I am…free. I am safe. This is home; the Glitch does not control me here. I can move as I please, where I please…I am allowed. I am, really. Yet as his brothers took their places at the table for dinner, Henrik wavered.
There were no chairs in the cell that was his home for nine months, only chains strung from the ceiling to keep him on his feet day and night. Sitting was a long gone luxury and dinner was always placed just out of reach until—unless Anti felt generous enough to hear him out if he begged.
He would not beg like a dog again, he shouldn’t have to. But he couldn’t take initiative either.
“Henrik? Don’t just stand there; pull up a chair,” Jackie encouraged, voice light, though his eyes betrayed his worry as he watched Henrik’s shoulders slump in equal shame and relief.
We have suffered greatly from fear, displacement, and the destruction of our home and my clinic, and everything we literally own...
We want to save ourselves from what seems like an inevitable death.
I hope you can take a look at my campaign on the pinned post on my profile ,and help us by donating or sharing our campaign to reach the largest number of supporters.🌹🌹
Our campaign is verified by @90-ghost , @ibtisams , @el-shab-hussein , @nabulsi and @fairuzfan 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸
Thanks a lot in advance ❤️❤️❤️
Just donated, I hope you'll reach your goal quickly and get to safety 🙏
Fuck. Ao3 is down? I was gonna read my favorite sonic mpreg fiction. Now I just have to read my normal gay teen romance fiction. I wanted trans sonic pregnant with shadow's baby
Man can you imagine Anti calling Jackie on the phone while Henrik’s in the room during his nine months? Just letting the hero know that doctor is still alive. Letting poor Henrik talk to Jackie one last time. Ohhhh I’m into some angsty mood today :)
Oof that is some evil angst. Just Jackie’s face when an unknown caller ID pops on his phone screen, and he answers so fast. There’s silence from the other side of the line, maybe static crackling and he instantly gets a chill running down his spine, his heart beating faster. Louder.
Though, a scream breaks through the line and he almost drops his phone but that scream is so clear. He can tell that’s Henrik screaming, and soon Anti speaks. “Isn’t that beautiful? He has been screaming for you, hero.” The demon chuckles. “He’s a tough one. You’ve thought him well. I wonder how long he’ll last.” Before Jackie can even start tracing the call Anti hangs up, and Jackie hates himself all over again cause the one chance; the one clue he’s had in months he just lost.
Nine Months Kilenc hónap Hungary, 1976. Márta Mészáros 88 DCP
A defiant woman asserts her autonomy in the face of a disapproving society in Márta Mészáros’ complex look at the ways in which women’s bodies and minds are held in check by the strictures of patriarchy. Frequent Mészáros collaborator Lili Monori delivers a fearless performance as Juli, a young woman who begins a new job at a brick factory where she is immediately pursued by possessive coworker János (Jan Nowicki)—a relationship that grows complicated when he discovers that she is raising a son from a previous lover. Mészáros’ background as a documentarian is evident in her feeling for the industrial landscapes of Northern Hungary and in the astonishing final scene in which the boundaries between actress and character are radically dissolved.
[Jill just does such an excellent job. FIERI: That's Keys native Jill Jahn, whose dad knew the way to his daughter's heart. I was working as a waitress in Orlando for like nine months. The only time I've ever lived out of the Keys.]
50: lies, during Henrik's nine months imprisonment? Love your writing by the wsy❤
“It͘'s ti̴mę f̷or͝ ̴yo̶u̷r͠ ͡rec̡i͜tati̢on̡s,͠ doctoŗ. You've gott҉e͘n so͟ good̢ a͢t the̡m,͡ ͝h́aven̡'t y��o͞u͢? It ͟mu̷st͢ ͘be t̨h̢at͘ ͝natura̷l gif͡t f͜or g͡a̛b,” Anti sneered, sliding the flat of his knife over Schneeplestein’s neck. It was slick with sweat, his pulse frantically fluttering against the metal. “In͢herit͡ed ͠t͡h̀at͡ f̵rom y͡o͠ur pręci҉o̢uş ͘Ja͢c̸k. Heh, or no̢ţ s͝o͝ ͝pr̡eciou̢s…Say it. Whąt͞ we r͢e͢hea͟rsed.”
“J-Jack…” The doctor audibly swallowed, trembled viciously against the urge to cringe away. “…never c-cared. Never loved me. Used me to be the sacrificed lamb.”
“I̧f any of t̡h͜em͝ ca͘r͜ed, t̸h͠e͜y ͜would’v͘e͘ ̶sav̵ed y͏o̸u ͟by ņow!”