#and before that moral panic rises in your throat. there are people who will suffer tremendously under trumps regime

[usercelestial]

all of you were like "ill vote if it's not for Joe Biden!!" but now that you're voting for Person Who Is Not Joe Biden, you're all still like "yeah but she sucks too!!" im gonna hold your hand so gently and tell you that it's wonderful that you want better but you won't be able to get to the utopia you want by speed running it and skipping all the steps. you want a rebellion, you have to plan it, you have to be strategic, you have to vote for people who are closest to the future you want so that progress can happen. that's how change is made. not by letting the far right win.

[tmabigbang]

Masterpost of TMA Big Bang 2020 Fics

To prevent clogging up anyone’s dash, we have put all of these fics under a read more since there are 28 wonderful fics created for this bang, which makes for a bit of a long post! Below the cut are links and summaries to all the fics created for this bang! 

In addition to this post, you can also check out our fic page (which you can find here)! The fic page includes links to all the fics, art, and the team members that helped create them! You can also use some basic filters for rating and oneshot/multichapter to find fics.

Thank you again to all our participants, and we will see you next year!

Your Job’s A Joke (You’re Broke) by @bisexualoftheblade and @desert-lily

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27590578

Summary: Working at the Magnus Institute was stressful by default. With monsters, mayhem, and potential primordial entities, it has very little expectations for being a comfortable job. However, everyone is allowed to have a little fun sometimes - even an archivist, their assistants, and their really creepy boss. Fueled by spite and a rampant lack of heterosexuality, they all try to balance their work life with a bit of fun and a healthy dose of bullying twelve-times divorced Elias Bouchard.

I Know The End by @williammatagot

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27947966

Summary: Except, for all that beautiful poetry, Eliot was wrong, because the world doesn’t end with a bang, sure, but it doesn’t end with a whimper, either. It ends with the distant-yet-deafening voice of the man Martin loves shouting through a ragged, wild throat--I open the door. (The world ends, Jon shatters, and Martin tries to fix it. The house tries, too, in its own way.)

From the Depth of the Spiral by @trickstergod14

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27842941

Summary: Michael had no idea what was going on. He suddenly woke up in the tunnels under the Magnus Institute with no memories of the past seven years after that fateful trip to Sannikov Land. Watch as he slowly spirals into madness, regaining his memories while strengthening his bond with the Distortion along the way. Can he hide all this from the other Archival Assistants? What will happen when Jon wakes up from his coma? And what does the newly crowned Distortion Avatar, Helen, have to do with all this?

Every Word I Say is Kindling (But The Smoke Clears When You’re Around) by @ohnoimdeathing

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27956897

Summary: The unknowing left Jon stirring in the nightmares of others, watching their torment and suffering and making everything worse. He wanted to wake up, to go back to Martin, Tim, Basira, even Daisy. But he didn’t know how to. Until a voice told him to choose Though, to be honest, he doesn’t remember actually making the choice to stay a monster and live rather than be human and die. The only injury the doctors will talk about is his missing eyes, and why are all the doctors Scottish? At least Martin is here.

Spinning ‘Round (like two sides of a coin) by @awayofunderstandingit

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27835756

Summary: Time is a construct. What we know as past, present, and future all exist at the same time, ad infinitum. • Guided not by time but a spoken word poem, follow along the lives of two intertwined souls, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James. The story of their friendship from the time they meet, through growing apart, to when they fall back together, and through their time working at the Magnus Institute. Witness slices of their lives—not memories, memories would suggest the past—as they exist, ad infinitum, even at The End.

retrouvailles by @jet-siquliak

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27818092

Summary: The Magnus Institute burns. The archivist, for all intents and purposes, burned with it. In a dingy hospital room lies what remains - Jonathan sims. weak, powerless, and insignificant. On Jon’s last day in the hospital, Martin awakes from a coma, unscathed. Melanie King kicks the dirt that once housed the institute. Tim stoker wakes up in the middle of nowhere. Elias Bouchard is dead. No one knows where to go from there. Or: the destruction of one home and the making of another.

Still, I’ll Always Keep the Memory by @revolutionnaire-e

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27932125

Summary: [MARTIN turns, stepping out of the shadows towards him. It is blood, not tears. His left eye is not his own. His eyes never shone that blinding green, never shone with such malice or self-satisfied pride.] MARTIN BLACKWOOD Pleasure to see you again, Archivist.

Making Home by @cuddlytogas

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27664805

Summary: After the events in the Panopticon, Jon and Martin rush to leave London. But making their home in an idyllic safe house isn't that easy: between the layer of dust, and Forsaken still clinging to Martin's heels, it could be some time before they reach an understanding.

called your name ‘til the fever broke by @corpsesoldier

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27845161

Summary: Basira made a promise to her partner. At the end of the world, a monster comes and demands she keep it.

assorted family photos by @lesbianbirds

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27903979

Summary: When setting off on a research trip, it is advised that you prepare yourself for certain oddities that may greet you. or; key moments in a world where the entities are weaker and everyone got a bit more therapy

Timothy Stoker’s Guide to Dating by @pezilla

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27841267

Summary: Timothy Stoker has a lot of advice when it comes to matters of the heart, online agony aunt, gossip monger and general love guru. He has a list and he sticks to it. Or he did. That was before he took a job at the Magnus Institute and before he met three of the most fascinating and frustrating people to ever come into his life. Rule #7 under no circumstances fall for a co-worker. Yeah, that rule was starting to become a problem.

Running the Institute by @drowsy-salamander

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27878306

Summary: Caroline Ferguson, the entirety of the Magnus Institute's legal department, is furiously ignoring any weirdness that could be going on in her workplace, from the tech issues to the vanishing colleagues to the everything about Artefact Storage, Caroline will turn a very deliberate blind eye. They're are not her problem. Now if only those murders could also stop.

kindred spirits (not so scarce as I used to think) by @pollylittlehigher-littlelower

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27914821

Summary: An Anne of Green Gables inspired AU, set in modern day England. Jon and Georgie are childhood best friends, but the two stop talking after a falling out. Even doing their best to avoid each other, Georgie struggles to escape him, even while dealing with her own mental health issues and a blossoming romance with her housemate, Melanie. Is Jon truly the kindred spirit she once considered him? Or will the two eventually part ways for good?

Friends of Empty Graves by @artswaps

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27974807

Summary: After the coffin, she cuts her hair. Who is Alice Tonner? People are searching for her in the space she left behind, in the person she was. Daisy looks elsewhere, and tries not to choke.

just let the feeling grow by @ajkal2

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27838447

Summary: Jon is a musician. He plays songs for a living. Except love songs. He doesn't do love songs, and he makes this quite clear with anyone interested in working with him. Except his manager has booked him for a wedding. Without asking. With days before the festivities start, Jon needs help. Desperately. He won't get it from his hosts, the Lukas family. He certainly won't get it from his manager. However, there's a certain amateur poet on the Lukas' staff who has a talent for making love sound genuine.

World Cold and Hard, Moth Boy Warm and Soft by @lcjenkinswriting

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27827491

Summary: Jon, a young moth fairy, leaves the nest in search of a place that feels like home

tapes winding forward by @ghostbustermelanieking

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27858721

Summary: Martin ignores him, stops him mid-sentence to say, "Jon, what have you heard about time travel?" --- Martin and Jon wake up two years in the future. It goes about as well as can be expected.

MAG 26.5: Beach Episode by @ebenrosetaylor

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27882746

Summary: Sasha is aware of the rising tensions in the archives after Martin was stalked by Prentiss and after she had her own encounter with Michael. In an attempt to boost morale and bring them closer together, Tim suggests that they all visit the beach to unwind and get their minds off of all things paranormal. Sasha takes it upon herself to make sure that everyone has fun and relaxes, but she forgets to give herself that luxury.

Rewrite The Rulebook by @radiosandrecordings

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27823774

Summary: "Panic! Bloody panic! I've been out since I was fifteen and never once actually brought someone home. I think I just wanted to seem like I had my life together, y’know? Mainly I just... I think I just wanted someone to be there with me, so I wasn't just alone with her the entire time. A bit of comfort.” There was pause as Martin let out a dramatic sigh, seemingly relieved to ramble out his thoughts. "... I could go with you. If you want."

A Test In Patience by @talking4the1

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27917749

Summary: Elias is going about his day as the new head of the Magnus Institute in 1995. Some spreadsheets to do, meetings to attend mundane and supernatural. Nothing seems out of place until The Eye calls him to Bournemouth.

Of Mothers and Memory by @loverdontleave

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27856585

Summary:  There is a story to be told, of two people, a mother and a son. Of their history together, and the sacrifices they made for each other. Perhaps they loved each other once, but that thread of connection has weakened on one end, fraying away. And it is so, so cold.

Would That I Were Golden Dust by @that-one-girl-behind-you

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27734197

Summary: The world is a lot more dangerous with your soul walking by your side, and Entities aren’t shy about feeding on golden Dust.

Till Death, Parted by @bigowlenergy

Ao3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27749680

Summary: Jon gets caught after ripping out Gerry’s page by Trevor & Julia, and through a comedy of errors ends up engaged as an excuse. Somehow, Jon gets out alive, Gerry is freed, and they have the two hunters accompanying them as bodyguards - and as best man and best woman - without a fight. Living alone in Gerry’s London safe house afterwards will be totally fine. Jon is fine. He knows what coping is and everything! Totally fine.

The Spoken Word by @drumkonwords

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802708/chapters/68066326

Summary: Jon wants. Their pinky twitches — stretching and curling to the tune of something musical. The song of wanting, with its motifs of long, low notes. Starting quiet and mumbling up into Jon’s chest until the strings of their heart vibrate like the strings of a double bass and all they can do is wonder who’s tune they’re matching. But they know.

First Aid by @platypik

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27948284

Summary: Jon is certain Martin has been acting strangely all morning. When Martin offhandedly mentions he took a bad tumble off the tube to work, Jon suddenly Knows that the fall had given Martin a nasty fracture. Despite his desperate pleading, Martin stubbornly refuses to let Jon drive him to the hospital. In fact, it seems he would much rather take care of it himself than have Jon worry and fuss over him. Jon would disagree.

Burning Bright, In the Forests of the Night by @triffidsandcuckoos

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27915400

Summary: The safehouse bursts into flames at their backs. You can choose to change the path. Just be ready for what else you might change.

i’ve been static for too long by @furryjefferson

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27887878

Summary: Jonathan Sims ends up with a stranger’s phone on the way home from work. All signs point to the Magnus Institute, and all roads lead to its mysterious archivist: Martin Blackwood.

through the clouds like a moonbeam by @digital-waterfall 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27877402

Summary: After passing through the Vast’s domain, Jon is left with an unexpected surprise-- a pair of wings. Unsurprisingly, Martin finds them beautiful. Also unsurprisingly, Jon does not.

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

Holy Hands

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Other Complete Work

Chapter List

Chapter 31

Luke didn't rise again.

Michael rounded on the defenseless humans before him, diving towards them before the brothers had time to notice. MC reacted on instinct, throwing Acacia to the ground and out of harm's way before shoving the approaching angel with their palm. Hoping to draw his attention away from their sister.

As they stretched their hand towards the enraged Angel, it was not their palm that made contact, but a large golden shield.

Honestly, where would they be without Lilith's bow?

Michaels approach was stunned by the defense, but he continued undeterred. Moving past MC completely to grab their frightened sister off the ground. The boys had caught on by now that they were under attack and swarmed threateningly around Micheal.

"Put her down" MC growled. For a moment it was easy to forget they were a human with how they sounded.

"Now you stay back MC, I don't want you getting hurt." He said sweetly.

"That's new," They spat.

"Well it occurred to me…" he wrapped his hands tighter around Acacia's wrists to keep her secure as he spoke. The brothers didn't dare move while she was being threatened. "Of course you'd be predisposed to sin, you've been amongst the source of it for over a year. I just need to give you the forgiveness you've been missing." He leaned down as if talking to a child. "I can fix your wayward mind, my Lamb. I can take you away from these terrible influences and remind you of your inherent innocence."

They stared wide eyed as he finished his explanation. With his relentless pursuit of the brothers they should've figured it out sooner. Michael was obsessed.

"Let the girl go, this is between us." Lucifer called out in hopes of drawing Michaels attention away from the humans.

Acacia sensed the distraction of her captor and raised her knee up. Stomping with all her weight right on Micheal's foot.

"Aaah!" He pulled back but only held her wrists tighter. "Insolent snake! That's enough." The angry man dragged the fighting human over the railing. Gasps and cry's sounded from the surrounding people, all of which considered Acacia family.

All of which had seen the consequences of that drop.

Holding the railing with one hand he held the squirming girl over the ledge with his other. She hyperventilated at the sight of the water churning below. The melting snow was no longer contributing to the water level and it had lowered considerably. Below her was not the water Lucifer had fallen in weeks earlier, but the harsh rocks exposed by the lowered tide.

She was too scared to even scream.

Any other words Lucifer had died on his tongue. He just stared and sympathized too closely with the look of animalistic panic in Acacias eyes as she looked down.

"You will all do as I say or the human falls!" He called to the small crowd. There was deathly silence. The wind whistled as it blew quickly over the concrete of the bridge. Acacia's wrist started to ache and her shoulder felt like it was pulled taffy, but she tried her best not to move. If she fell now it would be the death of her.

MC locked eyes with their sister. They slowed their breathing and relaxed their muscles, Acacia had to see they had this under control. Even if they didn't. They gripped their shield firmly and gave their sister a small smile. She calmed a little too, assured that MC would figure something out.

Lucifer didn't care much for Acacia, that was no secret. But she was MCs sister. He saw from the corner of his eye how MC consciously tried to reassure her without words. How they were racking their brain for a way out while trying to look like they already had one. It was too familiar, and he had to respect it. Lucifer turned his attention to Michael. He had stooped to threatening a human to get his way. And he did it in such an odd way. Dangling her over the bridge, and he didn't use his wings...where were they?

Mammon was distressed . He'd only just figured it out with Acacia! And she was...was… oh God why didn't he have his wings in case he dropped her? Mammon's wings weren't large enough to support his weight in flight, what if Michael slipped? What if he broke her arm dangling her like that? What if something happened and he couldn't save her and he never saw her smile or heard her snort-laugh again and he was stuck alone in an empty world with no one to–

Acacia saw MC was calm, but Mammon was visibly losing his shit. They all were at a standstill.

"I want everyone on their knees" Michael demanded. With no other option the boys lowered themselves to the ground. Months ago there would've been a bit more protest, but being human had humbled them all. MC stayed standing, hoping Michael wouldn't notice as they inched closer.

That's right... I'm just a silly human. I can't think for myself or speak against you. I can't act. Focus your attention on the boys, Michael. They are the threat, not little old me.

Acacia let out a small whine. MC looked to her and saw tears forming in her eyes. Her skin was tearing where Michael held her wrist. Blood trickled lazily down her arm and she stared at it with pain in her eyes. Her face going white. MC broke into a sprint.

They practically flew to the railing before there was time to react. There was no choice. With one hand they shoved their shield in Micheal's face, knocking him aside. The shield flew from their grip and went with him. With the other hand they grabbed Acacia by the collar of her nice leather jacket and threw her towards safety. MC felt relief for a brief moment as their sister grabbed the railing with shaky hands.

They let out a sigh as they fell, too late noticing they had no hands left to save themself.

0Time stopped.

Lucifer was formulating a bargain with Michael in his head as he saw MC make a mad dash over the edge. He wanted to run, to fly, to save them . To protect them like he promised himself he would, but he couldn't move. He looked at the drop he'd suffered mere weeks before and he froze.

He knew he'd never get over it in time.

Now they were falling, time was practically meaningless as his senses took in every excruciating detail of what was happening. Forcing life into slow motion. MC fell, they didn't even seem to care they were going to…

Lucifer's heart beat in his ears as he turned to Micheal. The angel's eyes were almost as frightened as he felt. He'd known Micheal for a long time, and that was Michael's greatest weapon against him. Now it would be their solace. they could read each other like a simple story book. The terrified eyes turned to his and there was a wordless agreement.

0Michael watched as his human fell in their sisters stead. They fell so slowly it felt like an eternity he couldn't move. They'd never be forgiven if they perished now. They'd never realize and repent and finally be his. His stomach dropped with them as they fell, his feelings he tried to deny forcing their way past his throat and behind his teeth. He couldn't save them. He had no wings.

His eyes locked with Lucifer's and his own thoughts were mirrored. It had been millennia since they'd read each other so quickly, but the response was instantaneous. Muscle memory.

Save them

Lucifer practically begged, but Micheal shook his head almost imperceptibly. The demon instantly put it together. Micheal didn't have his wings, he didn't know why but it didn't matter. All that mattered was MC was falling. And he had to do something fast, something that he'd never live down.

"I don't–" Michael started to explain, but he didn't need to finish telling Lucifer about his wings. His response was like stone.

"Take mine"

0MC only fell for a few moments, their eyes screwed shut. They didn't want to see themself hit the rocks.

Acacia was safe

Micheal had no leverage

They were ok with this.

But it wasn't rocks that greeted them as their heartstopping fall was interrupted. It was the giving jolt of landing in someone's arms. They didn't process this at first. Then there was a single wonderful moment where they thought...they naively believed perhaps Lucifer had saved them.

Then they opened their eyes, and nearly screamed as they saw themself in the arms of the enemy.

Micheal was a little unsteady on wings that weren't his own. Lucifer's were darker, stronger, and there were 4 instead of 6. He'd lost a pair when he fell and it never occurred to Michael just what a difference it made. He couldn't imagine what a strong flyer Lucifer must've been with 6.

Landing on the bridge he didn't release MC right away. They didn't like that apparently because they pried themself out of his arms upon touching down and stood away from him. Eyes staring in abject terror and an arm in front of Acacia.

He looked at the scene before him, now that the humans were safe the Brothers circled like a pack of jackals. All except Lucifer who was content to watch his brothers as he stood almost imperceptibly between Michael and MC. His wings returned to him and made him look much larger, matching the accusing glare he leveled the angel with.

What...what had he done? He knew MC had affected him in a way that made him weaker but…

The fear for their safety. The willingness to abandon his mission to save them. Agreeing with Lucifer. He'd fallen farther that he thought.

His mind reeled and his feelings twisted in his throat like a mass of writhing snakes. He had to leave. Not only could he not face all seven of them without leverage, but he couldn't do anything with his mind and morals in such a frenzy. He cast one backward glance at MC, they looked at him like a rabbit would a wolf, and the knife in his gut twisted farther.

They were more confused than he'd realized. He had to save them from this, and he made a silent promise that he would.

With that in his mind, he fled.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 1

What I’ve Seen

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character (s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: Our reader is walking back to her car one night when she witnesses a murder committed by none other than two of the most famous Avengers. Well, the Avengers aren't quite what they used to be in this universe; they are mercenaries, little better than the criminals they pursue. As a witness to this event, will the reader be found out or will she forever live in a world of fruitless paranoia.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

Typical. Only hours earlier the streets had been packed and you had been forced to park in the underground a block away from Allie’s apartment. Now, those spots which ran the length of the roads and charted the interior of the upper levels were vacant. Even upon the basement tarmac, all rectangular outlines were left barren. All but yours.

You could see your small Honda in the far corner from just outside the parking lot, through the small slits which ran at ground level and gave sights on those vehicles harboured below. Twenty dollars to park for the night. Twenty! You were annoyed at the reminder; the large green sign at the main floor entrance catching the streetlights. From the corner of your eye, it seemed the exorbitant price tag was winking at you.

As you entered the parking garage, its desolation became even more apparent. Its concrete walls shuttered out the sounds of the street; the buzz of the city and noise of cars on the main fares only a block away. But here, this nest of vehicle letting hidden amid the towering apartment buildings, seemed so far away. Hidden in plain sight.  Your footsteps echoed as you walked the crack sidewalks, placed along the pillared railings in islands between the white-lined parking spots to guide drivers back to their cars. Your flat boots, their soles well-worn, padded quietly but your subtle gait seemed to echo around you. It was eerie. You lifted your wrist and checked your watch. Midnight already.

You had let Allie keep you far too late but these days, you saw her barely more than once a month. It had been nice to unwind on your rare Friday night void of obligation. Often, you were at some office, hidden behind an unfamiliar desk, typing away at someone else’s work. Temp work was as tedious as it was dispiriting. A month at most in once place, more often a week. Allie, your oldest friend in the the overworked city, was your only sense of permanence.

You brushed back the hair which had fallen loose from your sagging ponytail and rubbed your forehead. The motion drew a yawn to the surface, but it died in your throat without blooming. It was an odd sensation, choking on one’s own breath. The incompleteness of an unspent yawn burning at your eyes and nipping at your spine. You clapped your hand over your mouth as the voices came nearer.

There was something about the tone, underlined with a note of finality, which had stifled your breath. You gripped the strap of your bag closer to your shoulder and skittered behind the nearest concrete column, a hand flat upon its face to steady you as your ears tried to decipher the words clothed in panic, returned by those laced with menace.

You pulled your nose back just before you could look upon the scene unfolding at the other side of the pillar. You pressed yourself to the concrete, sensing the danger around you. It was so like you to stumble upon trouble which was not your own. To so blindly wander into another’s plight as you bemoaned the papercut sufferings of your own life. Your ears cleared of distortion and focused on the conversation; its scheduling betraying the underbelly of its purpose.

“Don’t,” A voice warned. A movement stopped as the threat hung in the air. “Do you truly think you can get us before we get you?”

Your eyes wandered, your brow creasing in confusion. A drug deal? Robbery? The heat of fear crawled along your arms and up your back, settling around your neck like a hand squeezing the breath from you.

“I’d rather take you with me than die and let you have it,” The quavering voice returned, eliciting a chuckle from his adversaries. That was two sets of laughter. Two attackers.

Your lip was trembling without your permission and you slowly bent around the pillar, keeping flush against the concrete as you peeked around it. They were closer than you thought. And you recognized them. Well, the two holding their guns aimed at the one, a suitcase held as if a shield against his chest by the latter. You drew back and bit your lip, closing your eyes as you bid yourself to keep silent.

Those two men had long ago been known as two parts of the Avengers. They were still as such but not in the same manner. Those heroes were no longer what they once were. No longer saviours, more mercenaries. The world had changed and with it, so had Stark and his team of worldly defenders. They still claimed to hold the interests of people at heart, but their means were questionable. It seemed these days, money could buy more justice than morality.  Why, if the price was high enough, Stark would deploy his agents to kill a local meth cooker. It was a truth denied by the perpetrators but known and accepted by the whole world. It was a small price to pay for the planet’s safety. If a few innocent were casualties to keeping peace and order for many, was it really a loss?

You had refused to believe it yourself. Still clung to that naive belief in the Avengers. These had all been rumours; a symptom of the communal cynicism of this world. No one was perfect and it must be known if they weren’t. There offences, a minuscule or dire, must be announced to the world. But here, in a small New York parking garage, these former heroes, were stood in the footsteps of a local mugger.

Your mind had been so blurred in the rush of epiphany that the haze was broken only by the piercing release of gunpowder, a bullet hushing all conversation. You swallowed, your entire body shaking as you realized what must have happened. You clung tightly to the strap of your bag and slid down the pillar, all strength leaving you as adrenaline froze in your veins. You listened to the movement on the other side of the pillar. If they found you, you were dead, but you didn’t dare draw attention by fleeing. Perhaps if you kept quiet and still, they would overlook you, as most people did. You heard the suitcase click, guessing that they were inspecting its contents, and it clasp once more as it shut.

“It’s all here. I’d guess, at least. Maybe more.” The super soldier, formerly Captain America, said with an air of victory. “Hell, if there’s extra, I think Stark might just cut us a few kilos for our troubles”

“Shit, Steve, is a grand for the bullet alone not enough for you?” The other man, a former fugitive himself, chuckled. Bucky Barnes, who had so diligently fought for redemption, had returned to his former occupation.

“Come on,” Steve shrugged of the question. “The quicker we’re done here, the better.”

You covered your face as you listened to the rustling of whatever it was they were doing. You shoved a knuckle in your mouth and bit down on your hand, praying that you were unnoticed. You wanted to scream so bad; wanted to cry out. You tightened your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut, waiting until you heard them walking away.  Their footsteps echoed along the concrete ceiling until fading into the muffled sound of traffic beyond the garage. This city was noisy enough that the gunshot was likely unheard by any but you. It was at least ten minutes before you dared to move, slowly standing as you leaned on the pillar for support. Your heart had quickened, finally awaking from its stupor.

You edged around the column, just enough to see the dead man laying in a pool of his own blood. Your mouth fell open and your stomach lurch. You clasped your hand over your mouth just in time to hold back the tide. You spun around, panting even before you set into a run. You stumbled halfway down the stairs, the sobs rising in your chest, tears spilling as you came in sight of your small blue Honda.  You sniffled as you slid to stop at your door, your hands shaking as you pressed the button to unlock it. You climbed into the driver’s seat, untangling your bag from your body and tossing it on the floor in the passenger’s side. You gripped the steering wheel and stared ahead into the vacant parking lot. Your knuckles were paled from how hard tight your fingers clung to the rough leather.

A vision of the lifeless body strewn across the tarmac formed a shadow over your vision. It was all you could see. You couldn’t tell anyone. There was no one to tell. They were Avengers; mercenaries unhindered by the law. The police would laugh in your face and if they didn’t, you’d be the next at the end of the barrel.

What was there to do but forget it? But how? How does one forget something like that?

You pried your fingers from around the wheel and found your key, dropped between your legs in your panic. You shoved it into the ignition and turned the engine, slowly pushing down the gas. You drove along the basement lot as if in a trance, accelerating barely more than a snail’s pace. You made for the back entrance, opposite of where you had come in. You stopped as you came up the ramp, looking out onto the street, staring through your tears across the road, basking in the yellow-hued streetlights.

Just go home. Home. Home. Home. It was all you could think. As if your apartment could shield you from what you had just witnessed. As if it was all just a bad dream. Just go home. You repeated to yourself; far away from here.

[miracleofdespair]

You Hear That Snapping Noise? | Sandro | Re: Johnny, Benimaru, Zentaro

The vote results come in, and they aren't a surprise at all. Sandro barely glances up long enough to register the name - Asuka Minami - which evokes a feeling less of surprise than of huh, so that's it. Obviously Johnny Kane wasn't his real name, but at this point Sandro doesn't see the point in thinking of him as anything else. The important takeaway here is that, again unsurprisingly, Johnny is going to be executed. Just as he'd wanted, of course, once he realized it was him or Yoshiki. It wasn't that Sandro hadn't realized that's what Johnny was going for, but he had his own reasons for condemning the outlaw over the 'real' killer, ones he'd made abundantly clear.

But Yoshiki's words... god... 

Wh-what the hell am I gonna do without you?

Something in Sandro lurches like a ship taking a blow from a cannon and starting to capsize. A strangled, choked-off sound emits from his throat, plaintive and agonized, and he has to close his eyes for a second as his breathing stutters. When he opens them again they're wild, desperate and dilated and furious.

"You're so fucking selfish!" Sandro takes advantage of the fact that Johnny and his datefriends are nearby - thanks to Erika having collapsed near Yoshiki's podium after dragging Johnny over there and getting stabbed - to snap at him. "Congratulations, you got what you wanted! And now the people who love you have to suffer for it!" His voice is strained and breaking badly, but rising in rage and pain, "You really have no idea what you've done! If it weren't for Usahara-san I would have voted for Shinohara, because if anyone here deserves to feel that kind of pain it's you! You're getting the easy way out, don't you dare fool yourself into thinking you did him any favors!"

Sandro is shaking again, not just with anger, though the expression in his eyes as he glares fiercely at Johnny is one of absolute loathing. It really is fortunate that keeping pressure on Erika's wounds is preventing him from doing anything else, because there's a powerful urge to join the club of people who've punched Johnny in the face. Not that there's much point, he'll get far worse soon enough.

In the meantime, Sandro's anger finds another target, flaring up and consuming the panic as he hears Benimaru and Zentaro going back and forth with their respective flavors of self-righteous, until he just can't take it anymore, especially when something Zentaro says sounds absurdly familiar.

"Are you kidding me!? Are you fucking kidding me right now? You're quoting fucking song lyrics at him? No! No! Shut the hell up Kai! Shut up! Just- what the hell is wrong with you? What the hell makes you think that's appropriate what even- no, I don't care, just stop talking! Nothing about this is fucking ethical! This isn't some morality problem in a classroom this is actually fucking happening and there are more factors in play then who technically struck the goddamn killing blow so just stop!" Sandro is all but screaming by the time he gets to the last sentence, but he's not done yet, because he turns that fury right over to Benimaru next.

"And you! You have no idea what you're talking about! I don't know what kind of horrible partner you had before but this is NOT THE SAME! THEY ARE NOT GOING TO GET OVER THIS! Do you understand that!? Do you understand that you're being outrageously disrespectful by dismissing this- you have no idea what it feels like to watch the person you love die! To lose them! You have no fucking idea so I don't want to hear another word about how this is better for them out of you! It's agony, it's the worst feeling there is, it's fucking Hell! It nearly killed me and you cannot possibly imagine how it feels! No more of your sanctimonious speeches! Read the room, Ogyoku! This is not the goddamn time!" 

[chibi-writings]

Ink 6/?

Characters: Frollo, Esmeralda

Warning: torture (whipping, stretching on the rack), mentions of denailing, sexual acts

Submission

"You shall break them with a rod of iron. You shall shatter them like earthenware." —Psalm 2:9.

Even if Frollo had no idea how to get to the dungeons, he could have easily found his way by following the noise Esmeralda was making. She was still yelling at him, for him, even though he was far enough behind them that he couldn't be seen. It was as if she simply sensed his presence shadowing her as they went down the halls, down the stairs, and down, down.

The air changed within the stone stairwells as they plunged deeper into the bowels of the Palace of Justice. It was warmer, definitely, bearing an eternal heat that the torches in their brackets simply added to, and heavier. The weight only came from water and Frollo could feel the dampness in the air every time he inhaled, sticking to his throat and lungs and bringing the myriad of smells with it.

Rust, smoke, mildew, the scent of unwashed bodies, blood. Fresh and old, it was an inescapable part of the dungeons that seemed soaked into the very stones and mortar. It clung to the mouth, bringing the taste of iron with it.

Frollo had long gotten used to the scent by now. But Esmeralda...her sudden silence was more telling than anything she could have ever spoken.

But of course she could have never stayed silent for long. He heard her start up again just before he came to the landing, followed by a heavy door opening. He had just enough time to see a flash of white flicker in one of the doorways and then she was gone again, taken into an empty room. Frollo's smile never left his face, even when he heard her voice rising in panic, all to an oblivious, uncaring world around her. The only responses she would hear, if she could hear them, would be the moans of fellow prisoners in their own cells. A figure all but materializing out of one of the shadowy alcoves gave the minister pause. His dark clothes and hood hid most of his features, but Frollo recognized him after a glance. "Jaquet," he said with a dip of his head. The man saluted him with a grin, showing off a few blackened teeth as a result. "My Lord," he said with a glint in his eye. "That's a very pretty one you brought down just now, sir. It'll be a shame to ruin it all." Despite his words, Jaquet didn't sound very upset at the idea. On the contrary his breathing seemed to be coming faster and he was gripping the whip in his other hand far too tightly. Frollo's eyes narrowed at him until the man was squirming under his gaze and trying his best not to look away. "Quite," Frollo finally said, the simple snap of the syllables against his teeth clacking like the jaws of a wolf. Jaquet flinched. "Your services will not be required for her, Jaquet. I shall attend to her myself." The unrestrained shock spread across Jaquet's face, so obvious and rude that Frollo found himself gritting his teeth ever so slightly to keep his temper in check. Well what did he expect from such low people as a man who would take a position as a torturer? Of course it was a nasty, necessary business that someone had to do, but in all his years Frollo had never once met a torturer who hated his job. "Yourself, sir?" Jaquet repeatedly dumbly before realizing his mistake and composing himself. "Yes, of course, my Lord! Anything you want!" "Your whip, Jaquet." He held out his hand, palm up, eyes never leaving Jaquet's. For a moment Jaquet stared incredulously, but again he caught himself and stretched out his other hand to give the instrument to Frollo. It was a warm, smooth leather that could only come from years of handling and caressed his skin like silk. Frollo nodded and gave it a perfunctory glance, noting that the knotted cords were free of blood (fresh anyway) and untangled, hanging in neat, straight lines. It had not been used today, then. He held the whip in both hands and looked back up. "Leave us," he ordered. "And tell the guards they are not to disturb me unless I call for them. If all goes well I will not be needing any of you." "I—Sir? I mean, yes sir." Jaquet gave a deep bow, but it did not hide the expression of utter confusion that Frollo glimpsed upon his face. "I shall make the preparations immediately, my Lord."

"Then go," Frollo answered, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. He did not look to see what Jaquet did next and merely brushed by him, heading down the hall to the door that he saw Esmeralda dragged into. All the cells here had thick, heavy wooden doors that were designed to keep the noise inside like how a cork kept wine in the barrel. The only connection to the outside world were little doors that could be opened to slide the prisoners food and water, and that was it.

She would be his, and his alone. No one to bother them or interfere. After that little stunt she pulled, he would enjoy this.

The guards were now stationed outside her door and they saluted him as he approached. He nodded, but he was in no mood to have them, or anyone, hovering nearby while he worked. "Wait by the stairs," he said. "If I need you I will call you."

They bowed, the same as Jaquet, and obeyed. When their clanking steps had retreated almost halfway down the hall Frollo opened the door. He paused in the archway, his attention arrested by what the light spilling into the room had revealed. A rack, the centerpiece of the chamber, and tied to it was Esmeralda.

Her arms were stretched high above her head, her legs pulled straight and rigid by the chains. One could almost imagine she was caught frozen in the middle of one of her dances, where her body pointed as straight as a spear but was far, far more flexible. Even from her position, bound, exposed upon the rack which left nothing to hide and everything to shame, she still glared at him. Frollo saw the fear there most definitely, but it was gone quickly when she realized who was staring at her.

"You?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm and disbelief. "You must be joking."

Frollo ignored her jibes, but the spell was broken and he could move again. He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him with a heavy, resounding thud. Now that it was closed, darkness descended in the room. The space was only lit by a few candles and the coals in the brazier, barely enough to chase away the shadows, and most of the room remained in a perpetual gloom because of it. Frollo moved forward, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he made his way over to a table that rested against one of the walls.

"This is your plan? You can't handle rejection so you take it all out on me?" Her voice was harsh, mocking, but underneath all the bravado it quivered. She probably hated that, knowing her. "You know who does that? A child. A spoiled child throwing a tantrum because he didn't get what he wanted!"

He supposed that she was trying to rile him up, to make him angry and prove in some petty way that she was correct about him and inhabiting some sort of moral high ground because of it. Did she think such ridiculous insults were enough to provoke him? It did not matter what she said, she was still the one tied to the rack, not he, and whatever she had to say would soon be reduced to the meaningless babble that it truly was. The rack always brought people crashing down, no matter how high they were flying before.

There were various instruments strewn neatly across the table, and Frollo pretended to examine them with care. A large pair of forceps caught his attention and he reached over to pick them up, testing the weight in his hands and clicking them a few times. They would easily tear out nails, but for now he didn't want to disfigure her. There was no reason to. Torture was as much of an act and it was true action, both the mind and the body needed to suffer for it to have any effect.

He turned it a little in the light, as if to examine it further, knowing that Esmeralda could easily see him from her current position.

The pause in her words was noticeable. "And what was the point of saving me anyway if you were just going to bring me down here? What was all the nonsense about redemption, then? I always knew you were a liar but why the whole ruse?" She still growled and from what he could hear she was struggling against the restraints. Unsettled, then.

Frollo set the forceps down, making sure they made a loud clank. His eyes darted around, looking and looking, until they landed upon a wicked pair of thumbscrews. He scooped them up and tested their weight in his palm. Pure, heavy iron that seemed all the more menacing with how much they dragged at his hand. Ah, but maybe she did not know what these were? He held one up and wiggled his thumb into the crevice, as if to test its size.

"Do you know how long it takes for nails to grow back after they have been ripped out?" he finally broke the silence, his voice soft and calm as he held out his thumb for her to see. He did not turn around but held his hand in its position.

There was a handful of long, thick seconds of silence. He longed to turn around and see her face, to read the expressions painted across it, but he restrained himself. He would not look at her just yet, he would not let her see him.

When she spoke again, her voice was much softer. "What's the point of all this? You should have just tortured me earlier."

"Usually, around eight to nine months." He answered his question for her, ignoring whatever she had to say. "These, however, do more than that. Your nail would crack from the pressure and fall out later. A few more turns of the screw and your bone would break afterwards. But that would heal much more quickly." He removed the thumbscrew and set it back down. "It doesn't take that much, and these are so very easy to turn."

"Frollo."

A thrill passed through his body, licking down his spine and shooting to the tips of his fingers and toes. She said his name! She said it so... He shivered slightly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He wanted her to always whisper it like that, no one could ever affect him so deeply just with his own name.

Finally, he turned around. He didn't even need to search for her eyes, he locked upon them instantly. It must have been uncomfortable to Esmeralda to crane her head like that to look at his face, but it did not deter her. Her eyes were huge, staring at him with outright fear, but now that he was looking at her she scowled and tried to hide it. Honestly, Frollo admired her spirit. He had seen grown, older men break down long before this.

Of course, she could never make it last. Esmeralda could never keep her mouth shut. "You're sick. A sick, twisted man with no soul."

The words were a slap to the face and jolted him out of his reverie. He felt a snarl coming across his face, anger blazing to life in him, his fire burning through the water she tried to throw upon him. To question his immortal soul! "Be silent," he said, his voice far too calm and collected for his anger.

What would have sent Quasimodo into the most placating of bows flew completely over Esmeralda's head. Of course it did, she was so unobservant sometimes. "Oh, touched a nerve, didn't I? You know that too, you know how cruel you are and how God will punish you—"

His hand lashed out, the tails of the whip flying through the air before landing across her stomach and thighs with a loud crack. The rest of Esmeralda's words were drowned out by her scream and she twisted in her restraints as if to escape from the pain. He didn't let her recover, though, there was no escape. Again he let the whip fly, again, and again, striking her flesh unrepentantly and listening to her renewed screams each time.

Five, six, she writhed and clenched her teeth, trying to hold back her cries against the whip. But Frollo knew better. No one could stay silent forever.

Seven, and her lips parted to scream again, and Frollo stopped. He could see red welts already forming along her skin, her chemise would have taken some of the blow away but it was only a thin fabric, at best it would stop her from bleeding. It had to feel like fire along her skin, inescapable fire that could only be dulled but never numbed. He came forward and Esmeralda's eyes fluttered open at the sound of his footsteps, gazing up at him angrily. "You shall speak no more, witch," Frollo snapped at her before she could say anything. "I will no longer hear your treacherous, deceitful words which Satan puts into your mouth."

Her chest heaved, struggling for breath and fighting to regain control of herself. "Y-you mean you jus-just don't want to hear the truth!" she spat, her teeth snarling at him like an animal.

He felt his anger growing, bubbling under his lips and filling his face with a heat that had nothing to do with the stifling air of the dungeon. His hand reached out and grabbed the lever of the rack, gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white. "This can tear the limbs from your body, gypsy," he said in a low voice. "Now be quiet."

Esmeralda's eyes darted to his hand, uncertain, and back to his face. Their gaze hardened, driven by some deeper determination that he had not touched yet. "You're pathetic."

The words hung in the air between them and he watched Esmeralda tense, waiting for some immediate punishment, and that more than anything was what stalled him. When no pain was forthcoming, her gaze found his face again, confusion loosening her muscles and opening her expression. And Frollo smiled at her.

Too late she realized her mistake. He wouldn't give her enough time to recover, and in that instant he shoved on the lever, its clicking nearly drowned out by the shrieks of the gypsy as the rack stretched and pulled her arms and legs farther and farther. She tried to curl up, to fight it, but it was useless and he only stopped when she was stretched as taunt as a bowstring across the wooden frame, barely able to even twitch held in her position as she was. Tears streamed down her face as she fought it, harsh, sobbing gasps tearing out of her throat as she tried, and failed to get a hold of the pain.

Frollo leaned over her, inspecting his work. It would take only a few more clicks of the lever for the dislocation to begin. Being in his position for decades, one simply gained an instinct for such things. He reached out and grazed his knuckles tenderly against her cheek, wiping away a tear as he did. She jerked her face away, more sobs coming from her throat at the contact. Frollo let her and simply moved his hand to her hair, running his fingers through it once more, letting it slide between them and tease his skin. He leaned down, placing his lips right against her ear and admiring the sensation for a moment before whispering: "Do you denounce Satan, witch?"

She jerked a little. "W-what?" she gasped.

In a moment he was gone, leaping to his feet and raising the whip again. The thongs cracked along her skin again and he relished in her new scream, all the louder as the whip hit right over the old marks. Esmeralda thrashed, at least tried to as best as she could, but her restraints barely let her move and Frollo was relentless as he lashed the whip. "I said, do you denounce Satan?!" he said, raising his voice over the whip and Esmeralda's screaming.

"Why, why?! I didn't do anything! I'm not a witch!" She was crying to him, each slap of leather against her skin producing another small scream that had her trying to run and hide.

Oh, wrong answer. A very wrong answer indeed, even if delivered under such pain. He would have to persuade her more then. After all, demons could stand pain no more than the humans whose bodies they were inhabiting. "Do not lie to me! I know what you are!" Another crack across her as he spoke. "Denounce your master, Satan, and be redeemed in God's eyes!"

She was screaming loud enough to hurt his ears as her echoes bounced around the room, but through them he could hear her words. "I do! I denounce him, I denounce him! Stop, please!!"

And stop he did. Frollo waited and listened to her sob, her body sagging against the ropes by centimeters. Stretched like a rag now, wrung out and beginning to fray. He came forward, watching her. She was trembling. Her body shook with the force of her crying, her face turned against her arm to hide her tears. Was this truly a demon who lay in front of him now? By denouncing Satan did the demon flee and leave her alone with her pain? She looked so vulnerable now, nothing like the witch who put a spell on him and tried to make his soul dance to her music.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't feel like it either. It felt as if he was in control now, not the other way around.

His hand reached out to trace her face, and this time she did not move. He bent down again and whispered into her ear, "You chose me, Esmeralda. A part of you, no matter how small that part is, is still a stronger voice than all of these defiant games." Drawn by her smell, by her gentle, sweet cries, he kissed her temple.

Esmeralda shivered and nodded slightly. "I-I did," she said through her gasps.

"You want to be redeemed, Esmeralda, I know it. Some part of you knows that I am right and what I am saying rings true." Frollo's hand wandered, tracing the edges of her face, then down her neck, feeling how soft her skin was underneath his fingertips. God how she scorched him, but she did not control him, he still burned but the fire was his.

He couldn't stop himself, he turned her face to look at him and kissed her once more.

The wound on his lip blazed to life, causing his hands to curl a little against her, but he refused to stop. Then, to his surprise and infinite pleasure, her lips moved against his, kissing him back. Just like that all of his pain was forgotten, its memory buried under the onslaught of her lips alone. It was like plunging into a blizzard, except instead of the harsh cold bringing his senses to life it was a shock that anchored him in place. He pressed closer, suddenly aware of how her body was splayed out beneath him, a banquet upon the feast table, and his hand seemed to move of its own volition. It trailed lower, following the center, dipping between the valley of her breasts to reach her navel—

A moan came from his throat, deep and desperate and his hand paused, feeling Esmeralda quiver under him. And she pushed back, arching into his hand with a moan of her own echoing in her throat, but then shied away as much as the restraints would allow her to go. He followed her every movement, tracing patterns into her skin through the chemise, his mind afire with the sensations it brought, so dark and previously hidden from his sight. She was all his.

He broke away from her kiss, his head falling helplessly into the crook of her neck afterwards, burying himself into the net of her hair and skin. They wove around him, trapping him effortlessly in their embrace, binding the both of them together with chains that were insubstantial yet stronger than the hardest steel. He could still hear her gasping, feel her trembling against him, and his hand was drawn inevitably lower, to the hem of her gown and underneath.

Esmeralda gave a mighty gasp that nearly came at the same time as Frollo's. She tried to jerk away but she could not move, and yet Frollo found himself locked in place even though a part of him screamed at him to flee. She was so hot, so burning under her dress, he could never have imagined such a heat! Truly the gateway to hell was through women, and yet what a tempting, sweet gate it was! A helpless groan was torn from him and he pressed harder, exploring her desire under his gentle and quite suddenly hesitant fingers. So this is what such indulgences were like, then? This warmth, wetness, exquisite and smooth feeling was what he had given up when he had taken his vows?

His mouth was parched, his heart beating far too fast in his chest. Frightened by the depth of emotion and sensation that welled in him, that his body compelled him to mindlessly obey, he took his hand away, reaching up instead to trace the curves of her body once more.

A noise of confusion reached him, laced through with pain, and that made him raise his head. Esmeralda turned to look at him, her expression a mixture of emotions so profound that he found himself staring in awe. Fear, sorrow, yet also a strange sort of innocence, a vulnerability that was dragged out of her by the pain, a pure openness that begged him for mercy. He knew the look well. Had she ever been caught by the guards, he wondered? Had she ever been beaten or assaulted in her whole life? How lucky she must have been to avoid the fate of so many other gypsies!

"Please..." her quavering voice reached him, unable to form anything else, it seemed.

Pain and suffering was the great tool that broke so many. And to one so inexperienced, the shattering was quick indeed. Too far and the damage would be too deep. He glanced at his hand as it trailed over the curve of her breast, the mere sensation sending fire skittering along his veins, and he could see in the dim light how his fingers glistened. Esmeralda shivered under him again, another noise breaking from her, and he made his decision.

He stood up straight, the effort taking more out of him than it should have a right to. His head swam and he steadied himself for a moment before reaching for the lever and releasing it, snapping the tension back to normal and letting Esmeralda's arms fall down in place. Her sob of utter relief was almost joyous to hear and he set about untying her, undoing the knots in the ropes holding her wrists, and then moving to her ankles. He had the keys for the manacles, being master of the palace, and they sprang open as if glad to be rid of her.

Esmeralda was too busy shaking to stand up, and the hissing noises of pain she made between her teeth when she moved also told of a different reason for her inactivity. She merely lay there and rubbed her wrists, the skin red and inflamed and even bleeding in some places, and Frollo took pity on her again.

She flinched as he put his arm under her legs and her chest, but when she realized what he was doing she held onto him as if afraid he was going to drop her. Frollo was by no means as athletic as some of his soldiers, but his thin frame belied the strength underneath and he picked her up easily and set her down on her feet. All of which proved fruitless as she nearly collapsed against him, hiding her face and sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to handfuls of his robes as if they could protect her from what she had just endured.

Frollo stumbled under her weight slightly, but when he recovered he smiled and drew her closer to him, holding her and running a gentle hand through her hair. "Hush now, gypsy," he whispered and fished around her his handkerchief. "It is all over now, you will be just fine." He tried to clean her face as best as he could, with her hiding it and all, and managed to at least somewhat succeed. "Here, dry your tears with this and let us go."

That, at last, seemed to have an effect on her. She pulled away from him slightly and took the handkerchief that he pushed into her hands, and looked up at him. "W-what do you mean?" she managed to say through her hitching breaths.

"Exactly what I said, gypsy. Now wipe your tears." He watched as she clumsily obeyed, trying her best to clean herself of the tears that were insistent upon refreshing themselves every time her face was cleared. "Come, let us take you to a bath. After that it will be most refreshing for you."

She looked stunned, as if unable to comprehend what he was saying. "A bath?" she said, her voice small.

He knew his sudden change in treatment would confuse her, and he tried not to smile wider at it. Let her be confused, perhaps she would learn better this way. "Try to listen to what I say, Esmeralda. I assume you know what a bath is?" He turned and pulled away from her for just a moment to open the door and call for the guard at the foot of the stairs. "You will go and—"

The judge turned back around in just enough time to see her wobble on her feet, and he dove to catch her as she fell. She sagged into his arms, a dead weight, although she still moved and mumbled something like a slurred apology. He tried to stand her up again and while he did succeed, he knew that without something to hold onto she would just fall again.

"Sir?" the bewildered voice of a guard asked him from the doorway.

He snapped his fingers. "Come here, you fool. Take her to the servants and tell them to give her a bath." He handed her over to the guard, glaring as the man tried to awkwardly pick her up without making her chemise flutter and show anything too revealing. "They will wash her thoroughly, you understand? And treat her pain." Now that he thought about it for more than a second, she was probably filthy. She hadn't had a bath after she came here, after all. "Burn that rag she is wearing and find her a new one. And the servants will bring her back to her room when they are done. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

The guard nodded swiftly, if looking a little overwhelmed by the flurry of commands Frollo had given him. "Yes sir, right away Minister." He performed a small bow, as much of one as he could do with the weight in his arms, and carried Esmeralda out of the room.

Frollo listened to his steps fade away, then he lifted his hand to examine it again. He still smelled like her, except it was a hundred times more potent than before. Slowly, pulled by a force deep in his gut, he touched his lips. A shudder wracked his frame and he could taste her on his tongue, the most careful of sips he could take from such a chalice, placing his trembling, unsure mouth against the wine and letting it invade his entire being with but a single drop.

He took a step back and shook his head, and then belatedly followed the path of his guard. He needed to be out of this place, where the air was fresh and clear...and where Esmeralda was.

[albionscastle]

We’ll Meet Again Pt 4 (A Collins Fic)

Ok so I’m apologizing in advance as this chapter is just as dark as the last one. But I promise the next couple will be bright and wonderful.

Again with the graphic descriptions of warfare, death and the like. The scene in the tunnel later on I got from a photo I saw of the aftermath of The Battle of Britain, which I won’t post here but it was pretty horrific. My great nana told me horror stories about the Blitz when I was younger so a lot of this stems from her experiences...which probably somehow just makes it worse.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

FIC MASTERLIST

SEPTEMBER 15 1940 LONDON 6AM

When you woke with the sunlight streaming through your small window, Jack’s blazer was still wrapped around you, his smell filling your nostrils with every breath, letting you believe for half an instant that he was there with you. You sighed, allowing yourself the time to make-believe, to remember the little moments from the day before. The feel of hand as it slid across your back, the little snort he emitted right before he laughed, and the way he had looked at you, as if you were the whole world.

Your heart clenched as a sob rose in your throat. You felt the absence of him like a missing limb, a deep agony inside of you. It hurt to breathe, just knowing that he was back out there, every second in danger, every moment another opportunity for a German fighter to shoot him out of the sky.

God, how were any of you going to make it through this?

It was 2 hours before your shift at the factory and the crisp breeze was calling your outside, a walk would do you good, perhaps blow away the feeling of dread that had been with you since you waved Jack off the night before. Looking out the window you breathed it in, nose wrinkling at the distant smell of smoke. The bombers had come again last night, as they did every night and day, though this had been on the other side of the city. The radio was reporting it as a small raid, much smaller than the ones the city had experienced in the last week. They were saying that it was a sign the Germans were going to back off because their tactics weren’t working. All their attacks had done nothing to hold back the RAF so why would they think their attacks on the cities would dampen British morale?

You felt wrong. The clear blue sky mocked you. Something was coming, something big and you somehow knew there was no way you were going to able to escape it.

Pulling the jacket over your thick overalls you decided to see if Margot wanted to walk in the garden with you. You made sure Jack’s letters were tucked safely in the deep pocket before making your way down the hall to her room. Hand poised to knock, you heard the sound of music from inside, inviting you to push open the door a few centimeters, peeking inside.

Your breath caught when you saw her, still in her pyjamas, Charlie’s uniform jacket on a hanger in her hands. Her fingers ran over the olive green wool, smoothing it before holding it up in front of her, head resting against where his heart would have been. Tears stung your eyes as she began to move in time to the song, their song she had told you once. Her eyes closed as she danced, tears leaking from behind her eyelids and you backed out of the room, your heart breaking at the sight of her.

You ran downstairs and out into the garden, chest heaving as you tried to hold back both your tears and the rising panic. There was so much sadness, so much suffering, how could you keep your hope alive in the face of it all? You thought of Jack, of the jacket you wore being the only piece of him you had left and what that would be like? Would you sleep with it every night or hang it away to be brought out only in moments like the one you’d just witnessed. The thought of never seeing him again, hearing his voice or feeling his skin against yours was such a torment that you wanted to scream, yell and rage against whoever was responsible.

How long you stayed crying in the garden you didn’t know, the sound of Margot’s steps making you realize it was getting late. You tried to wipe away the tears before she could see them, not wanting your sadness to eclipse her. At least your Jack was still breathing. You hoped.

“I know you miss him Y/N” she said sadly, her hands on your shoulders.

“How do you do it Margot? How do you go on feeling like this?”

“I have to, for Charlie, he would have wanted it. And I remember. All the happy memories that keep him alive in my heart. Some days I can almost fill the hole he left behind with them, most of the time I can’t but I still try. One day at a time, it's all you can do.”

If Margot could pull through this, then so could you. You had hope that she didn’t have, the hope of seeing Jack again, of feeling his warmth and his beating heart. Margot would never again see Charlie’s face, hear his voice or feel his touch. All she had was her memories, and they were enough to sustain her. You thought to yourself that you had never met a stronger woman in your life and you could only hope to be even half as strong in the face of things to come.

You both sat and talked for a while, letting Margot tell you stories about Charlie, laughing at some of the antics he’d managed to pull. He sounded like a really decent fellow and you wished that you could have met him.

“Right, enough reminiscing, we have to get to work.”

With a sigh, you both stood, trying to shake off the melancholy. The sense of impending….something...you couldn’t shake off and it stayed with you like a heavy blanket as you began your work. The factory was dirty and hot, and more often than not you ended the day greasy and grimy from head to toe. You loved it. Loved feeling useful and needed, loved knowing you had some small part to play in the effort to win the war.

Collins’ blazer hung in a locker in the common room, too far away for comfort and you felt nervous and jumpy without it, the urge to wrap it around yourself despite the grime almost overwhelming. Biting your bottom lip until it bled you kept going, trying to squash your anxiety, one eye on the clock.

11am

You were looking over blueprints with a co worker when you heard the screeching wail of the air raid sirens begin. All around you people ran for cover, heading for the shelter. Your eyes wild, you tried to push the opposite way, towards the common room and everything you had to keep Jack close to you. “Y/N! Forget it, we have to go!”

“No! Go, I’m right behind you!” You flung open the locker door, hauling the jacket over your shoulders as you ran for the exit behind the others, Margot glaring at you.

“Think about how he’d feel if you got yourself killed trying to save his damn uniform!”

“I couldn’t leave it, Margot. His letters. I couldn’t.”

She sighed in comprehension.

“Come on then. We have to hurry.”

You rushed out into the daylight, surrounded by the screams and running feet of the people still left on the streets. There was a droning, grinding sound, pulsing louder and louder overhead and you looked up towards it.

“Oh my God!”

The skies above the city were full as row upon row of German bombers flew over like a swarm of locusts. The rat tat tat of anti aircraft fire echoed around you as you realized what you were seeing. The bomb bay doors of some several hundred enemy planes were wide open, fat, dark objects pouring from their bellies and plummeting toward the ground.

The earth around you shook from the guns and you could hear the BOOM CRUMP CRUMP of heavy bombs finding their targets, not too far away from where you stood paralyzed.

“Get in the shelter! Now!” margot’s scream roused you as the bombs continued to fall, closer and closer.

There was the rumble and crack of them tearing buildings apart, the terrified screams of women as they ran for cover. Through the thickening dust you could see the formations overhead, watching as scores of Spitfires and Hurricanes came screeching into the arena, lines of tracer fire streaking across the sky. A bomber was hit and you saw it dive, breaking apart. The Spitfire behind it twisting and spinning into position behind a German fighter.

He was up there. You knew it and you couldn’t look away, no matter what you saw.

The same Spitfire fell into a terrifying spin and you held your breath as he plummeted toward the ground, pulling out in time and racing back into the thick of the fighting.

Suddenly there was a BOOM beside you and the ground shifted, knocking you into the air to land with bone-jarring force on the street. You were lucky that Jack’s blazer and the thick denim of your work clothes protected your skin from the concrete and you lay trying to catch your breath as rubble landed around you, explosions popping from all directions.

Your ears rang and acrid smoke filled your nostrils as you crawled over the pavement toward the shelter entrance. Two sets of arms hauled you up, your body screaming as they dragged you inside and down the wooden steps.

“I’m ok.” You managed to croak as one of the girls forced a tin cup of tepid water to your lips. “Where’s Margot?”

“I’m here, you idiot.” she pushed through, a blanket in her hands. “You like a fright Y/N, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Spitfires.”

“I’m starting to think your Jack is the one who should be worried, not you. You have a death wish.”

More explosions rumbled around you, everyone in the shelter jumping as the earth shook.

“I think they hit the factory. There’s hundreds of them. It's not just certain areas, they’re just bombing the entire city.”

Margot managed to get you over to a cot, helping you clean up as best you could. There was brick dust and soot all over you, all over Jack’s blazer and you shook it out before hugging the wool close. It still smelled like him, faintly now. When you thought about how close you’d come to losing it you wanted to be sick. Instead you curled up under the blanket as your head ached and spun, Margot sitting sentry silently beside you.

It was an hour before the sirens stopped and the all clear was given. Your head pounded and you could feel the bruises forming all over your body. There was a large graze on your cheek and a cut across your forehead that had bled like a bitch. White dust coated your hair, making it itch. But you were ok. You had survived.

The sight that greeted you as you exited the shelter was nothing short of the end of the world. A huge crater surrounded by rubble marked where the main floor of the factory had once been. What little was left standing was engulfed in an inferno. The street was full of rubble, crumpled and mangled vehicles and fire seemed to rage all around you.

“We have to get back to the boardinghouse.” Margot called through the smoke.

You nodded, moving toward what seemed like a clear path. The building beside you groaned and you both screamed  and jumped as it came toppling down in a rain of stone, dust and flame, crashing into the street where you had just been standing. A little further along you met another huge crater. Margot tried to tug you back as you stepped to the edge.

“Leave it Y/N, there’s nothing we can do for anyone in there.”

She was right of course, you realized when you saw what lay inside. You gasped, hand covering your mouth as you looked over the remains of what used to be a trolley car, the crushed and dismembered pieces of what used to be its passengers scattered about the hole. A young woman lay there, no older than you, like a brokendoll, her vacant dead eyes staring at you accusingly, half her body ripped to shreds by fractured metal.

Bile rose and you scrambled away from the edge, falling to your knees in the ruined street, gasping and vomiting, tears streaming and your chest tightening.

“Oh God, oh God oh God.” you were almost hysterical as Margot pulled you back to your feet.

“Y/N, you have to stop. We have to get out of here. You know they’ll be back. It's not over. I need you to calm down.”

She held your head, forcing you to look at her, to watch her take deep, calming breaths which your body slowly started to mimic as you managed to gain control of yourself again.

“Are you with me?”

“I’m with you.”

You walked arm in arm, avoiding the craters and the piles of stone. Explosions still rocked areas in the city, flames meeting petrol and other incendiary materials. It was strange, you thought, as you made your way through the streets. Whole blocks had been left untouched except for dust and paper debris while others had just been decimated.

Here and there bodies lay in the streets, some volunteers from the ambulance corps already there to cover them up and check to see if any might still be alive. You felt completely useless against the sheer enormity of the horror, what did you even know how to do?

Your neighbourhood had been left untouched and you wanted to weep with relief when you saw all the other girls crowded outside the house beside a Red Cross lorry. Della and Dolores rushed over, screeching, sure until that moment that you and Margot had been lost in the factory explosion.

“They need volunteers,” Dolores was explaining as Della forced water over your face, tutting over the injuries when you winced. “They want people to go back in and help look for survivors who might be trapped.”

“You know they’ll come again, right?” you handed a canteen of water to Margot, who had reappeared from inside the house with two sandwiches.

“That’s why they want ‘volunteers’, it’s going to be dangerous no matter what.”

“Well, count me in. Margot?”

“I’m sure as hell not sitting around for the next bomb to drop so I guess I’m going too.”

You were taken to an area of the city where the fires hadn’t reached yet. Piles of stone and brick was all that remained of the whole street, a few skeletal wooden frames still standing. But not for long. Men and women, civilians and Corps rushed back and forth with stretchers, supplies and survivors who were dazed and injured.

“Here.” A man handed you Red Cross armbands, which you slid over the arms of Jack’s blazer, and a bag filled with bandages, alcohol and water. “Check for signs of life, if they’re dead then mark them with the grease pencil. Listen for survivors trapped under the rubble. Call out if you hear anyone. Get as many people as you can into the Tube, there’s a triage set up down there. Do not, under any circumstances, go into a structure, even if it looks solid. Call for help if you hear someone inside. Any questions?”

You all shook your heads, dispersing to help the volunteers already in the thick of things. What seemed like hours passed as you hauled stone, dug into wreckage and searched for survivors. More often than not you simply were marking bodies for pick up.

“Over here!” Margot called suddenly. “Hurry!”

Sticking out of the rubble was a child’s arm, fingers grasping, still alive. With a cry for help you scrambled onto the pile, tearing up your hands as you dug at the wreckage.

“Hold on honey, we’re coming! Della, Dolores, help!”

The four of you dug around the arm, revealing the face of a little boy, no more than four years old. His face was black and red with soot and blood, one eye swollen completely shut.

“Mummy! I want my mummy!” he started crying the moment his head was free.

His mother was dead, half her body covering his, under the rubble. She’d died protecting him. Tears streaming down your cheeks you worked to free him, noticing one little leg was broken.

“Here sweetheart, have some of this.” you let him sip of the water, gently wiping his face and knowing how much moving him was going to hurt. Margot had run for a stretcher, Della and Dolores were out of sight, called to help someone else. You had been left alone to comfort the child.

“Where’s my mummy?” You cried as you held him, keeping his head turned away from where her body lay a few feet away.

You murmured words of comfort to try and keep his mind off his pain and fear. Stroking his forehead you told him about the heroic pilots you’d seen while he spun in and out of consciousness.

“Over here! Hurry please!” you heard Margot’s voice and sat up to see her about half a block away, two men with a stretcher following behind her. Standing up you waved, glad to see her, smiling as she waved back, pointing the way to help.

2pm

You hand stilled in midair as the sirens began to screech, the familiar and terrifying grinding noise of German bombers quickly filling the air. Everything slowed down as you turned your face to the sky, horrified as it turned black with swarms of planes.

They were right above you, rows of death, black spots falling from their cavernous insides toward you.

You spun, time almost standing still, a scream dying on your lips as the ground in front of Margot suddenly erupted in a geyser of earth, stone and fire. Your body was thrown forward, over the screaming child in your charge, soundless screams tearing from your throat as you saw the crater stained red where your best friend had just been standing.

There was nothing left.

Moments passed in a daze as bombs rained down around your city, volunteers running past you for the shelter of the Tube.

“Oy, luv, come on, let’s go!” An older man clambered up to you, taking in the situation. “You need to get your boy to safety! Here now, that’s the way.”

His arm came around you, helping you to your feet. The boy screamed as he was lifted, bringing you back.

“His leg’s broken, we shouldn’t move him.”

“Better a few minutes of pain than dead miss. Let’s go, I’ll help you.”

The child hollering in your arms, helped you down from the rubble, running beside you, his hand on your back as he led you to the Underground.

“Here now, miss, you’ll be safe down ‘ere.”

He handed you off to a volunteer before disappearing, lost in the sea of terrified civilians. The boy was taken from you into the triage area, closed off by hanging sheets. The screams and moans coming from behind them left no-one in any doubt of what was happening behind them.

“Come with me miss, looks like you could use some help.” An elderly Nurse drew you behind the sheets, sitting beside you.

You looked around at medics trying to save lives, set broken limbs and stitch gashes. An exhausted looking doctor with blood covering his apron walked past you, wiping his brow and barking orders. A pale arm hung from under a sheet as a stretcher was carried past you into the tunnel. A decent look in that direction made you wish you could be anywhere but inside that Underground tomb. Bodies covered in sheets lined both sides of the tunnel, as far as your eye could see in the darkness. Hundreds of people. Men, women, children, it was unfathomable.

The nurse began to clean your face and hands and you winced when she dabbed at your skin with alcohol. Tears streaked through the dirt and blood on your face, dripping onto the sleeve of the blazer.

“I’m going to have to stitch this.” the Nurse handed you a bottle of brandy, motioning that you should drink it. “I’ve no anesthetic, this won’t be pleasant.”

You didn’t care, pain meant you were alive, unlike Margot. She would never feel anything again. You drank heavily from the bottle, the alcohol burning its way into your stomach as the Nurse applied the needle to your face.

The pain was nothing compared to what you felt in your heart.

“Y/N.” a whisper beside you, Dolores with Della standing beside her, dirt covering them. “Where’s Margot?”

Sobs rose in your throat as you shook your head, unable to put it into words. Dolores sat beside you, holding you against her shoulder as the Nurse kept stitching, Della kneeling to clean and dress your torn and broken skin.

There were no words to be spoken, nothing that could even be said to make sense of it.

When the bombs stopped falling finally at dusk you all made your way home, silently.

When morning came you didn’t move from your bed, that part of Jack wrapped around you, dirty and bloody, his letters safe. Dolores sat on the bed a copy of the paper open to the front page. They were calling it The Battle of Britain, a decisive victory with poetic speeches about the bravery of the pilots who’d risked their lives, “The Few” they were being hailed as, heroes they certainly were.

“Here, this came for you. Hand delivered.” Dolores handed you an envelope with your name and address scrawled on it in writing that wasn’t Jack’s.

With rising fear you stared at it, noting the dirty fingerprints. Your hands shook as you tried to open it and Dolores had to take it from you to finish. You watched her slide out a single slip of paper, it looked as though it had been torn from a flight book, crumpled and filthy. She looked it over and handed it to you without a word.

It was his writing, seven words scribbled across a page streaked with petrol and tears. And they made you weep.

“I’m alive. I love you. Forgive me.”

“He’s ok, thank God he’s ok.”

Dolores simply lay down beside you, holding you while you both wept.

[northeasternwind]

heyho more jack crushing on reaper prefall stuff

The first half was written at work and the second half hasn’t even been proofread so have fun with that lol. this is the version where they actually do end up banging, as opposed to the other version which is a comedy consisting of gabe trying to fight off jack’s only-obvious-if-you-know-already advances while trying not to let on that he knows SHOUT OUT T SOLRIKA FOR THE HELP AND PROVIDING LINES HEHEHEHE.

Walking into a firefight with no weapons or armor was not, sadly enough, the worst idea Jack Morrison had had lately. But a quick peek into Gabriel’s files revealed that Reaper was in town again, and that his next probable target was significantly more competent than his last. Reaper had a proficiency in battle so impressive it made Jack hot under the collar, but knowing he was so close to home made him worry, and so he’d made some excuse about fresh air and went out in his civilian clothes to loiter nearby.

Maybe he would spot Jack and give up this particular criminal pursuit in favor of something they’d both enjoy a little more. It was a nice thought.

What actually happened, unfortunately, was less pleasant than either of them had hoped: it ended with Jack weaving his way silently through the battlefield, heart pounding, dragging the wounded Reaper quietly out of sight while their enemies picked through the rubble to finish him off.

Jack couldn’t very well take him to headquarters; that was bond to set off an alarm or two and cause trouble for them both, authority be damned. Once out of earshot of the battlefield he turned instead to one of Gabriel’s safehouses, a precaution Jack had considered overly paranoid before but now appreciated.

Gabriel. Jack was probably undermining his best friend’s efforts to bring Reaper to justice, and now using the man’s own safehouse to do it. But, Jack thinks, his grip on Reaper tightening, even if Gabriel would disapprove he might at least understand, because if there was anything Gabe excelled at it was reading and acknowledging Jack’s feelings—

Pain lanced through Jack’s side, punching the air out of him and stopping him dead in his tracks. He didn’t have to look down to realize what had caused it: Reaper had dug his claws into Jack’s shirt as hard as he could, and was currently doing his damndest to squirm free of Jack’s grip.

“Hey—” Fortunately Jack was stronger, hitching Reaper more securely about his shoulders. “Cut that— Ow! What’s wrong?”

Reaper’s ragged breath was the only answer he received, but the trembling fist in Jack’s shirt spoke volumes. He was definitely anxious about something, but without a voice there was no way for him to indicate what.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe where I can patch you up, and then you can leave,” Jack promised. “You’re not in any position to be doing it yourself, buddy.”

Reaper’s shoulders slumped and his grip loosened, leaving Jack to assume begrudging acceptance. Without any further complications Jack lugged his companion to Gabe’s safehouse, depositing him carefully on the nearest couch and leaving to fish the first aid kit out of the bathroom.

“This place isn’t actually mine,” Jack called back to him as he searched. “So we’ll have to get you out of here as quickly as possible. Which seems to be what you want anyway, but you’re not going until I know you’re not going to bleed out in a dark corner somewhere.”

Reaper had barely moved an inch when Jack returned, a bad sign for one who had presumably seen his fair share of injuries. The furniture had been specifically chosen to make cleaning up less of a hassle, but that only made the amount of blood staining the couch look even more alarming. Jack swallowed against his will and settled in on the floor next to Reaper, getting to work on all the belts holding his coat closed—

Suddenly there were claws on Jack’s wrist, and when he started and looked up the other man shook his head furiously.

“Oh come on,” Jack said. “If you die I’ll find out who you are anyway.”

Reaper shook his head again, reaching up with his left hand to take a fistful of Jack’s hair. Tapping once on his skull. Reaper’s pantomime for no.

“It’s going to be hard to wrap you up with that thing in the way.”

Jack winced as Reaper’s grip tightened and he tapped on Jack’s head again. No.

“…Suit yourself.”

With a tightness in his throat he couldn’t explain Jack went back to work, disinfecting and binding Reaper’s wounds as best he could with the coat in the way. Sometimes there was simply no getting around cutting pieces off first, but Reaper shied away from the knife every time Jack brought it close and tapped no if he cut off too much.

“Hey,” Jack said with a softness he hadn’t intended. “I already said I wasn’t going to take it off.”

But Reaper did not relax, and no amount of gentle reassurance could make him do so. His whole body was pulled taut, ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice, and Jack couldn’t stop the wave of helpless frustration the thought sent through him.

He’s just being cautious with a natural enemy, Jack reminded himself. Like I should be. But that knowledge didn’t change the irrational pain of knowing how little Reaper trusted him with this—his identity or his life.

Reaper’s obvious suffering and fear struck deeper, however; no matter how many times Gabriel and Torbjörn warned against a bleeding heart it was simply impossible to restrain his need to help, to do something even if he could regret it in the future. And Reaper especially was…

Without warning Reaper surged upwards and toppled Jack off the couch, pinning him on the floor with his claws around Jack’s throat. For a moment Jack knew a blinding fear and bitter regret, but when Reaper didn’t take the opportunity to slit his throat he restrained the urge to defend himself. Reaper shook so violently he risked cutting Jack open by accident, and after hastily sorting through his distracted memory Jack caught the problem.

“I—I wasn’t going to take it off,” he said. “I was trying to get at your shoulder—I wasn’t trying to touch your mask at all, I swear. I’m sorry.”

Reaper’s chest heaved in his distress, but such a sudden exertion seemed to make his decision easier; he slid off of Jack with more effort than it should have taken and collapsed onto his back, throwing an arm over his face. He trembled pitifully, and something in Jack’s chest tightened.

For all that Jack had every right to know who Reaper was under the mask, he’d said sorry. And he meant it. He… would rather go on not knowing than see the man so upset.

Fuck.

“Hey. Let’s get you patched up, alright? I don’t want to hurt you, so try to relax.” Jack pushed himself upright and carefully scooped Reaper into his arms—the couch was still the best place to take care of him. He offered no resistance at all, only stiffening as Jack inevitably jostled his wounds placing him back on the couch. “I’ll try to move more slowly from now on. Come on, just rest…”

Reaper made a noise that could have been either frustration or pain. Jack bit his lip; he should have known better than to think not being able to see Reaper’s face would make this easier to bear. He took a deep breath and reached for Reaper’s shoulder. “Alright, I’m gonna need to see that shoulder. Try not to panic this time, you hear?”

It was a wonder Reaper had any movement at all in that arm, Jack thought idly, reminded of his own accelerated healing. “I’ll get you something for the pain when I’m done—if you’ll take it while I’m still here. Although I bet a guy like you would knock them back dry under these circumstances.” Talking would probably keep his mind off things better… “You’re a real headache, you know that? Getting up to mischief less than twenty miles from Overwatch HQ. I can help you out on the streets, but you’re more likely to get the fake combat routine the minute you step inside.

“Hell, you’d better not step inside at all, because if you do I’m going to assume you’re there to kill more of my people.” Jack paused for a moment, willing the anger out of his limbs so he wouldn’t hurt Reaper without meaning to. “…We’ve been through this before. There’s no point in saying it all again.”

There wasn’t. Reaper could neither justify his actions nor apologize for them, and Jack had a feeling that even if he could he would do neither. Was it because he believed himself morally justified, or because he simply didn’t regret the loss of life? Jack didn’t know enough about him to tell.

Jack’s teeth were ground together so tightly his jaw was beginning to hurt, so he took a deep breath and tried to relax. “…Sorry. I don’t know whether I have the right to take this all out on you.”

Even Jack wasn’t foolish enough to admit it out loud and give Reaper the chance to betray him, but for all his anger the thought of Reaper in any kind of pain, physical or emotional, made him sick. He didn’t want to turn a blind eye to Reaper’s crimes. He didn’t want to betray his friends like this. He didn’t want to bite his tongue and smother his own discontent, but the only person he could speak to about it was Reaper and he didn’t want to hurt Reaper.

“Whatever,” he said gruffly, finishing up with the last piece of gauze. “I just hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you. You don’t have to thank me, but you’d better understand—”

Understand what?

“—how much effort this took,” he finished, rising to his feet. “You can leave if you want to, but you’re clearly in no state to go anywhere and I’m not leaving you in a friend’s safehouse by yourself, so I’m gonna get some shuteye. I suggest you do the same.”

He turned to go, but a hand on his stopped him. He had half a mind to shake it off and continue, but in the end he turned to see what Reaper wanted. The mask leered up at him impassively. The hand tugged softly.

“…You want me to stay with you?”

Two taps. Yes.

Jack hesitated, then sighed. “I’m carrying you to the bed. There’s no way we’ll both fit on that thing, so don’t complain if it hurts.”

For the third time that night Jack lifted Reaper into his arms and carried him to the bedroom. Getting the sheets off with his hands full was unlikely to be worth the effort when neither of them had any intention of getting undressed, so he simply laid Reaper upon the bed and kicked his shoes off before settling in next to him, tucking Reaper’s head into the crook of his shoulder.

“G’night. You bastard,” he added as an afterthought.

Reaper’s shoulders shook in what might have been a laugh, and slowly, laboriously he brought an arm around Jack before going still.

Jack closed his eyes. He’d think of a suitable excuse for the others in the morning.

Jack woke to an empty bed, a spotless safehouse and a note on the table.

Be fine. Thanks.

[lavotha]

There are always two sides to a story

In Zen thinking, “Nothing is what it seems” is why you should question everything, as people’s intentions are not always clear. Or, simply said: Don’t judge a book by its cover!, a phrase dating back to the mid-19th century.

I was a competitive swimmer for my local club in the suburbs of Buenos Aires during my teens, and I love to swim in rivers and especially in the sea. So, I can best explain how this unprecedented world situation feels to me, by comparing it with getting caught in an undertow at the beach, sucked under a big wave. You get disoriented while the wave holds you down for what seems several eternal seconds until it lifts you again a few feet out, behind the breaking wave. Your heart is literally in your throat, and you feel like a puppet. The best is to try to keep calm, and then swim upward to the surface. You swallow the salty water getting choked, but then you spit it out and breathe again!

On December 31, 2019, Chinese authorities alerted the World Health Organization of pneumonia cases in Wuhan City, Hubei province, China, with an unknown cause. Immediately after you start hearing alarming news announced by “so-called” experts, that the virus will infect and kill millions, based on unproven facts and faulty comparisons, later refuted. Panic ensues crowding the health care system in affected countries. Instead of helping those nations to cope, the world goes into lockdown! Every man for himself. Information comes fast and pounding like a giant wave, more like a Tsunami that spares nothing on its path!

Nothing gets media coverage but “the virus” as if nothing else matters in the world. (I refuse to use its proper denomination because it is getting far too much PR from everybody else.) Drowned under waves of sensationalist news, you have to gain your calm, reflect, sort out the information, and find the real facts, compare, and form a personal opinion. Then start searching avidly and systematically for the other side, because there are always two sides to a story, never forget that!

Fear is a powerful drug

An experienced journalist friend of ours told me recently, “There is no oxygen in the media for other opinions at this time.”  The counting of the virus victims worldwide is published everywhere, day-in-and-day-out obsessively and relentlessly, as never done before! It plays on the fear of dying most of us have, causing extreme anxiety, known as Thanatophobia. (In Greek language, Thanatos refers to death, and Phobos means fear.)

Having lived under the military ruling in Argentina during my youth, I know by experience that fear is a powerful drug used by totalitarian regimes. The goal is to create an enemy, real or perceived, and then offer protection, demand total obedience, and end up exerting massive control of the population. I reacted to the present situation with the same alarm bells ringing in my whole body. How comes that with viruses every season and a plethora of other illnesses, there has never been daily worldwide public counting? Immediately, I ask myself: Are they trying to create panic and scare us purposely?

Respect other people’s opinions but dare to voice yours!

My moral values, my principles, my deeply set beliefs that have served me all my life are the underlying truths on which I base my dealings with the world. When somebody starts challenging those values and beliefs, I immediately question, especially when they are testing my fundamentals of humanity. I may not get the answers, but I will keep challenging. I have been an avid reader since a young age and I am very curious. I ask so many questions that my husband says I am like a 5-year old child. Well, I nurture that child inside me and hope it never leaves me, because it helps me in my quest for truth and meaning, particularly during difficult times.

Daniel Patrick Moynihan said: “Everyone is entitled to his opinion, but not his own facts.” I do respect other people’s opinions, but at the same time, I am more of an independent thinker. However, through the years, I learned the hard way that it is better to encourage dialogue, not hostility. You do not grow and evolve by arguing with others, but by gaining new insights, exchanging opinions, and perspectives.

You are guided in your reasoning by your experiences, good or bad. Writer B.J. Neblett said: “We are the total of our experiences. Those experiences – be they positive or negative – make us the person we are at any given point in our lives. And, like a flowing river, those same experiences, and those yet to come, continue to influence and reshape the person we are and the person we become. None of us are the same as we were yesterday, nor will be tomorrow.”

Are we losing our humanity?

I remember growing up in Buenos Aires, whenever a friend or member of the family was ill, everybody in his entourage took turns in keeping him company in the hospital or at home. Are we now being asked to leave suffering people alone? It is common knowledge that human contact helps healing, a gentle embrace, touching a hand can not only lower stress levels but also boost the immune system and promote healing. Will the human touch become obsolete? Are we going to treat every illness, every virus through isolation? Are we losing our humanity?

Humanity is the human race, which includes everyone on Earth. It also defines the qualities that make us human, such as the ability to love and have compassion by helping one another, and not be a robot or alien.The word humanity is from the Latin humanitas for “human nature, kindness.” Humanity is about caring for and helping others whenever and wherever possible; it means giving a hand when they need it the most; it is about extending unconditional love to each other and every living being on Earth. Humaneness is the quality of compassion or consideration for others, people, and animals.

Love your neighbor as yourself – Mark 12:31

Do you believe that we find strength through unity? I certainly do, but it seems to have been replaced by Run for cover and forsaking all others save yourself! In the name of the good of all, most countries agreed to go into confinement, some more than others, at different stages, in a domino effect. The slogan everywhere is: Stay home until we say so! It seems incredible that this is happening on a worldwide level!

Life in Monaco under lockdown since March 17 is calm and very civilized. I just learned it will go on till May 3. The Prince’s Government has confidence in the population and vice versa, and decide the best way to protect the people. The Mayor and his team efficiently reorganized our local market in respect of social distancing measures. Additionally, they put together a vendors’ delivery system, including pharmacies, plus meals home delivery for those who need it. The Princess Grace Hospital created a special unit to treat patients affected by the virus who need extra care.

Additionally, they offer treatment consultation online for outpatients who remain in their homes, thus avoiding overcharging the hospital. The Government strengthened psychological assistance by establishing a call center providing support during self-isolation. I find it to be a very conscientious overall approach to the situation.

We may go outdoors for brief exercise or jogging or walk the dog, allowing our bodies to absorb the necessary Vitamin D from the sun, breathe fresh air, and feel alive. The Government demonstrates they care for the overall health of the people over and beyond the virus threat, applying common sense. We made the right decision moving to Old Europe end of 2003.

View of the Monte-Carlo Casino, April 5, 2020 @Celina Lafuente de Lavotha

The market in the Condamine organized during confinement, Monaco, April 5, 2020 @Celina Lafuente de Lavotha

Remnants of the Grand Prix installations in Port Hercule, Monaco, April 5, 2020 @Celina Lafuente de Lavotha

Deserted street in the heart of Monte-Carlo, Monaco, April 5, 2020 @Celina Lafuente de Lavotha

Boulevard des Moulins with its empty boutiques, Monaco, April 5, 2020@Celina Lafuente de Lavotha

In some countries, confinement rules are far stricter, and in some cases starting to be highly oppressive, forcing authoritarian practices on their people. Civil liberties that took so much effort to conquer are being challenged. While we are in a safe and comfortable position in the Principality, I do care what happens to other fellow citizens around the world, and it has direct consequences on all of us because we are interconnected.

On the other side of the spectrum, Sweden chose not to lockdown, exercising the right to national autonomy versus totally adhering to, what seems, harsh authoritarian “new world order” demands. The Government issued sanitary guidelines, but is totally confident on their people to take responsibility themselves.

While I agree that our planet is getting a deserved rest from our overconsumption, people around the world are already suffering the catastrophic consequences of the lockdown at a social, health, and economic level. In many countries, small and medium-sized businesses will face foreclosure, unable to ride the mounting crisis.  The stock market is a roller coaster crushing many. Has the world economy been purposely reset? If so, who will benefit? Follow the money. (A catchphrase in the film All President’s Men, 1976.) 

People living from paycheck to paycheck are not even able to buy goods to endure the quarantine. Millions are already losing their jobs everywhere, and with that, their sanity and livelihood, suicide, and domestic violence are on the rise, healthy people are suffering in isolation, many in very tight quarters. The bells of the church continue to ring calling worshipers but nobody is allowed in at a time they need it the most. These issues and many others are not making headlines in the media saturated by the virus.

Everybody anxiously wonders when this kind of house arrest will end in his or her country. It makes my skin crawl when I hear proposals of massive mandatory vaccination against “the virus,” as a certificate to get out of confinement, followed by tracking and digital control of the population. Isn’t compulsory vaccination against our human rights? Do we want biometric ID systems and big data algorithms to control our lives?

Keep close to nature’s heart!

I grew up in Argentina, playing the entire time outdoors; I could not wait to get out of the house and meet my friends on the street. We drank water from a hose, played in the dirt, run in the fields, and climbed trees! We got runny noses when we had a cold; we stayed in bed a few days, had plenty of vegetable soup and chamomile tea, and lots of gentle cuddling. Our smart and adaptive immune system did the rest. My adorable grandma, who was from Spain, told me that our body is a fortress with guards who run from place to place, seeking for invaders! She nurtured the belief in my immune system. I often say that living in a developing country helped me build antibodies that ward off diseases!

But do not take just my word for it; research shows that spending time in nature is good for our bodies, minds, and spirits. That makes me wonder why we are all under forced quarantine, not only people who are ill but also the majority who are healthy. Most don’t have sunny balconies, houses with gardens, or villas with a pool and lots of space, or live on a farm or in the mountains. Research indicates that social isolation and loneliness can affect physical and mental health, and long-term isolation even increases the risk of premature death. That makes me wonder: Is placing healthy people in quarantine worsening their health more than the virus itself? Every life matters!

I invite you to read an interesting article from Harvard Health Publications titled “A prescription for better health: go alfresco,” as well as studies published in the Journal of Environmental Psychology, that acknowledges the value of spending time out in the sunshine.

The benefits of being outdoors are many. To start higher levels of Vitamin D from direct sunlight, which is known to help fight off osteoporosis, cancer, and depression, and can modulate the innate and adaptive immune responses. It offers the potential for faster healing, as spending time in the sun could help you get over an illness or injury faster. Studies show that those exposed to more natural light have quicker recoveries and experience less pain than those exposed to artificial light.

When we are outside, we are more likely to engage in physical activity than being indoors. Going outside can get your brain moving thanks to the sensory stimulation that nature provides, providing a better sense of overall health. Psychologist’s studies link time spent out in fresh air and sunshine to greater vitality, thus helping our bodies become more resilient to illness. Spending time outside greater feelings of happiness – We have a natural connection to living things, so when we are out in nature, we feel we belong in our environment and foster a sunny disposition.As said in an article by the University of Rochester, “Being outside in nature makes people feel alive.” 

Yes, I do comply with the current social distancing and quarantine rules; we eat healthy thanks to living with a man who loves to cook, I take extra vitamins, go briefly for a jog outdoors, and workout inside to keep in shape. But that does not mean I stopped thinking and questioning!

Today’s Quote 

“No oppressive order could permit the oppressed to begin to question: Why?” Paulo Freire

Postcards from confinement

I am grateful for my friends around the world for contributing photos from their towns. I hope we will all be able to regain our freedom and visit each other soon!

Nice, France – Olivier Huitel, Chrystal Pictures

The man and the sea, Nice, France April 9, 2020@OH Chrystal Pictures

The lonely beaches, Nice, France, April 9, 2020 @OH Chrystal Pictures

Promenade des Anglais, Nice, France, April 9, 2020 @OH Chrystal Pictures

The priest outside his church, Nice, France, April 9, 2020 @OH Chrystal Pictures

Bergen, Norway – Joaquin Tiago

Bergen, Norway last week in February 2020@Joaquin Tiago

Bergen, Norway (2)last week in February 2020@Joaquin Tiago

Buenos Aires, Argentina – Juli Urmenyi

El Obelisco, Avenida 9 de Julio, Buenos Aires, Argentina April 5, 2020@Juli Urmenyi

Children’s park closed, Buenos Aires, Argentina April 5, 2020@Juli Urmenyi

View of Tribunales from Plaza Lavalle, Buenos Aires, Argentina, April 5, 2020 @Juli Urmenyi

Paris, France – Lorene Edelstam

Voltaire observing the tourists Paris April 5 2020 @Lorene Edelstam

The lonely jogger along Quai Anatole France, Paris, April 5, 2020. @Lorene Edelstam

Lonely tourists strolling by an empthy Les Deux Magots, Paris, April 5, 2020 @Lorene Edelstam

Lockdown park in Paris, April 5, 2020 @Lorene Edelstam

London, UK – Ella Montclare

Pink masks and pink flowers, Kensington Gardens, London, UK, April 7, 2020 @Ella Montclare

The masked jogger along Serpentine Lake, London, UK April 5, 2020@Ella Montclare

Lonely Jogger passing Prince Albert Memorial, Kensington, UK April 5, 2020 @Ella Montclare

Swans practising social distance at the Round Pond, Kensington, London, UK April 5, 2020@Ella Montclare

From my Rear Window, Nothing is What it Seems There are always two sides to a story In Zen thinking, "Nothing is what it seems"