. He appears… peaceful, content. It’s not an expression one would expect to see on the face of someone condemned to death, but then again it has already become clear that this someone is not much like the others.

“Thank you,” the singer says as Ridley is preparing to rise to his feet and leave, feeling silly and a bit embarrassed over what he has just done. Ridley startles. “For what?”

The heretic opens his eyes and smiles. “You made it beautiful.”

He’s talking about the song, Ridley realizes. “It was beautiful before,” he says in response. “Without me.”

“Not nearly as much,” the heretic points out. Ridley finds himself blushing faintly, proud of himself. “Well, you know, it comes with being the most famous bard and storyteller on this side of the four kingdoms.”

“Famous?” the heretic quirks an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Ridley shrugs. “Probably. More famous than you, I’d bet.”

“Well, that would be because I am infamous, my small singing friend.”

Ridley has to bite down on his lip until he draws blood to keep himself from bursting out indignantly at being referred to as small. “I suppose that makes sense, you being a heretic and all.”

The heretic cocks his head, the light catching on a set of tiny ragged scars just around the edges of his mouth, mostly faded. “Is that what they call me? Heretic?”

“It’s not a very pretty name,” Ridley agrees. The heretic grins, the pale scars stretching. “I prefer Faraday,” he says.

“Now that is a pretty name,” Ridley bends over and plucks a pristine white daisy from the patch growing around his feet. “Faraday. Day. Daisy. Faradaisy. Can I call you Daisy?”

Without waiting for an answer, the bard plucks a few more of the flowers and begins weaving them into a crown. “So, Daisy, if you are not a heretic, what then are you?”

Faraday hmms in thought, tilting his head back against the wooden stake once again. “I am someone who believes,” he says, softly yet firmly.

“Is that not what we all are, at heart?” Ridley points out. He isn’t looking, but he can hear the heretic’s laughter. “I suppose you would call me a prophet, then,” Faraday confesses.

A prophet. Interesting. “I find that prophets and heretics are often the same, depending on who you ask.”

That laugh again, a shockingly harsh sound. “You speak true. Unusual for a storyteller, in my experience.”

“Many stories are true,” Ridley bites back, defensive.

“Many are not,” Faraday returns. Ridley huffs, defeated. He turns back to his daisy crown, but the silence quickly begins to bother him.

“You know, you’re in surprisingly good spirits for someone sentenced to death,” he says, forcing himself to remember the situation the other is in. Don’t get attached, Riddles. But if Faraday hears the bitterness in his tone, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh, I’m not going to die,” the prophet replies, confident as a king. Ridley whirls around to frown at him, doubtful. Faraday smiles brightly, tilting his head away from Ridley so the hair falls back from his throat, revealing another scar, this one thick and fairly recent, judging by the clear visibility of the stitches holding the flesh together.

“I have been sentenced to death too many times to count,” he explains softly, his rough honeyed voice falling uncharacteristically flat. “And not once has it killed me. Why should this be any different?”

“Gods,” Ridley chokes out, openly staring. He’s never seen a scar like that. He’s never seen a wound like that. He hadn’t thought anyone could survive something like that, let alone come out of it walking and talking and singing, for Executioner’s sake. “What did you do?”

“To make the world want my head on a platter?” Faraday sighs. “Well, that’s quite simple. I killed their gods.”

I killed their gods. I killed their gods. I killed their gods.

“Well,” Ridley says simply, sounding a few shades more hysterical than he had intended, “that would do it.”

Faraday nods, a slight acknowledging dip of the head, and turns his face to the horizon, his eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun. “They are dead,” he says again, more to himself than to anyone else. “Whether they fell by my hand or another’s, I cannot say. But I know. I have stood upon their graves. I know.”

Ridley studies him, attempting to work through the puzzle that is Faraday the condemned. The prophet is sincere, that fact is as clear as day. Insane, but sincere. I am someone who believes, he had said. Someone who believes… Someone who believes.

It would be better if I left him here to die, Ridley thinks to himself. It would be the best thing to do. To most, it would be the only thing to do. But Ridley is someone who believes as well. Believes in hearing the full tale, in seeing it through to the end no matter how many tavern patrons or bored lords are screaming at him to quit the racket. There’s a song here. I can feel it.

Faraday startles when Ridley begins sawing at his bonds with his small dagger. “What are you doing?”

“You have a story,” Ridley babbles, justifying his actions to himself as much as to Faraday. “There’s something- I think there’s a story here. Something good. Something to make a legacy out of. I’m not- It can’t end here. I don’t think it’s supposed to.”

Faraday watches him, a slow, genuinely delighted smile crossing his scarred lips. “I never thought anyone would tell my story,” he says, and the soft surprise in his voice awakens a twinge of pity in Ridley. “I don’t see why not, it’s bound to be an adventure. I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure, you know?”

The ropes fall away in a slithery heap, landing in a puddle at Faraday’s feet. The prophet steps away from the stake, stretching his arms wide and throwing his coppery head back so the light shines full in his face. Now that his hands are free, the thick bands of scar tissue around each wrist are clearly visible, indicating countless bindings and chainings. He looks like a saint, standing there scarred, dressed in the simplest of clothing, long hair lifting in the wind. He looks like a king. He looks like a mistake waiting to be made.

When he has finished soaking up the last of the sunlight, Faraday bends to collect the crown of daisies Ridley had made. He places it on his head as reverently as he would a crown. “It suits you,” Ridley tells him. Faraday smiles, but it quickly falls as he glimpses the sign hung over his stake.

“They called me a man,” he mutters. “I do not like being called a man.”

“I understand that,” Ridley sighs. “I’m not always a man either.”

Faraday lingers on the sign a moment more, before turning on a heel, as fluid as a dancer, and strides off down the Castleway. He picks up his earlier song again, belting it loud to the heavens and the core of the earth. Ridley shakes his head as he follows, wondering what in the name of the Judge, Jury, and Executioner he has just gotten himself into.

At least it will be an adventure.

[scotianostra]

On 1 October 1788 William Brodie was hanged for theft in the Lawnmarket in front of a crowd that was the largest seen in living memory.

As promised, following on from my post  August 27th, when Brodie went on trial for downfall an armed raid on the excise office in Chessel's Court  on 5th March the same year.

Ironically the upright citizen that Deacon William Brodie once was is said to have proposed an improvement in the old Tolbooth gallows, replacing the old-school ladders, which would have been kicked away from under him,  with a forward-thinking drop mechanism.

“Brodie,” says Traditions of Edinburgh, “was the first who proved the excellence of [the] improvement … He inspected the thing with a professional air, and seemed to view the result of his ingenuity with a smile of satisfaction.”

It was taking on partners that did in the budding master thief; inevitably, someone turned Kings evidence to dodge the gallows himself. The trial itself was notable in this instance due to English law being brought in, probably not for the first time since the Union of 1707, but certainly the first in such a high profile case.

Brodie’s was a celebrity trial. He had been a juryman himself, was a town councillor, and a member of Edinburgh society. The dual nature of Brodie’s life excited many, as it became apparent that he had taken to burglary to finance a gambling habit. His accomplices gave evidence against Brodie, and the case against him was partly circumstantial and partly based on his escape attempt and the discovery of a cache of weapons and keys hidden in Brodie’s house.

Moreover, there was a political element to the trial: the ‘King’s evidence’ (evidence against an accomplice given in return for a pardon) given against Brodie was provided by a former criminal, rendering it inadmissible – the prosecution arranged for a pardon for the criminal under English, not Scottish law. Thus the trial was partially about the issue of who controlled Scottish law.

Brodie’s defence lawyer was a famous advocate, and fashionable people paid to hear him speak in court.. Nevertheless, Brodie was found guilty and hanged in 1788; immediately one of the jury, a bookseller, who had been a council colleague of Brodie’s, published this account of the trial.

It is said his criminal career began in 1768 when he copied keys to a bank door and stole £800. But it was not until more than a decade later that Brodie's crime spree got going properly.

Brodie's father died of in 1782 and the son became a wealthy man. His father left him £10,000 in cash alone, a fortune in those days, plus at least four houses and the business. But by this time his lifestyle was getting very expensive.

He had been a member of The Cape, the most exclusive club in Edinburgh, but over time his interests turned to a disreputable tavern in Fleshmarket Close, which was notorious for late-night drinking and gambling with cards and dice.

He was also keen on gambling on cock fighting. But he wasn’t a good gambler and was soon running up debts he could ill afford to pay. In addition to his gambling, he was also supporting two mistresses and five children. While he ran up debts during the night but his daytime business was thriving.

Things might have turned out differently if, Englishman, George Smith and Brodie had never met. The pair soon became extremely busy targeting businesses and private homes in the Old Town.  Towards the end of 1786 Brodie and Smith robbed a goldsmith's and a tobacconist's.

On Christmas Eve they made off with a major haul from Bruce Brothers, including watches, rings and lockets. Before long they got involved with another two criminals, John Brown and Andrew Ainslie. By the summer of 1787 they had ventured further afield to Leith where they stole tea, a valuable commodity at the time, from a grocer's shop. Shortly after this they stole the ceremonial mace from the University of Edinburgh!  The gang were riding high and decided on their most daring crime yet, the one that would bring it all crashing down and end on the Gallows at The Lawnmarket 6 months later.

For this job, possibly for the first time, the gang were armed with pistols and, also unusually for them, they broke in. They were disturbed and fled with just £16. It was a fiasco and it led to the gang falling out.

Brown was tempted by the reward of £150 being offered for information about a previous robbery and went to the sheriff's clerk to name Ainslie and Smith as the culprits.

When they were arrested Brodie feared the game was up and prepared to flee. He took the stagecoach to London and then a ship to Holland.  But the reward for Brodie's capture led to him being tracked down and discovered as he hid in a cupboard in an inn.

He was returned to Edinburgh where he stood trial with Smith, the proceedings lasted just 21 hours. 

According to the sources of the day a crowd of 40,000 including Brodie's 10 year old daughter Cecile were there to watch as William Brodie  strode out to the gallows in fine clothes and a powdered wig. A fitting end to an extraordinary life.

Or was it? Well according to legend  he had bribed the hangman to ignore a steel collar under his shirt and  he survived the execution through the use of , and lived the rest of his life as an exile in Paris, a slightly different version says that despite the arrangement he made to have his body quickly removed following the hanging, he could not be revived.

There are also several different versions of his burial place, some say Greyfriars, another  thee Parish Church at Buccleuch on Edinburgh’s southside, a third claims a rather vague “Borders”

The name of Deacon Brodie lives on. His story is remembered in the naming of Deacon Brodie's Tavern on Edinburgh's Royal Mile; a cafe opposite the bar, and a New York bar is also named after him. More famously Robert Louis Stevenson's fascination with the story of Deacon Brodie (who had supplied Stevenson's father with furniture) inspired him to write his classic novel: The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

[missoneminute]

That anon who asked how lockdown is going in Australia got me thinking that many folks don’t know now how bad it’s gotten here. 

TLDR: The Australian government screwed up the vaccine rollout and we have an unvaccinated population in bonkers level lockdown and a vaccine shortage. 

Right now we are in lockdown since late June due to a Delta outbreak and the highest infection numbers we’ve ever had since the start, which are still low by international standards but very high for us. We’ve been told lockdown won’t end till we reach 80 percent vaccinated - we are at 20 percent now, among the lowest in the western world. There’s a critical vaccine shortage because our government failed to place orders for Pfizer when they could have, largely for cost saving reasons as the Astra was cheaper. They have lots of Astra but advised against anyone under 40 getting it due to multiple blood clot deaths here. People under 30 weren’t eligible for any vaccine at all until recently. They have since changed the advice to push Astra for those under 40, which as you can imagine lots aren’t keen on. The government has been stripping people who have Pfizer appointments - which have months long waiting lists - of their Pfizer vaccine and offering Astra instead, or nothing at all, at complete random. People in rural areas had their appointments cancelled so the shots could be taken by the cities instead. The waiting lines at most major vaccination hubs are five or more hours of people crammed together in barely distanced lines. And at the end of that you might not even get the shot you signed up for. Most folks don’t want the Astra because the health advice abruptly changed seemingly just to use up their supply. There’s no other vaccine on offer and the current wait time for Pfizer is till October for most areas. In order to book an appointment, you have to check every single clinic in your area one by one and fill out forms as you go, a process that takes as much as four hours. At the end of this you’re unlikely to find a slot before October. Not to mention the government site is riddled with bugs and the pages just fail or list appointments that don’t exist. We have some Moderna coming in a few months and the Pfizer supply is trickling in but there’s just not enough. We have an unvaccinated population being ravaged because of the complete failure of the vaccine rollout. Many predicted this would happen. We were largely Covid free for many months because we have the toughest border restrictions in the world and for no other reason. We just closed down to the world and even the states closed their borders to one another. We have two week quarantine just to travel between some states. You currently need a permit to even leave Sydney city. Pfizer hoped to use Australia as a shining example of how to do the pandemic right and offered them up a bounty of vaccines early on. Instead our government decided to save a few bucks and turned them down, ordering just 5 million doses for 25 million people. We have police and army patrolling the streets fining or arresting people for being outside without an excuse. Many Australians are stuck overseas and not being allowed to return. It’s also almost impossible to leave the country, even dual citizens of other countries are being prohibited from leaving - this happened to a good family friend who tried to leave for the USA. She’s an American citizen and they just said no. She’s stuck here, and she’s one of many. Many cases also of people being kept from loved ones as they die from terminal illness in hospital - my brother-in-law is among them, he was stopped from seeing his father on his deathbed after a stroke. He never got to say goodbye and he wasn’t granted a state travel exemption till it was too late. Also cases of people who have come here from other countries to see dying loved ones and had to say goodbye over FaceTime because they were locked in quarantine hotels for two weeks as their loved ones died. And then after that trauma, those same people are being stopped from leaving Australia and returning back overseas until they provide proof they are an overseas resident, such as utility bills. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, I support the vaccine and I support masks and even lockdowns. But Australia has become an example of both extreme overreach and complete and utter mismanagement, and what’s going on here is criminal. I know I’m rambling but what’s going on here is hard to describe and fills me with despair.

[itsnothingofinterest]

I’ve often said that it seems like a lot of the main pros below All Might seem to end up representing serious flaws in hero society; specifically the ones on the hero side of things. So as a fun little exercise I thought I’d go over all those main pros and what flaws they represent (should be easy, they’re usually their own personal character flaws). Maybe also give my assessment to what I think their chances of living to the end of the series are while I’m at it, since representing serious flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health if treated poorly.

Endeavor

A man who needs no introduction if you’re any kind of HeroAca fan. love or hate him, everyone knows the new no.1.

Funnily enough, he’s actually the main exception to the rule we mentioned before about a pros’ character flaw being the flaw they thematically represent. See, his character flaw is that he focus so much on heroics, his career in heroics, or just his own general needs over his family; to the point that he only had a family to have children he could live vicariously though, and felt no obligation to love the ones he couldn’t live through. What he represents, is actually two-fold: 1) the toxicity of the ranking system which makes heroics so competitive and encourage heroes focus on some arbitrary number, and 2) the power heroes have that let them do horrible things and get away with it. They’re connected concepts, for sure, but not exactly synonymous.

And with that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, the ranking toxicity is out of his hands, but besides that...it can be hard to tell. He has, under semi-aggressive guidance of his family, publicly taken responsibility for the things he’s done and vowed to make up for it; which helps his chances considerably. But in that same scene he also said that the only way he can atone is to keep doing what he’s always done; beat up villains and at least 1 family member. It sends a mixed message. But in general; I want to say that he’s gotten enough development that he doesn’t feel set to fail his arc now. I’d be tempted to say his chances look pretty good...were it not for all the separate reasons I think he’s likely to die anyway. Oh well, no one’s situation can be perfect.

Hawks

The controversial hero; Hawks!

I’ve summarized Hawks’ main flaw before as ‘hubris’, partially because he’s an Icarus figure so generalizing it like that feels clever, but it’s a bit more complex than that. Hawks main flaw isn’t so much pride as it is self-righteousness. Hawks represents the belief that everything is just right as it is, and the status quo must therefore be protected at all costs. A denial that the heroes he believes in have done anything wrong even after staring their mistakes in the face and spending months talking with those the heroes failed. In fact to contrast Endeavor’s line to the press; Hawks tried to excuse what he did as though it had to be done. That’s the opposite of promising.

With that said, what are his chances of survival? Well, I’d actually put him at 50/50 odds; since I see 2 endings for him, and it’s too early to tell which is more likely. See, while we’ve only got two instances of a “pattern,” Hawks seems like a guy who falls to the ground, recovers and gets back up, only to fall even further down because he never learns. So his two futures are either: A) To actually learn. Take a fall so hard that in the aftermath, he can’t convince himself he was right all along. Maybe he gets Endeavor killed, or does something to sever their relationship. Something that’d force him to self-reflect. B) To take a fall so hard it proves fatal; his mistakes catching up to him in a way that doesn’t give him a chance to self-reflect.

Best Jeanist

Sir Long Neck McImagine Obsession himself.

Best Jeanist represents the self-interest in hero society can have over justice itself. Already known for being focused on superficial image; he’s dramatic reappearance revealed just how deep that went. For when it’s revealed by a villain that a hero has committed great crimes that ended up motivating that villain’s actions; Jeanist’s immediate concern was the damage this would do to the reputation of heroes. More than what kind of person he’s been working alongside, and even more than saving lives, Jeanist’s first thought went the wellbeing of the industry he works in and how bad they would collectively look to the public; that’s what he’s most angry at Dabi for.

Chances of survival are...maybe 40-50%? There’s no real leaning one way or another frankly, so that kind of feels like it’d put him at even odds for the exact opposite reason as Hawks. Will he live? Will he die? Who can say? Leaning just a bit towards death though, because again, representing flaws in the old guard can be hazardous to your health.

Mirko

And here we have the violent one.

While I’m tempted to lump this one with Hawks, I actually think Ms.Mirko represents the heroes use of incredible violence best. See, Mirko is someone who really likes to beat people up, even once in a spin-off said Bakugou’s drive to murder was a good thing in a hero. And while she won’t even feel the need to kill like Hawks apparently did, her response to fighting the High End Nomu was something like “finally, some villains I get to just kill with no ethical issues, that makes things easy”. (Which, considering the High Ends are sentient is, um, hmm). Her love of violence borders on villainous, and she freely admits it is simple obligation that prevents her from crossing that boundary. It’s reminiscent of when Shigaraki pondered what the difference really was between heroes’ & villains’ violence. And, well, if it closes the gap in morality between heroes and villains, it’s going on this list.

Regarding her chances of survival, like Jeanist she’s not exactly defined enough to really say anything for sure or end up on any extreme end; I’ve no real reason to think she’s very likely live or die. That said; on the one hand she seems a bit more eagerly reveling in the flaw she represents, plus a blood knight getting back into the fight after sustaining heavy injuries is never a good sign. On the other hand, Horikoshi clearly likes her for reasons we won’t address here. I think I’m gonna average it out to 50%. Maybe even 60%.

Kamui Woods & Mt. Lady

You wouldn’t think some of the most plain as bread heroes would be joining the ranks of the problematic, and in fairness that’s because they mostly aren’t, but they are the ones who best represent a serious issues with heroes. They represent the way heroes will focus on flashiness & the problems they cause/exasperate in the process. Misconduct performed in the quest for fame; in so many words. Kamui showed this in chapter 1; calling a giant purse snatcher “evil incarnate” because that villain was attention grabbing and disturbing the peace. This is especially noticeable in hindsight, after we’ve see some real problems heroes could be dealing with but aren’t; like lost children on their way to becoming villains. And Mt. Lady represent it by how she operates in a big city despite her powers really working better for more rural or neighborly environments; because city work makes her more popular and rakes in the cash (that she loses paying for repairs).

That said, even if those are flaws I feel are highly associated with them, none of that is stuff they’re actively involved in; they’re naïve at best, and have already improved considerably (for minor characters at least) into better heroes. Frankly speaking, their changes of survival are probably averaging at 85% (80% for Kamui, 90% for Mt.). Like, they’re not gag characters per se; but they’re not super serious characters, they’re not connected to the MCs in any real way, and they don’t knowingly contribute to any of society’s corruptions. Really, so long as big H doesn’t really want to off someone we know for a shock, they’re probably fine.

Gran Torino

And lastly, the only non-big shot on the list, the unpleasant old geezer himself; Gran Torino!

What GT represents better than any other, I think, is the idea of passing any blame a hero may have for the actions/very existence of a villain on to the villain in question, thus allowing the heroes to better absolve themselves. You know like how with Shigaraki, he ignores any fault he has with that guys’ existence and simplifies him down to a criminals they can only beat down; and how dare he exist and thereby hurt Toshinori’s feelings. On that note, I’d say he also represents the idea that the villains are what they are, they’re too far gone, and there’s nothing the heroes can do about it. The most convenient excuse to not ever have to try to make up for what they did wrong, which you can’t even blame them too much for because they “tried their best” (even if they really didn’t).

So, what are his odds? Well frankly I wanna put him at 0% just cause he’s so old that if a villain doesn’t get him, time will. But that’s cheating. In actuality, it’s hard to say; dude’s a stubborn old man, and it really feels like it will depend on his ability to admit how wrong he handled things regarding Tomura. Now admittedly, he did admit to making the wrong choice in handling Kotaro, but he’s said nothing of Tomura so far. For now I’ll put him at 30%, but we’ll have to see if he sticks to his guns regarding current events next time he talks with All Might or whoever to really get a gasp on his chances.

And that’s about all the big ones so we’ll wrap it up. Anyway the point is it feels like a lot of heroes are gonna need to get their acts together lest they risk coming down with Not Alive Syndrome sometime in the future.

[secret-engima]

In your Gremlin!verse, it looks like Ringmaster!Oscar, The Emerald City, and his heartfelt closing songs have become a name on the level of Mr. Rogers and Bob Ross, with a simple message of hope and an earnest belief that people can be better.

Now I’m a glutton for angst, so I can’t help but imagine what his impact is decades later when he finally grew old enough to die. Or his life was cut short abruptly in the war. How do people remember him? How do they tribute to his name and try to carry on the spirit? What does his criminal underworld do without the little bundle of joy that stole all their hearts and believed in them and made them better people? And perhaps how Ozmapin or his next incarnation reacts when they see that Oscar is still making a difference, long after his child’s death.

Is it enough to unite humanity, the death of one person who didn’t stop believing?

How dare you hurt me like this. This genuinely hurts me feels to even think about.

But fine I’ll talk about it a little- I like happy endings so the only death gonna claim Oscar is old age, and also if you think I’m not going to cheerfully break the Oz curse so Ozpin can live the rest of his life knowing Salem is gone forever and he won’t be hopping to a new host then you’ve got another think coming as well. But moving on-

How the regular public remembers Oscar is more like how one remembers a beloved performer, of course. One who offered hope and light and laughter, videos of his performances are archived with care, and there’s probably at least one documentary that tries to puzzle out the life and times of a little boy who’s first major appearance on the world stage was a little song about love and loss. I have no doubt that over his life he’s inspired many people, in person or not, to make a difference, to be better, and his messages still ring true and ring strong even generations after he and his have passed on.

To the underworld- it’s a little different. He was more than just a child to them, more than a performer with moving songs. He was a king, a ruler, wise and just. Who offered mercy, but would not let his own suffer just for the sake of holding a hand to those who rejected it too many times. He taught them much, and led by example even more, and they- they remember.

His empire does not remain cohesive in the wake of his death, but there is little to no infighting over the pieces of it either, his dying will had clear outlines to follow, and they are Loyal creatures, for all it was hard to earn. And even as the years pass and generations rise and fall, as the empire become kingdoms that are more allies than comrades, while a part of the underworld is, of course, rotten and violent and dirty, there is a stronger part, a larger part, that still holds tight to the rules of the Ringmaster. His honor code, his conduct, his beliefs. The children of the streets who grew up with him tell their children of him, and those children pass it on in turn. A mix of truth and legend and belief that borders on that of faith and fairy tale both.

The little Fairy Ring shrines remain, and more of them pop up all over the world. In every city that has homeless children and back alleys, look hard enough and there is a Fairy Ring, a safe haven for them, a place where the more honorable Underworld leave food and blankets and safety and in turn children who can write leave little slips of paper filled with thanks or information on the lip of the little shrine and those who cannot write either ask another to do it for them, or whisper their secrets to the little top hat that is always found in places such as these.

On the honor of the Ringmaster, is a phrase not spoken lightly in that world, and there are many legends of those, years after, that think they can still hear his voice singing softly through the alleys and the run down neighborhoods and the backs of bars that have rules and safe spaces for those on the run from bad situations. Some people say the Ringmaster’s ghost is still there, watching to see what becomes of his kingdom.

Others say he just comes to visit sometimes, to remind people that they, like everyone who knew him in person, can be better than they are. To see if there are any souls so lost that they need him to find them from the Beyond and lead them along to a place where they can be found.

Why would he do that? Scoff some of the younger ones, the ones who grew up with the stories and the honor code, but not the knowing.

Because he cares. Is the simple response that can never fully convey how much this was true. From the elders who remember what it was like to take the hand of the too-wise fae child that looked at them in all their blood and faults and said “I can see someone amazing underneath, if you just let me help you to meet them.”

[justasimplesinner]

How about Harley Quinn, Captain Boomerang, Killer Croc and El Diablo with a new member of the suicide squad who is one of the most dangerous metahuman in the world ? What the squad know is the metahuman destroyed half of a city with their powers. And they are wearing a somekind of colar to keep the powers under control.

this was supposed to be fun but it started turning into some hardcore hurt/comfort bullshit

Harley Quinn with a metahuman s/o hcs:

oh darlin', you and her instantly clicked together. bonded the moment you saw each other. after all, it takes one to know one

she will absolutely bombard you with questions. and yes, some of them will inquire about exactly how you killed some people that tried to stop you. she wants to know all the spicy details about you and your little escapade that ended in destroying half of a Gotham-sized city

if it all came from some unresolved issues, then she will gladly help you out with those - she may have lost her license, but she didn't lose the experience. she's still a great psychiatrist. and then, you two will be able to wreck havoc just because you want to, not because of some twisted form of grief/revenge or whatever

she's basically attached to you at the hip, and often gloats about you. she will threaten people who wronged her with you and what would you do to them. more than once you've brutally forced people to apologize for ever disrespecting your lady love

but despite the whole "causing chaos wherever you two go" thing, your relationship is really healthy. you both have respect for each other, and Harley would never use you as a weapon or anything of the sort. she finally has a loving partner that doesn't treat her like shit, she is not going to ruin that

Captain Boomerang with a metahuman s/o hcs:

oh, he'd tease you. a lot. some of it bordering on plain out bullying. everything just to get a reaction from you, preferably see you break free of that collar and show what you got. he really doesn't know other ways to get attention from you

it sounds weird, but he appreciates the fact that everything you did, you did for your own gain and never intentionally hurt any civilians. because you might be the person to finally understand him instead of just labeling him as criminal scum (he still is scum tho)

you can bet your ass he will try to use you to his advantage to get away. and at first, he bothered with you purely out of your usefulness, but the more he talked to you, the more he realized how much you two are alike, how well you get a long and how much he loves your banters. so, in the end, it's not as much using you as forming a plan with you to get away safely and have some fun together

is very playful about the collar, makes a fuckton references to sexual activities or just keeping you on a leash. he just can't help himself

you two make a terrifyingly great duo, and if it wasn't for his recklessnes and your occassional emotional outbursts, you'd never get caught. but oh well, mistakes happen. and just because you're in prison doesn't mean you won't have some fun together. no prison cell can hold you for long, and if you're out, he's out

Killer Croc with a metahuman s/o hcs:

at first, none of you approached the other. he even kind of wanted to, but he's more of a silent observer than the person taking initative. so in the beginning, he really made no effort to talk to you. until one time you saved his ass, and he helped you save yours

even that wasn't a long conversation, just a few words thrown in here and there. but the more he knew about you, the more he gravitated towards you and started approaching you, tried to talk to you. of course, there were still doubts in his head, he berated himself for even bothering at times, but he made the effort

soon enough though, he realized that all his hesitation was for nothing. you turned out to be very... welcoming of his presence. you never looked at him weirdly or pushed him away. you knew how it was to be the outcast, alienated from society and that's what brought you two really close - similar experiences and bonding over them

he understands why you did what you did. he understands how you felt, why you suddenly blew up to take revenge on everyone who wronged you, to let out all that rage at the injustice, at how you were treated your whole life. it didn't bring the katharsis you hoped for, obviously, but it made you understand that there's no place for people like you and him in the world. the thing was, now you didn't have to be alone

the fact that you now have each other makes life more... bearable. because you both have something to look forward to. you both can love and be loved. you found solace in each other, you finally found... happiness

El Diablo with a metahuman s/o hcs:

Diablo never planned to even speak to you. he thought of you as another sick fuck who killed people for fun. until he saw how much other's teasing was getting to you. how much you didn't want to talk about what happened. how much you tried to stay away from the group, knowing you couldn't control yourself around others if they continued to treat you that way

he approached you calmly, almost casually. he offered some small comfort, assuring you not to worry. and when you confessed that you simply didn't want to hurt anyone else... he understood. he fucking knew that so well. and so, he decided to stick around. just to see where it leads

suddenly he found himself caring about you. wanting to assure you you don't have to be scared around him. that you wouldn't hurt him. that everything is okay. he was doing everything that he knew you needed and offered everything he was never offered. he couldn't change his life, but maybe he could help you out with changing yours

he trusted you easily, which was a big surprise. but you two were really the same. one of a kind. you understood him and he understood you, and you bonded over that. and soon, you two found the feeling of comfort in each other, you didn't have to hold anything back and could be yourselves, which was more than any of you ever hoped for

not so long after, you formed an unbreakable bond and whenever the world was just too much to handle, you could always seek out one another and things suddenly seemed fine. he helped you make peace with your past, and you helped you make peace with his, and for the first time since forever, Diablo felt that inner calmness that only you could bring

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 23

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambiguous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

23.

Nina struggled to keep her breath even, and her face calm, as she stepped back into the clubhouse. She handed Creeper the phone, and tried for a congenial smile. “Everything ok? What did he want?”, the Mayan asked. “He was just… worried about us”, Nina said. “He should have just… Fuck it. Never mind”, Creeper growled. “Don’t be hard on him. What he told you… He was taking a big risk”. “He should have said something sooner. We might not have been in this mess”.

Nina wanted to argue Taza’s case further, but needed to keep her mind on her task. “Who’s at the gate right now?”, she asked. “That guy, Rat”, Creeper said. Nina sighed in relief. Leaving the yard would be easier than she thought. “What? You feel safer with a Son on watch than a Mayan?”, Creeper grunted, having misunderstood her expression. “No, I was just… You can’t blame me for being happy that I have both my families protecting me”, Nina said, trying to deescalate the tension. Creeper sighed. “I’m sorry, Nina. I’m just reeling. My brothers are out there risking their lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it”. Nina put her arms around the biker, and gave him a warm hug. “We wouldn’t feel safe if you weren’t here”, she said. “Look, your shift is over. Rest… I think Gaby fixed a plate for you”. Creeper smiled slightly, and headed towards the now sprawling buffet of food.

Hobbling over to the bar, Nina smiled at the girl standing there. “Creeper needs a little extra tlc… Grab him a shot of tequila; would you?”. “But you said not to drink…”, the girl frowned. “He’ll be fine”, Nina smiled, and took down the bottle of tequila from the shelf. “Give him two… He’s earned it”. The girl shrugged, and sauntered over to climb onto Creeper’s lap. The Mayan’s face instantly lit up, and before long, he let himself disappear into a haze of boobs and alcohol.

Nina limped over to Felipe. He had Letty and Gaby enraptured in the story of how he’d met Marisol; and both girls were exclaiming aaww’s at the sweetness of the tale. “I think I left my extra inhaler in your truck the other day”, Nina said, trying for an embarrassed expression. “Could I borrow your keys?”. “The truck is unlocked”, Felipe said. Nina cursed internally. “Ok… I’ll just go grab it”, she said. Felipe looked down at her wounded leg. “Let me get it for you, mijita…”. “No! I’ll get it”, Nina enthused. “I need to get this leg moving… The doc said something about physical therapy”. “Ok…”, Felipe shrugged; and Nina gave him a bright smile, before moving towards the door. When no one was watching, she grabbed Jackson’s helmet.

The two Sons from Berdoo were just outside, obviously getting ready to go take over watch. “Why don’t you go grab a bite to eat, before you go take over from Rat?”, Nina smiled. “He can wait fifteen minutes”. “You sure?”, one of them said. “Packer said…”. “That you should go hungry?”, Nina chuckled. “Look, if he gives you trouble when he comes back, tell him to take it up with me”. “You?”, the other biker said. “Yeah… He’s afraid of me”, Nina grinned. They both laughed at this, and went into the clubhouse.

Once the door was closed behind them, Nina quickly hobbled over to Felipe’s truck. She opened the door, and threw her crutches on the floor; while setting down the helmet more gently next to them. “Please, please, please…”, she whispered to herself, as she got behind the wheel, and looked down at the ignition. The key was gone. She frantically searched behind the sun visors and in the glove compartment, but came up short. “Fuck!”, she exclaimed, and slammed her fist into the seat. Something got loose from where it had been wedged under the padding; rattling as it hit the floor. “Yes!”, Nina sighed in relief, and grabbed the key; quickly starting the truck.

She drove as calmly as she could towards the gate going out to the scrap-yard proper. It had been left open by Creeper as he came back from watch. Swerving through the narrow roads between the piles of old cars and broken dishwashers, she made it to the large gate to the street beyond. Rat looked confusedly at the truck as she approached him. He walked up to the window, and Nina took a deep breath, before rolling it down. “Hi, Georgie…”, she smiled. Rat narrowed his eyes at her. “You only call me that when you want something”, he muttered. “We’re out of coffee”, Nina pouted. “You know how I get…”. “You shouldn’t go out”, Rat said. “Please! I need my caffeine, Rat!”, Nina pleaded. “Nina… No”, Rat said. “I can’t let you out”. “But…”. “No!”, Rat said; his voice harder than she’d ever heard it before. “Your leg is fucked; you shouldn’t even be driving”.

Quickly needing to think up a solution, Nina kicked her crutches out of view, under the seat. “You’re right…”, she said, and turned off the engine. “I forgot my crutches in the clubhouse. Could you go get them, so I can walk back?”. Rat sighed and nodded. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back”, he muttered; and began jogging back in the direction of the clubhouse. Nina prayed to every deity in existence, that his IQ wouldn’t suddenly surge; and make him realize he could have just driven her back in the truck. Giving the biker exactly 20 seconds to disappear from view, Nina got out of the truck, and limped as fast as she could, over to the large gate. She ignored the reappearing pain in her leg, and put her weight in to pulling it open.

Quickly getting behind the wheel again, Nina drove out of the gate. Once on the street, she put the petal to the metal, and raced towards her rendezvous point.

---

As she was still unfamiliar with the streets of Santo Padre, Nina and Taza had agreed to meet at Felipe’s shop; as it was the closest of the places Nina knew how to get to, to the clubhouse.

The Mayan stood leaning against his bike when she parked by the storefront. “Are you ready for this?”, Taza asked, as she got out of the truck. “I have to be, right?”, Nina said. “I can’t deal with any more people getting hurt or killed… But are you sure Palo will go for it?”. “He wants you… That’s his only reason for this war”, Taza said. “But he’s not unreasonable… He has to see how this is the better way for all our clubs”. “Yeah, but will the rest of them?”, Nina asked. “We can’t just show up with Palo in the clubhouse, and claim that we’re all the best of friends all of a sudden… Do they even trust you at this point?”. “They’ll trust you”, Taza said. “You brought Sons of Anarchy and Mayans closer than ever, just by being who you are… Vatos Malditos can be a part of that”. Nina sighed, and Taza stepped over to her; taking her hand. “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll understand. You can get back in that truck right now, and go back to the clubhouse”. Nina shook her head. “No… This is the way it has to be”, she said. “I told you all yesterday, I wanted to go talk to Palo… If they’d just listened, we wouldn’t have to go behind their backs”. Leaving the crutches in the truck, Nina grabbed the helmet, and put it on. As Taza started his bike, she climbed on behind him; wincing slightly as the vibrations of the engine reached her pained leg. “You ok?”, Taza asked over his shoulder. “Let’s just do this”, Nina said.

Riding out of Santo Padre, Nina looked around. Though still unable to tell all the streets apart, she’d grown fond of the rustic houses and people residing in them. When she’d arrived in San Pad the first time, she’d taken the expressions of the people looking at her and the Mayans, as standoffish and aloof. Now, she was beginning to understand how it was more about them being protective of their culture and families, in the face of criminals. She was a criminal; that was a fact that couldn’t be disputed. She knew of and had done things, that could get her in serious trouble with the law; and if she was a normal person, just walking down the sidewalk, and was confronted with patched 1% bikers, she’d probably feel less than happy about that as well.

Nina was beginning to feel fiercely protective of Santo Padre, just as she felt of Charming. The people here didn’t deserve their streets to flow with blood, and if Vatos Malditos had their way, the heroin trade would be running rampant, out in the open. The choice she’d made to go with Taza’s plan, was her chance to make sure none of that would happen. The people of the town might not like her, or like the way she led her life. At the end of the day, she wasn’t one of the good guys – not really, anyway. This way, at least she’d done what she could to keep the good guys safe.

As they took to the highway for a few miles, Nina began thinking back at that day Jax had carved his initials into the gun currently wedged into her waistband.

… “Goddammit Jax! We lost 10.000 dollars’ worth of product back there!”, Clay growled, as he got off his bike. Jax lit a cigarette, and shrugged. “Yeah, but I couldn’t just leave him hanging”, he said. “We’d lose all future business with those guys”. Taking a break from Hamlet, Nina closed her book, and looked curiously at the interaction. “This was supposed to be a one-time deal”, Clay said. “We didn’t need him”. “Maybe I just didn’t want someone to die, that didn’t need to”, Jax said. Clay clenched his jaw, and stomped away. He gave Nina a short nod, before walking into the clubhouse. “Your bleeding heart will get you killed, brother”, Opie muttered, as he, Filip and Jax approached the table Nina was seated on, nursing a mug of Chucky’s tar-like coffee. He reached into his cut pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Nina smiled sweetly at him, and the tall biker chuckled, before lighting a smoke, and handing it to her. “What happened?”, she asked, and took a huff of the cigarette. “The deal went south”, Jax said. “Mayans showed up; began shooting… I keep telling Clay; if we just worked out a cease-fire, we could maybe strike a deal with them. I’m sick of the fighting”. “You know I want peace too”, Filip said. “But it’s still not you sitting at the head of the table, Jackie…”. Nina raised her brows at the three bikers. “Peace with Mayans?”, she chuckled. “I thought you said they were hotheaded cholas, with dicks for brains”. “I said their brains were in their dicks”, Jax grinned. “Does that mean their dicks are big?”, Nina smirked. “’Cuz in that case, I’m all in for peace with them. I’m thinking club party… Maybe a little tequila, and…”. “You’re not shacking up with a Mayan. I’ll kick his ass first!”, Jackson laughed. Nina rolled her eyes. “Whatever… So, you messed up Clay’s plan?”. “We lost a van full of merchandise, because Jax decided to save some Mexican guy’s ass in stead of protecting it”, Opie grunted. “The Mayans had him trapped… I made a call”, Jackson said. “And it was a bad call?”, Nina asked, and put her book on the table. Jax picked it up, and tapped the top of her head with it. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”, he said, and nabbed her cigarette; taking a huff from it. “Get back to your homework”…

---

Taza moved down an exit, and they took to smaller roads. “It’s right up here”, he said over his shoulder. Nina felt a shudder go down her spine, and braced herself. Arriving at a small house, she was confused to see two bikes there, in stead of just Palo's. Taza pulled up next to the two vehicles, and held her hand as she got off his bike; her legs shaking both from fear and pain. “I thought it was just going to be him…”, Nina said. “Me too…”, Taza muttered. He didn’t look pleased at the situation. “Come on”.

Letting Nina use his arm for support, Taza led her to the front door. He knocked on it three times, and it opened; revealing a smirking Sala. “Usted vino”, he said. “As agreed… At least I did as was agreed”, Taza said. Leading Nina inside, he nodded at Palo, who was seated in a chair, holding a gun in his hands. “Bienvenidos”, he said. “You were supposed to come alone”, Taza said. “With both of you gone, Bishop and the club will know something is up”. “Don’t worry about Obispo and the rest. My men are keeping them busy”, Palo said. “I see you kept your part of the deal”. Nina swallowed thickly, terrified to meet Palo’s eyes. “About that… You know they’re not alone. They’ve got the Sons of Anarchy with them”, Taza said. Nina noticed him shooting a look at his watch, and she frowned slightly in confusion.

Palo nodded solemnly, before looking at Nina. “You know, people call me a psychopath, but I have… emotions. Especially regarding the fact that SOA have become part of this”, he said. “I have history with the Sons; that was why I wanted to do business with them. I knew them to be trustworthy, but it looks like that trust belongs to the Mayans now… That actually came as a bit of a surprise”. “You don’t have to explain yourself to this puta, jefe”, Sala grunted. Palo looked coldly at his enforcer. “Unlike you, I see women as equals to men”, he growled. “Which is why I’m still unhappy with how you handled the situation with our friend Camilla…”. “Camille…”, Nina croaked. “Her name was Camille”. In spite of how things had ended with the red-headed snitch, Nina’s heart still broke over how she’d been treated by VM. “Camille…”, Palo nodded. “My men were supposed to teach her a lesson. I told them to handle her like they would any other traitor. A good old-fashioned beating… Not rape!”. Sala looked down at the floor; his expression that of someone who had been chastised more than once over his actions.

Palo got to his feet, and moved the chair back against the wall. “Set it up”, he grunted, and Sala disappeared into another room for a few moments. There were sounds of things being moved around; and Nina thought she could hear a muttering, before something fell onto the floor. Sala returned with a large plastic sheet, and Nina felt her knees beginning to buckle. Taza grabbed her arm. “Sala, you don’t have to do that”, he said. Sala ignored him, and rolled out the sheet on the floor. “This is his abuela’s house”, Palo said. “You’ll understand why he doesn’t want to get blood on the floor”. “Let’s just talk about this”, Taza said. At this point he was holding on fiercely to Nina, almost supporting her weight fully, as she was heaving for breath.

Palo raised a gun at Taza to keep him in place, while Sala stepped over, and grabbed Nina’s free arm; tearing her away from the Mayan. She stumbled after him, and onto the middle of the plastic sheet; where he forced her onto her knees. “Taza…”, she croaked. “Palo, please don’t…”. Sala backhanded her across the face, so hard that her ears began ringing; before beginning to pat her down. Finding the gun in her waistband, he pulled it out, and went to stand next to Palo. Taza took a step towards Nina, and Palo cocked the hammer of his gun, to keep him in place. “Palo, stop!”, Taza growled. “This was our agreement”, Palo said. Nina felt tears beginning to spill from her eyes. This wasn’t how Taza had told her his plan would go; and her breathing became even more troubled. Reaching in to her pocket, she took out her inhaler, and took a hit from it. Palo looked at her with amused eyes. “A bit redundant, isn’t it?”, he said. “Did you forget to tell her why she’s here, Che?”. “No, I didn’t”, Taza replied. “You’re the one who has the wrong idea. No one has to die here today”.

Palo quickly turned his eyes to Taza. “What are you talking about? We made a deal. Her life, for peace”. “Counter offer”, Taza said. “Our secret, Palo. If you kill her, everyone will know about Davíd. I’ve made arrangements already”, Taza said. “What secret?”, Sala asked. Palo gave his enforcer a death glare, before turning back to Taza. “Then why bring her?”, he asked, his voice colder than ice. “Because maybe there’s just a little bit of your brother in you. The part that knows kindness and mercy. I wanted you to look in to this woman’s eyes, and see what I see. Peace and cooperation between two clubs. Love”. “All I see is a killer… She murdered Gael. He was going to be my next in line!”, Palo said. Sala looked confusedly at Palo. “Gael wasn’t a Vato yet… He wasn’t even a prospect”. “Cállate”, Palo growled. “You promised me…”. “Sala! Not now…”. Sala clenched his jaw, and took a few steps back.

Taza gazed down at his watch again, and frowned slightly; before looking intently at Palo. “You could walk away right now, your secret safe; as long as you agree to never move against Nina or any Mayan again”, he said. “You wouldn’t do that”, Palo said. “You’ve got as much to lose as me by coming forward”. “Only my life. My club and the people I care about; they live on”, Taza replied. “I’m done hiding”. Palo narrowed his eyes at Taza. “What’s in it for VM?”, he asked. “Our clubs could work together, instead of against each other”, Taza said. “Prove to the Mayans that you’re willing to let bygones be bygones, and that we can all trust each other. Help each other build our businesses, and let our clubs grow”. Palo seemed to ponder Taza’s words for a moment, before gazing down at Nina “No”, he declared. “She killed my primo. Now I’m gonna kill her with her own gun”.

He put his own gun in his waistband, and took the gun Filip had given to Nina from Sala. As he stepped towards Nina, she began shaking violently. Palo raised the gun to aim at her head, when he looked down at it; examining the handle. “Where did you get this?”, he grunted. Nina let out a short gasp, almost unable to speak. “Tell me!”, Palo demanded. “My brother… It was my brother’s”, she croaked. “You’re Jackson Teller’s sister?”, Palo asked. “Yes…”.

Palo looked at her for a long moment - his expression unreadable - before lowering the gun. “No puedo hacer esto…”, he muttered, making Nina let out an audible gasp of relief. Sala looked at him with a flabbergasted expression. “Qué quieres decir?, he asked. “You got her right here. Just kill her!”. “I owe her brother…”, Palo said. “He saved my life once. Used that gun…”. Nina gasped. Palo was the man Jax had saved from the Mayans, years ago. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”, Sala growled. “You said you wanted revenge… Letting her go; that isn’t you!”. Palo looked coldly at Nina. “You’re right. I want my pound of flesh”, he said, and turned to Sala. “Bring him out”. Sala’s face lit up, and he left the room.

Palo pulled Nina to her feet, and held her back against his chest. There were sounds of struggling, and Sala came back from the other room; pushing Angel in front of him. Sala was aiming his gun at him. “Oh, god…”, Nina rasped. Angel hadn’t noticed she was in the room yet; too preoccupied with the barrel currently pressed against the back of his head. “Get off me, motherfucker!”, he growled, and stumbled forwards, as Sala gave him a hard shove between his shoulder blades. As his foot got caught in the plastic sheet on the floor, Angel fell to one knee and looked up; meeting Nina’s fear-stricken eyes. He looked back to the plastic sheet, and then up at Taza. “No, man… What is this? What did you do, Taza?”.

Taza was frozen in place. He looked like he’d lost complete control of the situation; which, it seemed in fact, that he very much had. “Palo, no. This is not the way to start a new relationship with the Mayans…” “I’ll deal with that, once this is over”, Palo said. “I can’t kill her, but I can make her feel my pain, when she loses the one she loves”.

His words struck Nina; leaving her heart in actual pain. “No! Take me… I was the one who killed Gael. Shoot me. Please!”. “Don’t shoot any of them!”, Taza growled. “Stop this, Palo…”. Sala punched Taza hard in the gut. “Shut the fuck up!”, he growled, as Taza doubled over in pain. “You’ve misunderstood me. I won’t be doing the shooting”, Palo replied. “You’ve killed before… I’m sure you can do it again”. He pushed her forwards, making her stand on the plastic sheet in front of the now fully kneeling Angel. “Take the gun”, Palo said, and pressed Jackson’s gun into her hand. “What?”, Nina croaked. “No, man… Fuck no. Don’t make her do this!”, Angel pleaded. Nina wanted to throw herself in front of Angel, to take any bullet coming his way. “Palo…”, Taza rasped. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go…”, Taxa rasped, and received another kick to his ribs from Sala. He looked at Nina, his eyes pained and regretful. “I’m so sorry…”, he breathed.

Palo gave Nina a light push in the back with the gun, to make her step even closer to Angel. “I can’t...”. “Sure you can”, Palo said. He got up close behind her, and leaned in close to her hear. His breath down her neck made Nina shudder. “Do it yourself, you fucking coward!”, Angel roared. “Don’t put her through this”. “You kill him, and this war ends right now. No one else has to die´”, Palo said. “I’ll pull my men back, and we’ll never cross into Mayan or even Sons of Anarchy territory again. They can continue their business as they always have”. Nina felt tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Palo put his hands on her shoulders, almost as if massaging them. “If you don’t, we’ll kill all three of you anyway. Then it will be the rest of them. Mayans and SOA… Within a week, there won’t be a clubhouse or a patch left standing”. “Don’t…”, Nina whispered. “Come on, man…”, Angel begged. “You want me dead; go ahead. Kill me…”. “After they’re gone, we’re going after their families…”, Palo continued, ignoring Angel. “Women and children; it doesn’t matter. We will find them all”.

Nina’s heart fell deeper into her stomach. Abel and Thomas; Palo would find them. She closed her eyes, and saw their small faces in front of her. When she looked again, she saw Angel; his expression agonized. Palo ran his hands down Nina’s arms, and made her hands fold around the handle; pulling the hammer for her. “I don’t want you to think I’m enjoying this. But I need you to feel the pain of losing someone important; just like I have. You killed Gael. Now you will kill this man…”.

Nina could hardly see through her tears. She sobbed loudly, before hearing Palo sigh behind her. He stepped up next to her, and pulled the hammer of his own gun; aiming it at her head. “No! No, stop!”, Angel yelled. “Nina, look at me… Look at me!”. Nina met his eyes. They were deeper than ever, and so filled with love and fear – not for himself, but for her. “Listen… You’re gonna do this, ok…? You can do this. End all of this, right now. Just shoot me". “No…”, Nina sobbed. Palo’s gun brushed against her temple, and he took a step closer. “You have to”, Angel said. “For our families… for Abel and Thomas, ok? For your brother… Do it for them". Palo was looking at the both of them with nothing but contempt.

Her whole body was shaking, and Nina’s leg finally gave in. She fell to her knees in front of Angel. “I love you…”, she whimpered. Angel smiled warmly. “I love you so much… It’s ok. You gotta live for me". He took her hands in his, and raised them, so the gun was pointed at his head. Using his thumb, he pressed Nina’s index finger against the trigger. “No no no no…”, she chanted in a raspy voice. “Please…”. “Te amo, cuervo…”.

The sound of Nina’s scream mixed with the sound of a gunshot.

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tags: @cole-winchester @doloreschanal