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talkingpointsusa · 8 months ago

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Charlie Kirk is mad about the campus protestors, his own persecution complex not being backed up by others, and some tents

Charlie Kirk's take on the pro-Palestinian campus protests across the country is about as stupid as you might expect. There's a very throwing shit to the wall to see what sticks vibe to this episode. Lets get into it.

09:33, Charlie Kirk: "The campus riots are ongoing and it's important to note that these universities are being enveloped by a beast of their own making. They did this, they did this to themselves. For the past 20 or 30 years especially, university campuses have been teaching students that pay tuition or go into debt to go to their institution a very specific worldview. The worldview goes as follows, that the world is broken between oppressors and oppressed. That the only distinction that matters is not a male-female distinction, a good or evil distinction, is a god or man distinction. The only distinction that matters is the distinction of whose in charge."

Right off the bat, Charlie clearly doesn't have any idea what he's talking about. Universities don't teach their students a net set of principles, they teach students the things that they've decided to learn about. I doubt that engineering and business students are learning extensively about power imbalances between oppressors and the oppressed. That's not even getting into the differences between how different institutions chose to conduct the way that they teach.

"A god or man distinction". Does Charlie want Christianity forcibly inserted into every place of higher learning? If you want to learn about the "god or man distinction", go to a Christian university or take religious studies courses.

Anyway, this episode was made before the police descended upon Columbia University and forcibly shut down peaceful student demonstrations so you get a lot of Charlie saying things that didn't age quite so well. Here's one of them.

11:00, Charlie Kirk: "And that is why you are seeing a paralysis at Columbia University. They don't quite know what to do because the students are not acting radically, the students are doing what they've been taught. The students are following orders."

Yeah, considering that they sent the police in to violently apprehend protestors the night that this episode aired this comment is pretty stupid in hindsight. To be fair to Charlie, it was pretty stupid the day he made it too. It completely takes agency away from the students who are at these demonstrations. They can't be speaking out against an injustice that they're seeing, no it's because they've been brainwashed by some ideology being pushed on colleges that Charlie has made up for the purposes of pushing his agenda. Charlie proceeds to put a picture of this protest sign up and riffs about it for way longer than any reasonable person should.

What a shock, there was a sign at a protest, the sky is falling. The fact that Charlie is this threatened by a protest sign speaks a lot about his character and how wrapped up in his whiteness he is. This sign wasn't even at the protest in Columbia, I found a picture of this sign posted on the Jordan Peterson subreddit 6 months ago and that transit sign to the left of the poster is a London underground sign. This wasn't even on a North American campus and I'm not even sure if it was on a campus at all! Do better Charlie!

Charlie Kirk's obsession with whiteness is another recurring theme in this episode as is his obsession with tents but we'll get to that later.

12:15, Charlie Kirk: "So the thrust is not necessarily just antisemitism which is definitely part of it."

No it isn't. Criticizing a governments actions isn't antisemitic, especially when that government is actively engaged in committing a genocide. If anyone is antisemitic, it's Charlie who believes that quote: “Some of the largest financiers of left-wing anti-white causes have been Jewish Americans” and that "Jewish communities have been pushing the exact kind of hatred against whites that they claim to want people to stop using against them."

12:32, Charlie Kirk: "And I want to be as clear as possible, what you are seeing at Columbia University. What you are seeing at Yale. What you're seeing at Harvard. What you're seeing at University of Washington which I am visiting by the way a week from today and if the encampment is still going on at University of Washington I'm gonna go right into the encampment and we'll see how that goes for them."

Charlie Kirk the internet tough guy strikes again.

I'm betting that he isn't going to do it and if he does he'll be flanked by security guards like he always is. "See how it goes for them". Yeah, how about you actually debate somebody who isn't a college student without making yourself look like a complete idiot.

13:00, Charlie Kirk: "These students are following orders. They're following instructions. This is what they've been taught. They have been studious. They've listened carefully to what the professors have been telling them."

As someone who is currently in college pursuing a bachelors in journalism, professors aren't trying to shove their political ideology down my throat - they're trying to teach me what I'm paying to learn. Like I said in a previous post, Charlie Kirk has somehow managed to monetize being a college dropout and that's really coming across in this episode.

13:38, Charlie Kirk: "Now let me pause. There are non-students involved in this as well. There are professional agitators or people that just enjoy a good fight against the system, anarchists that are showing up."

The first of many claims that Charlie Kirk makes in this episode without presenting any evidence to back it up. I guess Charlie's gut feel is all the evidence that his audience needs to draw a conclusion.

To be honest, that's really what a majority of Charlie Kirk's content is. Just vibes. Charlie decides to talk about Hamilton/Hind's Hall which is neither here nor there, just making nonsense claims and trying to make his audience scared of the protests. Here's a pretty big swing and a miss.

17:33, Charlie Kirk: "What happens on college campuses will soon happen in the halls of Congress. What happens in the halls of Congress will soon become laws that we have to live under. The college campuses are the bellweather, the harbinger, the canary in the coalmine. You see them rioting at Columbia today, what are they going to do in a downstream effect in the coming years?"

FEAR, FEAR, FEAR.

Does Charlie not realize that this isn't the first time a protest movement has occurred on a college campus? The Vietnam War student protests happened all the way back in the 60's and society is still intact.

But yeah, these protests on campus are going to overthrow the government. That's why they sent 80 busses to the Capitol and-wait, that was Charlie Kirk.

All this fear has got me in buying mode. Luckily, Charlie has me covered.

18:08, Charlie Kirk: "The sophisticated types in the Democrat Party are trying to get this to end as quickly as possible but this is a runaway train. This is the JV team that has become violent and it's not going away until the war ends between Israel and Gaza. These have become islands of revolutionary anarchy and it's putting on full display the true base of the Democrat Party. What do we have? ReliefFactor.com, 100% drug free-"

"The student protestors are gonna kill you and anarchy is nigh. By the way, buy the pain meds that I'm paid to plug now that I've scared you into being susceptible to my advertising."

That's about the most openly grifterish thing you can do as a "journalist". Absolutely no serious person follows up a story that is allegedly that serious with an ad pivot. Imagine if other journalists did this. "The president has been shot.....and now for a word from McDonalds. Have you tried the new Big Mac yet?"

It's almost as if Charlie doesn't believe a word that he's saying and just wants to make you afraid. There's an ad break for the radio and Charlie comes back and is still

25:25, Charlie Kirk: "There's no negotiating with these students and professional agitators. We have spent 11 years at Turning Point USA battling these maggots."

Nothing like dehumanizing people for exercising their freedom of speech. Also, "battling". Man, Charlie Kirk needs to get his head out of his ass before he twists himself into a pretzel.

You are a knockoff Ben Shapiro making videos where you OWN people who don't have media training and memorized talking points and half the time you STILL end up looking like a complete idiot. The only things that Charlie Kirk is "battling" are reality and truth.

We finally get to my favorite completely insane swing in this entire post, the titular tents. Get a load of this take and try and tell me that it doesn't sound like something that you might hear at a mental hospital.

29:25, Charlie Kirk: "And yes, many of these protests have George Soros NGO support. Do you notice how they all have the same tents? They all have the same color tents across the country."

The tents look similar guys! This is the smoking gun that has proven me completely wrong! Shows over guys because the tents look similar.

How is this even supposed to work? Are the students paid to protest for...reasons and then given the tent? Is the tent the payment? It's completely baseless and absurd. You know why all the tents look similar? Because they're the cheapest tents you can buy. These are college students, many of them can't afford fancy tents so they buy these cheap disposable ones for 15 bucks. You can buy this exact type of tent for ten dollars at Wal-Mart. They're cheap and easy to set up which makes them attractive to student demonstrators. No matter what side you are on regarding these protests, hopefully you look at this claim and find it ridiculous.

There's another ad break for the radio, Charlie comes back to do some more riffing and it's mainly nothing. This gem got my attention though.

45:48, Charlie Kirk: "And I have sympathy for American Jews that are very confused. However, I have impatience for American Jews that have put up with the anti-white sentiments the last decade and thought it was perfectly fine."

Told you that we'd get back to Charlie's obsession with whiteness. The context here is that Charlie played a clip of someone at a protest saying "We don't like white people here". Fine, that's still one person out of thousands of protestors and we don't know the context of that clip. Considering that the person who said that was white herself, I have a feeling that whoever was taking the video might have said something that triggered that response.

Charlie is so oppressed for being white that he's an extremely wealthy radio host who people take seriously despite his relative lack of qualifications. By the way, this is the guy who claims that the campus protestors are antisemitic.

"Yeah, you're antisemitic. By the way, I don't have patience for Jews because they don't engage in my imagined persecution complex."

47:11, Charlie Kirk: " So now Jews are experiencing the hate that we white people have been experiencing the last decade, and we've been warning against. Hey, you know that there's, like, a lot of venom against white people because of the color of their skin? Ah, too bad. Floydapalooza, BLM, diversity is our strength. And now all of a sudden, Jews are saying, this kinda feels like how we got to Auschwitz. This doesn't seem right. And I'm glad they're waking up, and it is how you get to mass murder. It is how you get to elimination by hating one group, by sectarianism and tribalism."

For starters, has this twat ever heard of the Holocaust? Hmm, seems like Jews have experienced a lot more that Charlie has. What "discrimination" has Charlie even experienced? People calling him out on his bullshit? These extremely privileged idiots whining about how the world is out to get them never ceases to amaze me.

Also, I guess that diversity and black people daring to have jobs will lead to a white genocide in Charlie's mind. Charlie's been getting a lot more extreme mask off as of late and this is another example of that. This is the kind of thing that you'd expect to hear Nick Fuentes spewing. Charlie plays a clip of a student trying to get to class and being blocked by protestors. That's just how protests work and the fact that somebody was filming this indicates that this was just someone trying to pick a fight for attention.

Remember those awkward ad transitions where Charlie goes on a rant about how we're all going to die and then shoves and ad down your throat? That's not gonna happen again right?

48:33, Charlie Kirk: "They hate you because now they consider you white. They consider you an oppressor. They consider you a toxin on society. What do we have? RuffGreens.com."

"The left thinks you're a toxin on society because you're white. Now buy my dog food."

Conclusion:

Well, we learnt about Charlie's bizarre thoughts on the campus protests. Turns out the only way to be a legitimate protest movement is by splurging and getting the good kind of tent, noted! Cheers and I'll see you in the next one.

Sources:

Original Video:

“Campus Protests Wreck the Left + the Great Replacement in Practice| Davis, Miller, Guliuzza | LIVE.” Rumble.com, 30 Apr. 2024.

Columbia Protests:

Ramirez-Simon, Diana, et al. “Dozens Arrested at Columbia University as New York Police Disperse Gaza Protest.” The Guardian, 1 May 2024.

“Today’s Campus Protests Aren’t Nearly as Big or Violent as Those Last Century — at Least, Not Yet.” AP News, 2 May 2024.

#right wing bullshit #conservative bullshit #journalism #fact checking #bad takes #conservatives #disinformation #politics #debunking #palestine #columbia university #charlie kirk

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adventuresinclientservice · 11 months ago

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What do you write when you've run out of things to write?

I never was a fan of the long-running television show Seinfeld, but the one thing about it I did like is it purports to be “A show about nothing.” I can relate, confessing there are times when I’m thinking Adventures is “A blog about nothing.”

Jerry Seinfeld of course is a comedian of note and I am anything but; even so, after three editions of The Art of Client Service, complemented by scores of workshops I’ve conducted and speeches I’ve given, plus posting for more than 13 years, it is hard, really hard to say something new about client service. My last two posts tried, but as I reread them, I realize “These are just recycled content cloaked in new stories.”

Let’s try something else: memorial tributes, given each is one-of-a-kind. If you want to revisit them, you might start with those captured here, but of all the celebratory pieces I’ve written, there’s one about the legendary songwriter/singer/guitarist/band leader Tom Petty that ranks as my all-time favorite.

So why is it that, in December of last year, I paid attention to The New York Times obit on Jim Ladd, which crowned him as a “Free-Form Radio Trailblazer?” He’s from my era of late-night listens to nascent underground FM broadcasts – in my hometown Philadelphia the station-of-choice was WMMR -- but that’s not why I read it.

Here's why: Ladd, it turns out, was “a rock institution and an inspiration for Tom Petty’s song The Last DJ.”

I’m an unrepentant Tom Petty fan; I love The Last DJ, not just the amazing, story-rich music it contains, but also the startling, I’ve never-seen-this-before-black-and-white graphics that graced its cover. Not many of you will relate; other than fellow rock travelers Ken Ohlemeyer and Michael Johnson, along with a few others, there’s little reason to care, but what drew me in is a quote from Ladd:

“Most of us never thought of it as a job… For us, it was more of a calling. We were guerrilla fighters for a generation of creative explorers, inmates who took over the asylum.”

If I didn’t know better, I would mistake Ladd’s comment for being about the advertising business in which I was and am still proudly part. Like Ladd, I think of our business as a calling, not a job, with many of us pioneers hellbent to explore creative in the broadest sense of the term.

This means being inventive, ingenious, and resourceful when it comes to writing a presentation or proposal; responding in a thoughtful, thorough way to an email laden with recrimination; defusing a client run amuck; talking a distressed colleague down off the ledge; or, addressing head-on whatever else needs restoration, repair, or resurrection. By this definition everything is creative, not just advertising.

When asked why he was allowed to follow his own muse when other D.J.s at the station were not, Ladd responded, “Stubbornness, stupidity, doggedness.”

On the title song of The Last DJ, Petty celebrates the DJ, “Who plays what he wants to play And says what he wants to say.” I get that writing memorial tributes makes no sense on a blog devoted to client service. All I can say is, with Adventures I get to say what I want to say, something to which I suspect both Jim Ladd and Tom Petty would agree.

As for being about these posts being about nothing, I recall Jerry Seinfeld. On those occasions when what I write appears to be about .. well, nothing, it seems that, for a few readers at least, that nothing turns out to be something.

#advertising #marketing #nothing #tom petty

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beljar · 3 years ago

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Talking nonsense is the sole privilege mankind possesses over the other organisms. It's by talking nonsense that one gets to the truth! I talk nonsense, therefore I'm human.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead

#fyodor dostoevsky #notes from underground #talking nonsense #white nights #the house of the dead #russian literature #dark acadamia aesthetic #classic literature #books and reading #world literature #quotes #spilled ink #dark academia

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loveinquotesposts · 5 years ago

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https://loveinquotes.com/and-so-since-then-ive-been-preaching-moreover-i-love-those-who-laugh-at-me-even-more-than-the-rest-why-i-dont-know-but-so-be-it-they-say-that-even-now-i-dont-make-much-sense/

And so, since then, I've been preaching. Moreover...I love those who laugh at me even more than the rest. Why, I don't know...but so be it. They say that even now I don't make much sense... ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground: with White Nights, The Dreams of a Ridiculous Man, and selections from The House of the Dead

#FyodorDostoevsky, #FyodorDostoevskyFyodorDostoevskyLoveQuotes, #FyodorDostoevskyLoveQuotes, #FyodorDostoevskyQuotes, #NotesFromUndergroundWithWhiteNights, #NotesFromUndergroundWithWhiteNightsQuotes

#Fyodor Dostoevsky #Fyodor Dostoevsky Fyodor-Dostoevsky-love quotes #Fyodor Dostoevsky love quotes #Fyodor Dostoevsky quotes #Notes from Underground: with White Nights #Notes from Underground: with White Nights quotes #LoveQuotes

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sproutysprout · 2 years ago

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a short recap/analysis of 'the pale princess and the six pygmies'

i've been re-reading the in-game books and i'd like to remind you of / introduce you to the wonderful anomaly that is 'the pale princess and the six pygmies'!

BACKGROUND

it's the book that an abyss mage is trying to steal during lisa's quest (which is not optional!), claiming it held an important secret relevant to the abyss order; at first, everyone was kinda confused by it: why are they looking for a/that specific fairytale? yes, it could be real, but what's so special about it? WELL, after this most recent (3.3) archon quest we know why - fairytales can survive irminsul memory erasure!! so the story in this book is highly likely to be one of those parables like the one nahida tells

THE CONTENTS OF THE BOOK

the first (and only available) volume provides a character description: the Night Mother (with no heart and no mouth, sin incarnate) who rules over the Land of Night and the Pale Princess who rules over the Moonlight Forest (where pale, blonde, blue-eyed people lived)

the previews for the other volumes introduce the other characters:

the Light Prince and the Six Pygmies. the former teams up with the Pale Princess to "*save* the Moonlight Forest". the pair then meets the six pygmies. however, the subsequent volumes insinuate that the pygmies are the antagonists/traitors - vol 5 describes the pygmies' plot as "sinister", and vol 6 describes their plot as "nefarious". this is a far cry from snow white and the 7 dwarves which the title seems to parallel (the dwarves weren't generally evil)

nevertheless, the "meeting" between the princess, prince and pygmies (vol. 4) seems to indicate an attempt at a truce. the last volume (vol 7) is just said to include the Night Mother's prophecy (which is most likely the main part relevant to the abyss order)

ANALYSES

NOW, there are so SO many analyses (and i'll cover some), but before I do I would like to point something out:

the fact that so many stories from vastly different periods could somehow fit this one story outline is VERY interesting, especially given the new context provided by the samsara quest, and the idea that "in this world, everything runs in a loop"

could this be the tale of the overall loop of teyvat?

anyways, i'll cover the following analyses in more or less detail:

the recent past

the current-ish events

the distant past

note on abbreviations: NM - the Night Mother, PP - the Pale Princess, LP - the Light Prince, 6P - the Six Pygmies, MF -the Moonlight Forest

NM - celestia*, PP - gold, 6P - archons, LP - ?albedo/dain/7th pygmy, MF - khaenriah

the Night Mother could be symbolizing Celestia. the best piece of evidence for this would be the quote "her punishments were always unexpected", which could be alluding to the celestial nails (at the same time, after a few of them you'd think they'd be more expected lol just don't make progress and try to know more than you should, and you should be good, ok? /j)

also! it has not been said that the night mother doesn't have eyes (unlike a mouth and a heart), which is interesting because visions have been described as "the heavens' eyes" by nahida

it is then possible that the moonlight forest could be Khaenri'ah. some evidence:

not ruled by the night mother (Khaenri'ah was said to be a goddless nation ruled by the people)

there was a "constant lack of sunlight" (Khaenri'ah was underground)

additionally, the following quote:

"The only thing she could not bear was the occasional ray of moonlight that made it through the clouds. The light that penetrated the walls of darkness always irritated her."

that light could represent human achievement / progress / arrogation, which we have repeatedly seen irks Celestia (most prominently in the case of Orobashi and Khaenri'ah)

this would make the Pale Princess someone like rhinedottir/gold, a.k.a. albedo's creator, as a master of the Art of Khemia and Alchemy (which has been shown to possess the ability to create life)

the Light Prince would then be someone who would be willing to help save Khaenriah, like dain or pierro or albedo (aether could also fit the description, especially after the most recent archon quest, but this wouldn't work for lumine so i'll discard it for the time being); alternatively it could be another Khaenrian (the king) or the 7th pygmy, but that means it would have to be either Venti or Zhongli (the only two male archons)

2. (the current-ish events) NM - ?; PP - 7th pygmy (tsaritsa?); LP - a khaenrian (pierro?); 6P - archons; MF - a nation (snezhnaya?)

the trouble here is the NM, bc Celestia does rule over the tsaritsa, so MF would be a part of the land of night, and i currently don't have an alternative

3. for the distant past it could be telling the story of the second who came and the seelie demise, and the seelies definitely match the description of the "light" inhabitants as well, so the LP could be the "master of the heavens" and the 6P would be the second who came (for some more "fall of the seelies" lore, please refer to this artifact set)

note that the analyses also heavily depend on how you answer the following questions:

are the Six Pygmies under the Night Mother's or the Pale Princess' juristiction, or are they independent entities? if so, which land are they native to?

is the light prince an inhabitant of the moonlight forest?

so, yeah, much to think about! (i also wanted to include a cross-referential analysis of the Night Mother/Pale Princess and Nottfriga/Madgalene from Hex & Hound, but dw we'll leave that for another day lol)

and that's a wrap!! that was a lot, and if you made it all the way here kudos to you, thanks for reading - here's a flower!

do let me know of any mistakes i made or any alternative analyses you enjoy!

[ more on my twitter @glazelilybloom ]

#genshin impact #genshin lore #genshin books #teyvat literature #the pale princess and the six pygmies #book analysis and recap #this was like a little schmoop take on this book lol #pp+6p #khaenriah lore #celestia lore #seelie lore #so much freaking lore i love it #ALSO i hope we get the other volumes in-game soon i want to read them and see how this parabola develops further!!!#原神 #genshin analysis #genshintwt

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thekillingjoke-haha · 4 years ago

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Prime Time,Bitch!

Tagged: @spnquotebingo the keep reading function is messing up for me

Sam said he was locked up tight in the dungeon. He was never locked in with her. She was locked in with him. The hunter becomes the hunted with no where to run.

Warning: Mature Language,Blood,Gore,Character Death?

-"Thoughts"- (they are red for those who can see)"Quotes" 'Reading'

"I'll be right back. This demon side is fighting to stay in control. I just need a few more pints of blood." Sam said as he slung a bag on his shoulder. "Yeah I got it get some food to!" Y/n said with a smile as she walked him to the impala. The roar of the engine rumbled as she waved him off going back inside what she didn't know was Dean knew that Sam just left and a chilling smile grew on his face.

Y/n popped popcorn as she sat in her room a horror movies playing as she got comfortable. A scream came from the movie drowning out the sound of the dungeon door opening up. The youngest Winchester laughed as a girl tripped over nothing her and Dean always make fun of them they had no real reason to hit the ground so they should get right up. This made her slightly sad. Was Sam going to fix Dean or was it already to late for him? Shaking off the thought the killer was about to crush the women's skull when the power cut out,but the red emergency lights didn't cut on yet which was weird. "God damnit." She grumbled getting up and grabbed a flashlight and went to the breaker to fix it walking right past the open door. Flipping the switch the normal lights don't turn on only the red ones and she turned around to get her phone to call Sam when she dropped her flashlight. Y/n gazed at the empty chair in the center of a devils trap she took off running to her room,but paused he knew she would run there for her phone and Dean or the demon he's become won't let her get help. She changed course to Sam's panic room to hide.

"Oh N/n where are you? I miss my little sister don't you miss me?" A metal sound of something dragging on the floor made her tense. Thinking of all possible things it could be of how she's going to die.–'It could be a bat,but we don't have any metal ones in the bunker. Maybe a sledgehammer,but that would have ment he when into the garage and the power going out would have locked everything.''– Her eyes widen as she released what it was he must have been carrying around she was sharpening it with the rest of the blades earlier that day."Have you figured it out yet? I know how you think when a horror movie is playing you see ever scenario before the movie can catch up. No wonder Sammy says you cheat at Clue!" Dean laughed as he seemed to wander to each room. The sound of wood splitting as he yelled "Here's Johnny!!!" It seemed so much worse that Dean was the evil this time a normal demon would know her so personally this seemed almost cruel him quoting films they watched together. "What to clichés? I admit the axe is old school."

The panic room the size of a cubbie it was so small,but just big enough I could calm down and think properly. Looking up another version of myself sat in front of me...my conscience. I could speak,but she could she's in my head after all. –"You can't run. There's nowhere to go doors locked down the moment the lights went."– I saw a illusion of myself running through the halls just to hit a corner and get a axe to the chest before it faded away. –"Can't go for your phone or your laptop he probably broke it the moment he noticed you weren't in your room."– I saw myself creep into my room just to see a shattered phone and my laptop with a cracked screen buffering to open instant messenger to text Sam. The laptop was slammed shut on my fingers causing some to break and get sliced by the glass looking up the sick grin of the Demon caught my eye before the axe ended that path. –"The burner. The one in your dresser Dean doesn't know about it so neither would the demon.Get it and get back here as quickly as possible. "– It was settled call for help. Listening for any foot steps I creep out of the hiding space a faint whistle going off down one of the many halls way from my room. Sneaking down the hallway staying low I get to my room where the door is torn to shreds as I open my drawer and fish out the phone. Going back down the hallway I get back to Sam's room and immediately call him.

"This call has been forwarded to a automatic voice message at the tone ples–" Hanging up I call again and again with no answer. At this point help was no longer a option. The whistling seemed to get closer and I rushed to the panic room until I paused. –"A enclosed space in a closet. There's not much space to move around if he finds you there your done for."– I back away slightly. –"Behind the door offers a easy place to hide and get out,but if he does the same to Sammy's door he did to yours it's not much of a hiding spot then."– A axe goes through the door creating a massive hole and Dean peaks inside and sees the white of you tank top in your (f/n) flannel. The door was whole again as I looked around the sound of metal getting louder running out of time. –"Under the bed allows you to see him without him seeing you,but like the panic cubbie not a lot of wiggle room if he hears you your done."– It was too late running to the metal door of the panic room she slams it shut not to loud to sound like she's trying to hide it,but just loud enough for the demon to register it. Sealing it shut I slip under the bed and wait for the time to get out and hopefully find a weapon.

Boots walked into the room turning to the closed closet. "Oh N/n!~ There's only so many places to hide in such a small room. Did you really think I wouldn't hear that heavy ass door close?" He chuckled darkly as he opened the closet and went to the small door. Dean tried turning the wheel to unsealed it,but it seemed to dawn on him that it could only be opened from the inside. With a huff anger he began pulling the brick of the wall started to bend outwards and crack. I was glad I wasn't in there. Going to slip out from under the bed while he's distracted the burner phone rang its annoying ringtone. Not even bothering to stop it I rush to get out faster,but a firm grip caught my ankle and dragged me out. Turning onto my back Dean stood their his apple green eyes staring at me. "Found you." He lifted up the axe having let go of my ankle lifting up my feet I put as much strength as possible into kicking his stomach. The demon was knocked back into the closest hitting the ground. Unfortunately axe still in hand. Stanfing up I ran leaving the phone behind. -"Sam took Baby so the trunk armory is out of the question. The garage has so pretty handy tools too bad that it was sealed along with the front and only entrance. Kitchen has knifes none that can hurt him,but just enough to slow him down. Library demon blade was in there last you checked,but Sam could have grabbed and put it on a high shelf."– Too many options and the kitchen was closer so that was the first stop grabbing a knife I held it tightly as a stalked slowly to the Library to see if there were any supernatural weapons.

The library was dark and the red lighting barely lit up the large room. "Would you like to play a game?" Dean mocked in a deep voice as he went around the bunker his voice echoing no real pinpointing where he is. I can't call Sam and prying to Cas hasn't worked meaning Dean made angel banishing symbols in most of the rooms. Y/n was getting desprit the bunkers massive size most of it was unexplored by them so being lost in a underground maze b wasn't the best option. "Are you scared yet Y/n? Well be afraid. Be very afraid. I'm what goes bump in the night sweetheart! Never thought the Winchester’s downfall will be by the hands of the oldest. What a twist!!! Right?" Dean yelled turning to the table I saw the supplies I cleaned with,but the weapons were gone and a note was left on in their place. 'Hey Y/n I put the weapons back into the trunk for tomorrow's hunt so you wouldn't have to...you're welcome and your blade was just sitting on the table so I put it up. ~Love Sam' I wanted to cry oh chuck nothing can save me in this buncker Bobby was sending us gallons of holy water next week because we were low...all rooms were demon proof,but he seemed to be a exception now,so no calling Crowley either.

Turning around the library doors open and I duck behind one of the many shelves. "Welcome to my nightmare!~" He said with a chuckle that bounced from every wall. Dean knocked down books and destroyed anything in his way while he looked around. Crawling on the ground I go to leave when the sound of something whooshing in the arm made me drop like a bag of rocks. The axe meet the shelf and I gazed at the red illuminated face of my brother eyes now black and demented. Laughter bubbled out of his chest as he mumbled. "Carful dear wouldn't want to lose you head." Yanking the axe free many books tumbled down. Taking the kitchen knife in hand I slash his calf and go for his thigh when the knife is flung out of my hands. "You little bitch!!!" He hissed now holding the knife and showing it into my stomach. A silent cry came from my lips bot to give him the satisfaction of my screams just yet. I look up at him and just past his head where I couldn't normally reach was the handle of my blade peeking over the shelf.

I begin to giggle and it turns into fits of laughter. Black eyes flicker back to confused green ones. "What's so funny?" I catch my breath as I lean up slightly. "You picked the wrong place to corner me. Wanna play?" Grabbing his knee and pulling it buckled under him causing Dean to hit the shelf letting the blade fall freely. Reaching out I catch it "Let’s play." Stabbing upward into his stomach the same place the knife was lodged in my own stomach. He howled in pain as I removed the blade and ran keeping pressure on the knife wound as I turned corners just to get away. -'He played with your head play with his. The intercomes...a good distraction can lead him away and let you get the jump.'- I hurry to the intercoms not before making a pit stop.

Demon!Dean POV

I growl at the wound on my body the little shit stabbed me. This makes killing her so much easier then she can be just like me. Grabbing the axe I stomp through the bunker. "What a excellent day for an exorcism." Her voice sounded through the speakers now I know were she is. "Would you like that?" I said aloud with a grin. "Intensely." Y/n said trying to make her voice horse before the clipping sound of the intercom stopping rang out before being replaced with a creepy melody that always scared her. "There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." My ear drums almost burst at the loud deep voiced scream ears still ringing I didn't register the blade being driving into my sholder flinging her back I turn around as she's running down the narrow hallway taking the axe with both hands throw it straight and the axe hit her almost dead center in the spine. The audio cut off after the song and I stood over her. Y/n had her face turned coughing up blood I definitely hit her lung. "Thanks for catching it for me." I smile as I heavily put my foot on the small of her back pulling the axe out. She screamed out it was mildly gurgle from the blood. Turning her over my little sisters eyes shined with unshed tears. "Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." I said with a small whipping the few that slipped by she whimpered Sam's name and I grew frustrated. Lifting the axe again. "Looks like you couldn't make the cut,N/n. Just another extra that stuck around for too long." Dropping the axe down it went into her chest the creaking of her collar bone and sternum were whispers compared to the blood curdling cry. They soon died out as her skin paled and her breathing stopped she'llmake a strong demon. "See you soon." Taking the axe out I begin to drag her body.

The lights in the bunker cut back on meaning Sammy was home. Having placed her perfectly in the chair I was tied to I wait until he finds her standing next to the door. "Y/n?! Y/n!?" He yelled most likely having gone to her room rushing the the dungeon his heavy foot steps abruptly stopped. "Oh God! Y/n come on!" The moose of a man rushed in the room cradling her face in his hand. "You were too late, Sammy. She called your name before she went,but I guess five missed calls wasn't enough for you to rush home. N/n fought for so long waiting it out just for you to never show." I said closing the door as he turned to me standing infront of her corpse. "You didn't make things easy on her. I mean you took all the weapons and put the only thing to defend herself on the top shelf...like keeping the cookie jar way from a child. In some way you killed her before I could." Lifting the demon blade that had his own blood on it. I stalked towards him cornering him in the room. "Sure you won't give me a good chase,but woah she wore me out." Holding the blade to his throat when a gun shot fired and a sting hit my arm causing me to drop the knife.

Y/n stood colt in her left hand the axe keeping her up in her left. "Demons always so sure that what's dead is dead and can't be undead. Ever heard of a pulse jackass. " so distracted that she was alive Sam was able to restrain and she held a handful of bags of blood. "Let's get this over with." She bagan to inject me and I felt myself become mire human and I started thrashing hard. With the last vile in hand she looked into my eyes. "You should be dead." I hissed as she pushed the needle in. "Sorry. I'm into survival."

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A/n This is the last one in round one of the Spnquotebingo and I ended with a dozen quotes.

Title: "Prime Time,Bitch!" Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

"Here's Johnny!" -The shinning

"Would you like to play a game?" - Saw

"...be afraid. Be very afraid"- The fly

"Welcome to my nightmare."- Nightmare on Elm Street

"..lose your head." Alice in Wonderland

"Wanna play?"- Child's Play

"What a excellent day for an exorcism...Would you like that?....Intensely." - The Exorcist

"There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." - The Conjuring 2

"Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." - Hellraiser

"See you soon." - Coraline

"She called your name before she went,but I guess..." -Hadestown

"...what's dead is dead and can not me undead." -Jacksepticeye (DBD playthrough)

"I'm into survival." ‐Nightmare on Elm Street

#spnquotebingo #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #winchester!sister #winchester!reader #demon!dean #horror movies #horror quotes #Dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #castiel #crowly #hunter being hunted

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thephantomessoftheopera · 3 years ago

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Notes on Gaston Leroux‘s „The Phantom of the Opera“ - Chapter 8: “In Which Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin Dare to Have “Faust” Performed in a “Cursed” Opera House, and We See the Frightful Consequences”

<< Previous Chapter Quite a few elements from this chapter have found their way into ALW’s musical version of the story - the „far too many“ notes from “O.G.”, Carlotta the croaking toad and last but not least, the famous chandelier crash.

On Saturday morning, Moncharmin and Richard receive another of „O.G.‘s“ famous notes (“Are we at war, then?”), in which he sets forth an ultimatum - they will have a „cursed“ performance that night if they do not comply with the following conditions: 1. Box 5 must remain empty, 2. Christine Daaé must be given the leading role in „Faust“ instead of Carlotta, 3. Madame Giry must be reinstated, 4. They must agree to the payment of the monthly salary of 20,000 francs.

Considering the terms that Erik states, only one is dedicated to advancing Christine‘s career - the rest serve to reinstate the necessary infrastructure for his „haunting“: he needs access to Box 5 to be able to communicate with Madame Giry, he needs a trusted ally - and of course, money (to buy stuff for Christine, presumably). He also feels compelled to assert his power since the managers have decided to challenge him. He does not randomly create chaos or terrorize the Opera house just for the sake of it - everything he does serves a necessary purpose from his point of view. Considering the time (”several months”) that he has been haunting the Opera House, Erik likely started the whole opera ghost business only because he fell in love with Christine.

The Phantom‘s note has just prompted another angry outburst from Richard when the stable-head Lachenal enters and tells them that one of the opera’s horses - César, the horse that is habitually used in „Le Prophète“ - was stolen. The stablemen are suspected of the theft, but when Lachenal reports that he saw a black shadow vanishing on a white horse at great speed into the underground, everyone concludes that it must have been the „ghost“. Leroux’s sense of humour really shines through in the chapters dedicated to the managers and their dealings with the Opera Ghost. In this case, the managers seem to be completely unaware that the Opera House even has stables, let alone horses - showing that they are more or less amateurs at running it. And the Opera Ghost is apparently not afraid of making bold moves. But what does a ghost need a horse for? We will see later on that this act also serves a distinct purpose and goal.

Madame Giry comes in, as she has also received a note from the ghost telling her to call at the managers‘ office. Richard is about to explode with fury and literally throws her out of the office, refusing to comply with the ghost‘s demands. When she realizes what has happened, she throws quite a fit and has to be dragged out of the opera house. She is replaced by Richard’s own concierge, who will be in the audience at the opera for the first time during that night’s performance of “Faust”.

Carlotta also receives a note from the ghost in the morning post, warning her not to sing that night, or else a „misfortune worse than death“ will happen to her. She, seeing herself as the victim of some conspiracy, is also willing to defy him and ignore his threats. We also learn that it is actually her who has been slandering and bullying poor Christine in the meantime and using her friends to make sure she won’t be able to repeat her triumph from the gala night. Christine, on the other hand, has few friends apart from Philippe de Chagny - who has been lobbying in her favour simply to please his brother, Raoul - and the opera ghost, of course. Carlotta calls upon all her numerous friends and acquaintances to support her performance that night, telling them that Christine Daaé is conspiring against her. Erik sends her a final warning in the evening post, but she still won‘t be deterred, having secured everyone‘s support previously.

This chapter also gives us a short background on Carlotta, the Spanish diva. She is described as having a perfect voice fit for a wide repertoire, but neither heart nor soul. She is a selfish, wicked and scheming bully, ready to defend her hard-won position as the reigning diva at all costs. She comes from a lowly background, having danced in „disreputable taverns“ in Barcelona, and later in dingy music halls in Paris, working her way up by way of her many lovers.

As no one heeds the ghost‘s threats, that night‘s performance goes ahead as planned. Carlotta sings the role of Marguerite opposite Carolus Fonta in the role of Faust. Christine sings her customary role of Siebel, the young man who is also in love with Marguerite. Despite Siebel being a male character, the role is written for a soprano voice and therefore habitually sung by a woman. ALW turned this into the “page-boy” in “Il Muto”, with the addition of the page-boy being silent, while Siebel is not, although he gets very little stage time.

The first and second act pass without incidents. During the interval, the managers leave the box to find out more about Christine‘s supposed conspiracy. When they return, a tin of boiled sweets and a pair of opera glasses have been mysteriously left there, and they also feel a kind of draught around them.

During the third act, Christine is singing Siebel’s flower aria (“Faites-lui mes aveux” - watch it here) when she notices Raoul in the audience and starts to falter, her voice becoming less clear and confident. Raoul, in turn, is also crying, which greatly embarrasses Philippe and also turns him against Christine because he doesn’t know what kind of games she is playing with his brother. At this point, Christine thinks that there is no future for Raoul and her for various reasons, and she also fears for his safety. Philippe was worried about Raoul‘s precarious state of health following his trip to Perros, and had even asked Christine to meet him, but she had been bold enough to refuse. Christine had also sent Raoul a letter, asking him never to come to her dressing-room again for the sake of both their lives. Supposedly, at this point she still believes the „Voice“ is the Angel of Music, so it is not quite clear in what way she feels their lives are in danger from him.

During the duet between Faust and Marguerite in Act 3, Erik uses his amazing ventriloquist skills to make Carlotta croak like a toad, and the entire audience reacts with horror and dismay to the hellish sounds coming from her mouth. Carlotta cannot believe what is happening at first, and her partner Carolus Fonta is equally confused. Erik‘s idea of a „misfortune worse than death“ is pretty accurate considering Carlotta‘s reaction, but from the point of view of the reader, it is also quite funny especially since we are not meant to empathize with the petty, mean diva too much.

In Box 5, Moncharmin and Richard experience the distinct sensation of the ghost standing right beside them. Leroux later insinuates that Erik is now hiding in the hollow marble pillar beside Box 5. Carlotta resumes her song, but the toad croaks again, and all hell breaks loose in the audience. The managers hear the ghost chuckling, and his bodiless voice says: „Her singing tonight is enough to bring down the chandelier!“ when the chandelier starts slipping downwards and crashes into the audience, causing one death, many injuries and a general panic. The woman who was killed was the concierge brought in to replace Madame Giry, leading to her reinstatement.

The chandelier at the Garnier never really crashed, but there was an actual accident with the Chandelier’s counterweight which happened in 1896 and resulted in a single fatality. Other indications of dates given in the novel suggest though that Leroux does not adhere to this “official” timeline, although it would probably be the most exact indicator of when the story actually happened if it was true. The headline that Leroux quotes - „Two hundred thousand kilos hit concierge“ - is actually based on a real newspaper headline:

Image from @fdelopera

Within the context of the story, we assume that Erik actively caused the chandelier to fall - which he will later deny when speaking to the Persian. The problem with this assumption is that the chandelier accident actually happened in real life - so unless you assume that Erik is real, too, it is clear that such an accident can indeed happen without someone intentionally making it fall. As such, the case remains finally inconclusive, like many other parts of the novel, and is left for the reader to interpret.

Image from the opening night of the Palais Garnier in 1875 from artlyrique.fr

Next chapter >>

#phantom of the opera #lerouxreadingguide #leroux phantom #gaston leroux #leroux #the phantom of the opera #erik the phantom #erik x christine #opera ghost #chandelier #palais garnier #opera garnier #poto

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currentfandomkick · 4 years ago

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Marinette did not sign up for this part 7

So i kind of live, and this continues on.

first part here previous part here ao3 here

Stephanie twitched when she finished comparing financial resources needed to handle a covert operation, butterfly garden underground, AND manage to keep it secret from the rest of Paris. Cass checked her numbers and it became very apparent that only—and she stressed the only—someone insanely wealthy and is a recluse could be Hawkmoth. And in Paris, that meant one man—Gabriel Agreste.

Cass was the one to narrow it down to him, and Steph argued with her about it being impossible as “He’s been akumatized!” Honestly, Cass was acting like the Ladyblogger who published one of her early ‘could be Hawkmoth’ theories with Gabriel Agreste as a option with “probably had Mayura as Hawkmoth in her place” argument. It was retracted, and there was a apology put up for it that included: this list was not intended to be serious guys—I put multiple known akuma victims here and ways they could have been Hawkmoth no matter how public the akumatazation was. Did not expect this one to be taken so seriously, my sincerest apologies to M. Agreste and Mm. Sancoeur.”

Steph could smell the ‘I was forced to do this’ off the apology, and did her best not to agree with Cass that it was forced as then Cass would argue it was a serious accusation put in mixed with less serious ones to get people thinking. To get Ladyblog followers to take notes and pass it to Ladybug and Chat Noir for further investigation. Which, would be a good way to contact the heroes. Except…

“She interviews the Miraculous team on a bi-weekly basis Cass, she’d have plenty of opportunities to tell them her theories.”

Cass crossed her arms. While they might heavily disagree on this aspect of who Hawkmoth and Mayura are, there is another aspect that is held in contention between the two of them…

“Plus, Hawkmoth and Mayura are totally a couple, and everyone knows Gabriel Agreste is too hung up on his wife’s disappearance to consider moving on, let alone do it.”

“Professionals.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. Cass is good at body language. There is no doubt about her being better than most. However—Hawkmoth is an egomaniac. Egomaniacs don’t give up when their goal is in reach for a henchman getting ill or injured. Not unless said hench is, well, romantically involved with them. She knew from watching Gotham’s underbelly for years—their romantic relationship had to be rock solid for it to even be considered. Married or may-as-well-be.

“He’s ended how many battles early for her? Totally bordering on, if not actually, married.”

Stephanie paused when two girls joined them, the ladyblogger herself with a too big grin, and soup girl if Cass wasn’t mistaken.

“Hawkmoth and Mayura relationship debate?” The blogger grinned.

Stephanie nodded, as yes, and this is serious. “Cass is convinced they’re just professionals with standards.”

Soup girl groaned. “Not this again!”

“Girl, I told you, I’m not the only one who thinks they’re a couple, and serious.”

Stephanie grinned as Cass huffed. A vote for Team Hawkyura!

“I told you, Hawkmoth is too obsessed with the miraculous to be capable of human emotions, and Mayura is too smart to fall for him. He’s probably paying her a lot or cancelling out a debt for her to work for him how she is,” Soup girl reasoned.

Stephanie shook her head while Cass rose victoriously, scooting a bit closer to her fellow ‘stop shipping the villains’ teammate. Which is ridiculous—it isn’t shipping if it isn’t even subtext at this point.

“No, no,” the blogger leaned forward, settled into their table on Stephanie’s side. “That means the relationship would have to be healthy, and its perfect possible for it to extremely unhealthy and for Mayura to be in a bad relationship with someone who isn’t wroth her time. Why else would she keep using a broken miraculous that’s making her sick?”

Stephanie nodded at the blogger’s side. “And abusive relationships can happen to anyone. Back in our home city,” Steph gestured between herself and Cass. “A top psychologist went villain because she was manipulated into thinking the guy just needed her love to fix him and fell into a life of crime and wanted to stay by the guy’s side regardless of how many times he hurt her.”

Cass nodded at that, frowning at that. She wasn’t there for Harley Quinn, henchman of Joker. Stephanie was. She did see the aftermath and bits of Harley’s (ongoing) recovery.

Soup girl shook her head. “Its not that, everyone knows the Peacock is emotions so she would know he’s toying with her. She would know she deserves better. She’s staying because of finances or blackmail or maybe even being able to fix something that’s unfixable.”

Cass hummed in agreement. “Needs to survive.”

Soup girl nodded. “There’s no motivator more powerful than that.”

“Um, love,” Stephanie supplied. She may not be the best at all its forms, but loving gotham’s citizens enough to want to save them was part of what drove her to become Spoiler in the first place. Spite too, but that didn’t seem like the best thing to mention at the time.

“Exactly,” the blogger passed Stephanie one of her cookies. “Love makes people do crazy things, or did you forget Hercules.”

Soup girl looked exhausted at that, pinching her brow. “We agreed never to bring Disney logic into these arguments.”

“The quote is true—People do crazy things when they’re in love. And Mayura is in love with Hawkmoth, and he’s in love with her.”

Soup girl rolled her eyes. “Then you’d have to give up the Gabriel and Natalie theory for good. He’s still in love with his wife, and he treats Natalie more like a tablet than a person. No way that’s how he’d treat someone he’s in love with.”

“Are we forgetting how he treats you and Adrien?”

Stephanie and Cass exchanged a look. Stephanie focused on soup girl then. Really looked at her. Tired, twitchy, all signs of needing and not getting a good night’s rest.

“Okay, he goes way overboard with supervising and has control issues, I’m not saying he doesn’t, ever. But he doesn’t let me take commissions unless my grades are up there, hires tutors for me and Adrien regularly, and he’s let up on controlling who Adrien can be safely friendly with to avoid crazy fans ever since I joined.”

“You joined, therefore are something he can control, and are therefore not going to endanger Adrien or Gabriel since it would hurt your career,” the blogger explained.

“Sounds like Hawkmoth,” Stephanie added absently, then froze as Cass grinned at her. back track time, ASAP. “But it can’t be since the guy was akumatized.”

Soup girl looked relieved at what Stephanie said. Though, thinks weren’t looking up much on that front. She might have Batgirl pay the man a visit… after hacking the girl’s schedule and Adrien’s and seeing how much this man really was trying to control them both.

Cass raised an eyebrow at her.

“Thank you—can you get Alya off that train too?”

The blogger leveled Stephanie a look that reminded her too much of Lois Lane that time she tried to interview the Batfam on Gotham crime rates and the effectiveness of vigilantes in a city that was entrenched in corruption and if it was better to just gut the Gotham justice system and start anew with different training and such, to prevent villain strength and intensity escalation. In short—she scared Stephanie. Just a little.

“I think maybe Lois Lane could, but I doubt it.”

“Lois Lane is the hero the world is not good enough for and her word is worth more than all of Metropolis.”

“Not that hard to achieve,” Stephanie said without thinking. There is a lot of property damage there after all, they just have a more white collar-exclusive criminal element. Plus, Lex keeps his bigger projects in other places that are harder for Superman to find.

Soup girl snorted at that.

The blogger took offense.

Stephanie would say all-in-all, not her worst time out on a mission doing detective work in broad daylight.

Marinette was quick to transform into Multimouse and meet up with Rena in the Lourve. It wasn’t the first time either—Alix’s dad took to helping her translate Gaurdian since she hadn’t learned it all before Fu died. Besides her, he was the only one who could read the spell book… though that reduced the miraculous grimoire to nothing but the potions. It held the history of the kwami, how to summon and bind them, and even how to craft weapons for them. It included instructions on how to become a Guardian and what was required of her the sole guardian, and how the Order operated with mentions of ways it could be reformed should it ever vanish.

It was the closest thing Marinette had to a mentor on how to re-build the Order and choose members, and how to make the best choices as Guardian. It even listed allied organizations and how much stock should be put into trusting them.

But right now, she wasn’t there as Ladybug to go over another passage or talk about possible meaning and philosophies (did they really mean her job is to kill to protect the miraculous, or like, be that ready to ensure they remained safe?) or the whole “is the soul splitting a metaphor or actual magic” (magic). No, she was there as Multimouse, with Rena Rouge, as representatives of the Miraculous Team to meet up with the Amazonian Historian sent by The Former Ladybug, Hippolyta.

“Greetings Alwphekion,” the woman nodded at Rena. “Muidion,” she acknowledged Multimouse. “I am Vupyte of Themyscira, and our leading historian on the miraculous. How may I be of assistance, young Champions?”

Multimouse stepped forward, forgetting she wasn’t Ladybug at the moment. This question had been burning in her mind since she was told of the missing pair. “Could you tell us how the ladybug and black cat miraculous would interact with the main five if it wasn’t for Hawkmoth?”

Rena glanced at Multimouse, knowing that something was off. It was possible Marinette may be more involved intellectually than she’d been letting on… though given her unofficial spy-work, it was possible that Marinette was Ladybug’s first choice in help… which lead to questions Rena had to keep silent… until Hawkmoth was defeated.

“Ah, that is both simple and complex. If you wouldn’t mind,” Vupyte gestured for the pair to sit with her. “I was expecting something like that to come from Alwphekion, not you Muidion.”

Multimouse would have been flustered a few years ago. Hell, even a few month ago, before Fu was compromised, she would have panicked a bit. But right now?

“Ladybug tasked me to get any information to help her rebuild the Order. I won’t fail her.” She couldn’t fail the kwami. Especially Tikki who never gave up on her, even when Marinette was ready to throw in the towel a hundred times over and give her miraculous to Alya—the brave one she once had to mimic to handle being Ladybug.

“Ah.” Vupyte leaned back. “No wonder there’s such a storm in your eyes.”

Multimouse didn’t know how to handle that, so she brushed it aside.

Rena put a hand on her knee and squeezed.

Multimouse was glad she wasn’t alone in this.

“That story goes back far beyond when my people interacted with the miraculous. Perhaps I could have a figure you trust help me digitize my research on the history in full for your Ladybug?”

Multimouse nodded. That… “Director Kubdel was vetted by Ladybug previously for his discretion and understanding of how sensitive the miraculous and miraculous matters are.”

Vupyte agreed to use the man at a later date. “For now, I can give you an overview of how the work together.”

“That would be sufficient.” Multimouse did her best to copy M. Agreste’s professional affect. To hide how out of her depths she was at the moment.

Vupyte grinned. “First off, The Savior, your Ladybug, has the role of creation. Her role in the group is to guide them to growth, to safety. She is your strategist in battle and the team’s healer. You know this already. She is the only one able to undo the Destroyer—your Chat Noir’s—abilities. However, she can only undo his damage so long as she believes it needs her intervention. Should she find his judgement—and his punishments for those violating the contract between those under the Miraculous’ protection, the Order, Champion and Kwami—be just, she cannot undo what he did.”

Multimouse felt her heart seize. Plagg mentioned the Atlantians tried to convince a Fox into destroying a rival kingdom, a kingdom that was not doing as the Atlantians’ claimed. When the Fox refused… Plagg never said what happened after that.

She knew only a third of the Atlantian’s survived the sinking from what they’d released to the public about their history.

“A ladybug is given all the creative force that exists between her and her black cat, while the cat is given all the ability to detect danger. Half of each of their souls are swapped to ensure this ability switch remains, and that their bond is unbreakable so long as they are called on as Champions. The cat protects her from harm, and she supplies him with what is needed. They are only ever called on in times of absolute crisis—when the Contract is violated, or when the world’s balance is nearing a breaking point.”

Rena was too still by Multimouse, piecing things together. Multimouse hoped she didn’t pass this on to the others… not until Marinette was certain they were safe to remain in the Order and that they want to be in it—that they don’t feel obligated to out of duty but truly want to protect the kwami. Even if it means never being a hero again.

“The turtle shields them both—the Cat in battle and the ladybug when healing. They can even bring forth another weapon, though what it is, there is no record that we have found reliable.”

Multimouse raised an eyebrow.

“Shelter?”

The Amazonian shook her head. “No Muidion, something else entirely… the incomplete records I found mentioned people being pulled to the turtle, feeling absolute safety and complete trust in them no matter what happened around them. What causes this, is unknown.”

Multimouse felt the need to roll her eyes. she was fairly certain it was a cross between ‘must parent them all’ and the turtle’s capacity to ensure nothing broke Shelter. Possibly making it opaque, or something else. She’d ask Wayzz when Nino was asleep.

“Often the turtle focuses on getting civilians out of the area to safety. They are often aided by the Peacock, who creates a creature from a single emotion and ties it to an object, to direct its actions. The turtle protects those in danger with their shelter while the peacock’s creation and the peacock keep enemy combatants busy.

“The butterfly may check for spies among their ranks, potential traitors too by their emotions but that is often another’s role. They often connect members across distances with those outside of their ranks, acting as a diplomat and choosing new members. At times, they might even make use of their full ability and create a champion of their own, granting them the power to make an army to help the cat while following the ladybug’s plan, or to test a possible candidate’s worth by seeing what they do when given power, and how it is used while having the failsafe of taking it away again.

“The bee tends to fight beside the Cat, at times ordering the butterfly’s champion should their connection fail, and is ready to take down said champion should they betray the group with a single sting. The bee answers to the ladybug and cat alone—following the pair’s vision and ensuring it is executed whenever one or both of the pair is absent.

“Then there is the fox, like you Alwphekion. I assume you have grown fond of your ally,” Vupyte gestured to Rena’s flute. “They let you craft any illusion you want. But I doubt you were told of the true power of the fox.”

Multimouse shifted at that. “The Gaurdian was young when their temple was destroyed. I doubt they hid it intentionally.”

Vupyte paused at that. “I did not mean it like that Muidion, simply that the Fox is given little emphansis by the Order to the point it was given a dishonorable title for their champions to inherit, the Deceiver,” Vupyte spat the title like sour milk. “Alwphekion is the one who sees all in their truth, through every lie one has spoken or believed. A fox is not a crafter of fallacy, merely presenting what one feels or desires. Their greatest gift is in their true voice, the one that none can lie or withhold information upon being addressed by it.”

Rena leaned forward, focusing on Vupyte. “How?”

Vupyte sighed. “The records of that were destroyed in Alexandria’s flames. It is a power a fox can only use with great conviction and motivation. Until then, they can only sense deceptions in shades while the truth rings of their own melody according to legend.”

Rena stared at her lap.

Multimouse put a hand on her arm. “We’ll figure it out.”

Rena leaned into the touch then, sighing. “I have a question of my own, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly I do not,” Vupyte assured. “I am here to help the Miraculous Champions however I am allowed by you. I owe your predecessors more than I could ever repay.”

Rena nodded at that. “What are the chances a butterfly user could make themself a champion?”

Vupyte opened and closed her mouth, lips pressing and pursing until she found words to her liking. “It is not impossible for them to do so. They would have to drop their transformation to do so, which would prevent proper guidance, and would need to give themself a very limited power.”

Rena took a deep breath.

Multimouse took a sharp intake. That changed the rules. A lot.

“So, hypotethetically, if one’s power could only affect a specified amount of things at a time, say, put into a given space and then whatever new thing was put in was then ejected from said space,” Rena continued, “would that be a feasible power for a butterfly’s champion to use without a butterfly guiding them?”

Multimouse felt her stomach drop at Vupyte’s hesitance.

“That is… rather specific.” Vupyte pondered it for a moment more. “While I can’t be certain of the logisitics, it is one of the safest abilities to give in those circumstances. Tight limitations, a weak ability that lacks army-growing capacity, so no need to use the butterfly champion to connect their chosen champion to their subjects, and it is straight forward so no need for an explanation, or perhaps the lack of one would make their reaction to discovering this limit more genuine.”

Multimouse felt sick.

Things aligned quickly in her head. Finances. Schedules. Timing. Targets of preference—teens at Dupont where Adrien goes and is able to talk about his day to either Natalie or Gorilla, who would report it back to him. Even Adrien’s concerns for them—weaknesses, insecurities, fears…

It made too much sense.

Multimouse stood up. “I have to go, excuse me.”

Rena gawked at her. “Wait, Mul—”

Multimouse ran out quickly, running to an alley to detransform and get Tikki to get her head on straight as Marinette spiraled.

Gabriel Agreste couldn’t be Hawkmoth.

He couldn’t be.

Outside the alley, Tim, Cass and Stephanie froze as the girl Tim was convinced was Ladybug appeared. She was in a grey suit before.

Rena looked back at Vupyte, hoping her girl got the air she needed. She knew Marinette would come around eventually, but for now…

“One moment.”

Alya sent off a quick text to Aurore. The girl was good at keeping Marinette distracted, out of a spiral, and helping her process.

Aurore confirmed she found Marinette in an alley bordering on a panic attack and was taking her home.

Rena sighed in relief.

“Okay, now that that’s settled, there’s something you didn’t spill.”

Vupyte smiled at Rena. “You are a clever Alwphekion.”

Rena raised an eyebrow.

Vupyte sighed. “A ladybug and black cat take the longest to mature in their team. It is no fault of their own; a side effect of half of their being being doubled and the other being taken. Of the two, Ladybug requires the longest time to come into her own as a strategist and healer.”

Rena snorted at that. “Have you seen Ladybug?”

Vupyte sucked in her breath through her teeth. “I have.”

Rena watched her more intensely then.

“She is not even out of her training suit, while the rest of yours have become personalized, implying that you are not being overtaken by your role. That you have blended with your kwami and role, rather than be consumed by it.”

Rena froze at that.

“What do you mean be consumed by it.” it didn’t come out like a question, it fell out like doubt defending fear.

“Ladybugs fill in any holes in their group. Right now you are missing two, and one is injured,” Vupyte noted.

Rena filled in the blanks. “Until we get a Butterfly and fix the Peacock, Ladybug isn’t really Ladybug, is she?”

Vupyte sighed. “She is a child trying to run a home alone until they are both present as allies.”

Rena frowned at that. “Then why isn’t Chat affected?”

Vupyte looked far older then. “Have you not noticed that he can only extend and shorten his staff?”

Rena opened her mouth, only for no words to come out.

“He should be able to turn his weapon into whatever hand-held weapon he desires at that moment to protect your team. He cannot fulfill his role as Judge and Protector proper. He may be his own person within his transformation and within the team, but he lack his full range. Ladybug has her full range of abilities, but lacks her individuality as a Ladybug proper. Her team is incomplete, so she must continue to cover and cover and cover until it is complete with all five of her strongest allies at her side. Until then, whoever is under the mask will give and give and give until there is nothing left.”

Rena swallowed thickly. “How do I stop that?”

Vupyte leveled Rena with a few words. “Find Hawkmoth and Mayura, take their miraculous, and once the miraculous is fixed, hand them to worthy champions—ones who are strong judges of others for the butterfly, and of who is in need for the peacock.”

Rena felt her mind waver to Rose for the peacock—the girl who fought for everyone. She was blanking on a butterfly though—a strong judge of character was hard to think of as a core characteristic of someone she knew she could trust.

“You have one in mind,” Vupyte said quietly. “Good. You will have to find another for the other, or an ally of yours must find candidates. The sooner this is determined, the sooner your Ladybug will come into her own. The only other way… would be dangerous.”

Rena nodded. She texted Chat and Carapace to meet her to talk about what she learned. They’d protect Ladybug. Their Leader. Paris’ Savior. And their friend.

Aurore is many things. Miss Sting is a necessity to keep Paris safe. Aurore of the weather girl duo on KIDZ+. Miss Mandeliev’s favorite to call on for environmental studies and among Bustier’s favorite to read a well researched report. She is also one of poor Marinette’s longest standing friends, and one of the only people who can catch her mid attack and get her to pull out of and process her spiral without setting off a different bout of anxiety.

Which is why she captured the akuma in a jar, hid it in her backpack until Chat or LAdybug could handle it, and nabbed her friend in the first place when Alya messaged her. She is not on the best of terms with the reporter (she might be holding a grudge over Lady Wifi calling her a hack and may have gone on a spree fact checking the Ladyblog in the early days and found holes on a Certain Person who has been since excommunicated by the students of Dupont and left the school in disgrace within a less than a week of attending). Especially since she insisted on being Mairnette’s best friend when Marinette has her already. honestly, the other never has been the best at seeing the obvious…

Like the fact that Marinette’s anxiety up ticked with Ladybug’s issues. Or that around the time Chat Noir took on being Mr. Bug, Marinette was injured. OR that Chat hangs around Marinette a lot when Marinette is around an attack, even covering for her.

Aurore dealth in meteorology and environmental sciences. She dealth with public appearances, PR, and being a child star. It is not her place to point out that Marinette is clearly (a) Chat and Ladybug’s confidant somehow, (b) a member of the team (c) Ladybug or some combination thereof. She didn’t want to make a call, she didn’t have evidence to back it up, and she didn’t run on intuition like Alya.

Aurore is a Bee, and they operate best within rules.

Ladybug made not looking into identities a rule. One she’s certain Rena has been ignoring… but Miss Sting follows Ladybug’s word to the letter. She has not looked into anyone’s identity and actively ignored any possible relveations in favor of working on her civilian life and focusing on capturing akuma before someone becomes akumatized, and bringing her catches to Ladybug or Chat for purification or destruction respectfully. Depending on how schedules lined up for patrols.

Now, Aurore is content listening to Marinette ramble about baking soda and baking powder with buttermilk on her latest recipe and how that connects to their chemistry homework (as they were both smart enough to dodge the math that goes into physics, unlike Adrien or Nino and Rose who were naïve enough to take music theory).

That doesn’t stop her from seeing faint movement on their school roof in reflections.

Ladybug may not have made it a rule to protect Marinette. Chat may not have stated such either, but his actions told her it was a priority. And her duties as Marinette’s longest unstrained friendship demanded she monitor the situation.

Once Marinette went down for snacks, aurore snuck into her friend’s bathroom and transformed to send a single message” I think Chat’s princess has a stalker now. Keep an eye on repeats in her environment.”

Pegasus was furious when he saw the message. Cowboy was hacking camera in the area as they spoke with the other members of the team.

Rena paled and Carapace looked oddly dangerous in that moment.

Chat Noir and Ryuuko were the most deadly of the group… Chat’s suit almost… moving, but it had to be a trick of the light. Ryuuko had the same look Rena did when Carapace did something particularly dangerous—like refuse to flee before his time ran out and somehow stayed transformed beyond the standard five minutes after using shelter through sheer force of will alone.

Ryuuko turned to Chat with a most Peculiar shade of anger. “I will be shadowing her.”

It was not a question, but a demand.

“Shouldn’t we check with Ladybug?” Pegasus asked while continuing to check camera. Nothing. Nothing at all.

This must have been what was setting his friend on edge these last few days. Someone stalking her, but just out of a camera’s reach. Professional…

Pegasus desperately hoped it was some paparazzi after Marinette the Designer’s secret identity, or even MDC. Anything but someone going after her for something… something he wouldn’t let cross his mind.

Chat shot him one look that obliterated the option entirely. Pegasus may not know who his comrades are outside of the mask, but he’d be a fool not to remember that Marinette was a spy on Gabriel Agreste. That she was in constant danger as a civilian.

Was it Hawkmoth?

Mayura?

Someone they hired?

He didn’t know, and he needed to. Needed to protect his friend.

She believed in him when he wasn’t sure of himself. She argued against his worst insecurities (nuisance, annoyance, best left forgotten) and proved she likes Max for Max. For his rambles, for his excitement and passion and his own brand of sass to their friends.

King Monkey appeared with a rare serious expression. He didn’t know of Marinette’s involvement at all—only Chat, Ladybug, Alya and himself did—but King must know Marinette. Because that look on his face reminded Max of a friend he’d seen punch someone a little too hard for their hand to keep Max safe from a pair ready to hurt him for his mumbling as a child.

“Whoever is doing this,” King Monkey stated with an eerily calm. “I’m calling the right to make their life a bit too chaotic.”

“Get in line,” Rena growled, her flute ready at a moment’s notice.

Elsewhere three gothamites were passed out in the same room. They decided to take a break and watch a movie together.

They had no idea the Very Displeased eldest of the batchildren had entered the room and forced them each in a separate bed, or that he allowed a certain “demon spawn” to add a variety of traps that, while they all knew how to escape at this point, were still ass to get out of and made it clear they were in hot water.

Jason hoped things worked out for the best… after his screw up, he figured Dickie and Demon Spawn should at least have a fighting chance. Or at least Nightwing would have a better chance at convincing the Justice League and the Miraculous Team they meant no harm.

He hopes.

---

hope you enjoyed!

BTW we have fanart by @thegreysman!!! here which tumblr is rudely not letting me show off.

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace@jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04 @bisha43rbs @izang

#marinette did not sign up for this #part 7 #maribat #bio!dad bruce #long post #my fic #my writing #can't tag #bio!dad bruce wayne #anyone know how to add a readmore?

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beljar · 3 years ago

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Throughout my entire life I've never been able to start or finish anything.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, from Notes from Underground, White Nights, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, and Selections from The House of the Dead

#fyodor dostoevsky #notes from underground #white nights #the house of the dead #russian literature #books and libraries #dark acadamia aesthetic #quotes #spilled ink #existentialism #existential crisis #dark academia

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saveyourblood · 5 years ago

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Stolen Dance | Ch. 7

Summary: “Maybe this was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter.”

The one where you’re a paramedic, he’s an FBI agent, and the time you spend together is borrowed.

Word Count: 4.9k

Song: Can’t Carry This Anymore - Anson Seabra

Warnings: Reader has PTSD, angst... ya know, the good stuff.

_____________________

Baby steps: your new two favorite words.

Healing was hard. You’ve known that for awhile; ever since your dad died, you were learning new ways to cope. What you haven’t known for awhile, though, was what it was like to heal with someone beside you.

When you were in pain, you tended to isolate yourself (hence your breakup). You internalized everything: thoughts, emotions, opinions… you became nothing but an empty shell of anger, and you expressed it in unhealthy ways. You wanted that to change. And Spencer wanted to help.

The two of you were in an awkward limbo of unknowing. Weeks had passed since you broke down in front of him, but the two of you haven’t kissed since the night before you broke up with him. You hugged a lot, and sometimes he slept over, but it was only to hold you. You weren’t sure if he was your boyfriend again. In your defense, though, he didn’t seem to know either.

Group therapy was his idea. It was something you contemplated in the past, but each time, you ultimately decided against it. Spencer managed to persuade you this time around, even finding a group for you to attend. Turns out, there’s a lot of veterans in DC.

“Hi,” you said as you stood up and waved awkwardly. “My name is Y/N. This is my first time here. I served as a medic in the Army for 5 years. For 18 months of that, I was deployed as a combat medic.”

“Where’d you tour?” An older man asked. The bottom of his cane was pressed to the floor, both hands holding it in place.

“Syria,” you answered.

A black gentleman let out a long, low whistle. “You must have seen some shit, girlie.”

You sat back down. “I didn’t come here for the coffee.”

Practically everyone in the group burst out into laughter. You thought you even saw the therapist chuckling to himself.

In this group, men outnumbered women by quite a bit; there were 3 women, including yourself, and 7 men. You could have gone to their all-women meeting later that week, but you decided to save that one for later. For now, your horizons were broad.

These men were gruff, blunt, and cut-and-dry — everything you expected from older vets that lived through what you did, maybe even worse. You could see why some female veterans felt more inclined to attend a women’s group; they were still tough as hell, but there was a certain courtesy they retained. It was as though men lost that courtesy somewhere along their service. You didn’t mind, though. Most of them reminded you of your grandfather.

“And who’s the handsome man you brought with you?” A woman with long, grey hair asked. Her smile was wrinkly, and her voice rough: a smoker, you assumed. She smiled at Spencer. “Your husband?”

You laughed lightly as you shook your head. “This is Spencer. He’s… my friend.”

The man with the cane snorted. “Friend. How do you feel about that, boy?”

“I’m quite alright with it,” Spencer assured.

He was a fish out of water in a setting like this. You were happy he merely introduced you to this place, let alone sat beside you the entire time. You were truly lucky to have someone like him in your life.

Turns out, you had a lot in common with basically everyone in the group. All of them were deployed at some point, mostly to Afghanistan or Iran. Some even served in the Vietnam War. Regardless of location, though, you all shared the same trait: none of you came back the same person you left as. Something happened. Something changed you.

“I try to be better,” Marge, the woman from before, said. “I try to do good, not let the past weigh me down. I helped a lot of people. I try not to think about the people I hurt.”

You pat her shoulder briefly. She brushed fingers with your hand, a silent way to show appreciation.

“What about you, kid?” Rudy, the man with the cane, asked. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You considered. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It cost me everything.”

“That’s no explanation, sweetheart,” Abraham, the black man, said.

“Lucky for her,” the therapist intervened, “we’re out of time.”

“It takes at least two sessions to unlock my backstory,” you joked with a shrug. “Sorry, boys.”

You and Spencer stayed for a bit afterwards, drinking more cheap coffee and sharing a few lighter, easier words with other attendees. Marge managed to pull Spencer aside, and whatever the two were talking about, they both seemed interested. You smiled fondly.

When the men you were surrounded by noticed, they began to make a few jokes about how Spencer was clearly more than a ‘friend’. You took it as your excuse to leave.

“‘Two sessions?’” Spencer quoted on the way out. “Do you want to come back?”

You nodded, a small smile on your face. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Spencer put an arm around your shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Spencer.”

For maybe the first time in your life, you were proud of you too.

_____________________

You and Spencer walked into the office to find what seemed like everyone except the BAU there. People in camouflage and suits alike swarmed in the bullpen, taking every possible floor space. You’d be lucky to make it to your desk, let alone find it empty.

“What the hell..?” you muttered to yourself.

Spencer briefly grabbed your hand. You quickly realized it was only to pull you across the room and to the stairs. However, you didn’t miss the slight squeeze he gave you.

“Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC,” JJ explained when you and Spencer entered the briefing room.

“CDC?” you repeated in disbelief.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances, exactly?” Spencer asked.

“We should get started,” Hotch said.

Everyone, including you, picked up a file from the table.

“Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis,” Garcia said. “They were all at the same park after 2PM last night. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. “Less than 16 hours later, 11 more are dead.”

“Lung failure and black lesions,” you said, reading the chart. “Anthrax?”

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” Spencer disagreed.

“This strain does,” Dr. Kimura said.

“What are we doing about potential mass targets?” Emily asked. “Airports, malls, trains?”

“There’s a media blackout,” Hotch replied.

“We’re not telling the public?”

“We’d have a mass exodus,” Derek said.

“The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi agreed.

“Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples,” Spencer said.

“Or he didn’t get the attention he wanted and might attack again,” Emily argued. “Doesn’t the public have a right to know that?”

“Next time, we’ll all be dead,” you said, mostly to yourself. You looked up to find everyone staring at you. “This attack was supposed to be quiet — he’s testing his strain, seeing how effective it is. The next time he strikes, too many people will be dead for anyone to keep it quiet.”

“The best way to stop a future attack is by profiling him as quickly as we can,” Hotch continued.

“What do we know about the strain?” Spencer asked Dr. Kimura.

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs,” She explained. “Odorless and invisible.”

“Sophisticated,” Rossi noted. “Only a scientist would know how to do that.”

“The size of these lesions are doubling in a couple of hours,” JJ said, looking at the before and after photos.

“It’s not the lesions I’m worried about,” Dr. Kiruma said, “it’s the lungs. We don’t know how to combat the toxins once they’re inside. The reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have all been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital,” Garcia said. “Our offices will become a small command center.”

“We’ll be working with scientists from Fort Detrick,” Hotch said. “Determining what strain this is will help inform who’s responsible.”

“My team is in charge of treating all victims,” Dr. Kimura said.

“Reid, Y/L/N, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims,” Hotch instructed. He gave everyone else their instructions before picking up a tray on the table. “Cipro. Everyone needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura said.

You and everyone else reached for a plastic cup containing two white pills. You also grabbed a cup of water from the table.

“This is really happening?” Prentiss asked in disbelief.

“We knew this could happen,” Hotch stated calmly. “We’ve prepared. We’ve done our homework. This is it.”

You outstretched your pill cup to Spencer’s. “Cheers?”

He clicked his cup against yours.

You followed Spencer into a hospital room. Dr. Kimura gave you both a basic rundown on her and her symptoms.

“Hi, Abby,” you greeted, a few steps behind Spencer. “My name’s Y/N, and this is Spencer. We work for the FBI. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Her lips were grey, and her eyes lost a lifelike sheen. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a zombie was lying in bed rather than a person.

She nodded once.

“Abby, I’d like to do a memory recall exercise with you to take you back to the park, if that’s okay,” Spencer explained slowly and calmly.

She nodded again.

“I need you to close your eyes.”

Abby closed her eyes.

“Yesterday, you rode your bicycle to the park,” Spencer started. “How did the Sun feel on your skin, the breeze through your hair?” Can you describe for me what you heard, and the people you saw?”

“It was warm, windy…” she rasped out. “There were guys, football… kids… sin me free me.”

You and Spencer shared a look.

“Free me seen mock me free,” she stuttered out.

“Okay, you just rest,” you said gently. Abby tried to speak again, but you shushed her before she could. The poor girl looked terrified. “We’ll leave you alone.”

You walked out of the room, Spencer shortly behind you.

“What’s causing her aphasia?” He asked.

“Kimura said it has to do with the part of the brain the anthrax is attacking,” you answered. “...She also said a few other patients showed the same symptoms before they died.”

“We need to find that cure.”

You watched outside as Kimura tried to revive the 17th victim. She was unsuccessful.

“38-year-old history teacher,” she said with a sigh as she stepped out. “He’s leaving two kids behind.”

You and Spencer followed her to the nurse's station, where she began to look through some paperwork. “This strain is duplicating every 30-45 minutes. It’s poisoning the lungs, which causes massive hemorrhaging and organ failure.”

“Extreme bacterial amplification,” Spencer agreed.

“Huh,” you said absentmindedly. The gears in your head were turning.

“What are you thinking?” Spencer asked almost immediately.

“It’s… weird,” you said, mostly to yourself. “You have to test a strain like this, see what quantity is needed to get the desired effect. What kind of scientist tests on a large group of people in an uncontrolled atmosphere? This man is psychotic, but he’s not stupid.”

“Scientists work their way up to human testing; they start on rodents, advance to larger mammals, and then at some point, they start a very small trial run on a small number of people.”

“What are you saying?” Dr. Kimura inquired.

“This wasn’t a trial run,” you said, “and it wasn’t his first attack, either.”

“We would have known about a previous anthrax case,” she argued.

“Not if it presented itself as something else.”

Dr. Kimura managed to find you both an empty room to make a phone call.

“Two days ago, two people in two seperate Baltimore ERs and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly,” you said as soon as you heard the line pick up.

“Y/N, slow down,” JJ said. “Is Spencer with you?”

“Hello,” Spencer said awkwardly. “Who all are we talking to?”

“Me, Rossi, and Hotch,” JJ replied.

“The cause of death on those three patients was meningitis,” Spencer explained. “Doctors didn’t do further testing because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but we think they could’ve been caused by anthrax.”

“Did they show the symptoms we’re seeing now — the lesions?” Rossi asked.

“They all died within 3 hours of being admitted,” Spencer continued. “The bodily functions expired too quickly for lesions to appear.”

“The first patient from the park died 10 hours after exposure,” Hotch spoke up.

“He could have used less anthrax on more people at the park,” you theorized. “The higher concentration, the faster this shit kills. If enough was used in a more controlled environment, it could easily shut down every system in the body within a few hours, leaving no time for physical symptoms.”

“What are their names?” Hotch asked after a brief moment of silence.

With the help of a few higher-ups in the military, the team found the best lead so far: a disgraced scientist who proposed a 50-billion dollar plan to fight any potential chemical warfare. His main concern? Anthrax. Derek and Spencer were assigned to visit his home while Prentiss and Rossi visited the company he worked for. Staying at the hospital would be useless, so you decided to tag along.

_____________________

Dr. Lawrence Nichols’ yard was tidy; he had a sprinkler going, and the rose bush in his backyard seemed to be trimmed recently. The three of you explored the outside of the house while men in hazmat suits secured the inside.

Derek got a phone call. Spencer stayed behind to listen in. You continued ahead.

Past a few decorative shrubs, you found a sliding glass door. Bright, fluorescent lights were on inside, lighting up a room with grey walls.

“Hey, guys,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder in an attempt to carry your voice.

Either they didn’t hear you, or they were ignoring you. You shrugged, sliding open the door and stepping in.

“Whoa.”

Not only was the room practically spotless, but it was filled with equipment — you guessed at least a couple thousand dollars went into the contents of the room, probably far more. To say this guy knew what he was doing would be the understatement of the century.

After scanning the walls and multiple tables, your eyes landed on the floor. It was composed of white tiles that shone under the light. Nicholas seemed to be a real neat freak. By the leg of a table, though, there was an inconsistency: a dark liquid was spilled.

Frowning, you stepped around to take a better look. Within a few steps, the entire sight came into your view, and it was far from a pretty one. A white-haired man in a suit laid dead on the floor. It could only be Nichols.

Your hand flew to the holster on your side. You grabbed your pistol, raising it to the air. You did another sweep of the room, and unsurprisingly, you came up empty. The lab was impressive, but it was small. It would extremely difficult for someone to hide in it.

You returned your gun to its holster. Crouching down, you took a better look at Nichols. You guessed he’d be dead for awhile now. The blood on the floor was brown and tacky rather than red and thin, and rigor mortis had already set in. You weren’t particularly educated in the field, but you could say with confidence he’d been dead for at least a day.

Looking closer, you noticed something beside him. It was a vile, much like the others on various tables in the lab. This one, though, had a bright yellow label on it. It also contained a thin, white powder. And, it was shattered into pieces.

Anthrax.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer call.

The bushes that covered the lab entrance shook. Acting on instinct, you moved to the door and slammed it shut.

“Y/N?!” Spencer asked, this time more frantically. He rushed to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Get back!” you shouted, fumbling for the lock. “Spencer, you need to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?!” He protested, feeding off of your panic. When he realized trying to pry open the door would do no good, Spencer began pounding on the glass with his fist. “Y/N, open the door!”

You managed to lock the door, and a brief, small wave of relief washed over your body. You looked up, locking eyes with Spencer. His palm was pressed flat against the door, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slacked open.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

A swarm of people were outside the house within ten minutes. You could take the three various vehicles, the dozens of soldiers and CDC members swarming around. What you couldn’t take was Derek, Hotch, and especially Spencer staring at you from across the yard.

Hotch picked up his phone and held it in front of him. You phone rang a few seconds later.

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry,” you apologized immediately. “I… I really fucked up.”

“Y/N, we’re going to get you out and to the hospital,” Hotch said.

“What? That’s stupid,” you disagreed. “I’m staying here.”

“Like hell you are!” Spencer argued.

“Listen, Doogie: I’m infected. I’m more useful if I’m infected in Nichols’ lab than if I’m infected in the hospital. I can poke around in here, but I’m no prodigy with an eidetic memory. I need your help, Spencer. Will you help me?”

Spencer looked down. You sighed in defeat, hanging up the phone so you could continue exploring the lab.

Your phone rang again. You picked up.

“How can I help?”

“I see two different desks — one is cluttered, the other is immaculate,” you said, looking between the two. You took a notebook off the first desk, opened it, and placed it next to a stack of papers on the second, clean desk. “There’s two sets of handwriting, too. I think he has a partner.”

“Can you figure out which one is Nichols?” Spencer asked.

“Well, based on his lab, I’d guess he’s the neat freak,” you thought aloud.

“Read a few of the papers Nichols wrote,” Spencer instructed. “Does anything strike you as odd?”

You skimmed through the papers left on his desk, muttering to yourself as you did so. By the third page, you found something that seemed… weird.

“He wrote down instructions,” you told Spencer. “How to sterilize equipment, store samples… it’s all stuff he should know.”

“He doesn’t have a partner — he has an apprentice,” Spencer said. “Good job, Y/N. I have to call Hotch, but I’ll call you right after, okay?”

You smiled weakly. “Okay.”

Once they secured and sterilized the area, Spencer was allowed to sit on the other side of the door. He wanted to come inside, but you preferred this. You wanted to see him as his dorky, charming self, not someone in pounds of a bright orange suit.

“It’s ironic,” you said, your back pressed to the glass. You took off your jacket awhile ago, but sweat still soaked your shirt. “For the first time in almost a decade, I decided to get help. Now, I’ll be dead before I can even see the results.”

“Don’t say that, “Spencer argued softly. “You’re not dying. Kimura and her team will be in soon, and they’ll find the cure. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Maybe,” You said. You didn’t believe it, but you didn’t want to upset him, so you let it go. Therapy taught you to choose your battles. “But if I’m not fine in a few hours, I want to say I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Spencer was sitting directly opposite from you, so the glass felt warm. Despite your already elevated temperature, the heat was soothing. If you closed your eyes, it felt like you were touching him.

“For breaking up with you, for pushing you away, for… everything,” you laughed bitterly only to fight back tears. “I love you, Spencer Reid, and I’m sorry I haven’t been showing it lately.”

“You can show it when you’re out of here and safe in my apartment,” He promised. “Actually… in our apartment.”

“I’m moving in with you?” You asked with a genuine laugh.

“Yes, and you’re not allowed to say no,” Spencer said. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“I don’t like my apartment that much anyways,” you said.

The two of you shared a chuckle. Your laughter quickly turned into a violent cough. Spencer went silent

You fished your phone out of your pocket, dialing a number you now knew by heart.

“Hey, Y/N,” Garcia said after picking up. Her voice was soft and sweet.

“‘Y/N’?” You asked. “No witty Garcia greeting for me?”

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she replied.

“Garcia, can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I can’t call my mom,” you said. “Ever since I joined the Army, she’s been paranoid — if I say one word in a weird way, she’ll be on the next plan to DC. I can’t put her in danger like that.”

“What do you need?” Garcia asked.

“I need you to record a message for her in case something happens,” you said softly.

“Oh, Y/N, nothing’s going to happen to you,” Garcia said. The optimism in her voice sounded real. “You’re gonna figure out who did this, and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

“I hope you’re right,” you said with an exhale, “but… just in case.”

“Okay. Give me a sec,” Garcia said. You heard her clicking away at her keyboard, pulling up the right program. “Ready.”

“Hi, Mom,” you said, stopping to cough. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, but I know I should say something. ...I guess more than anything else, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for moving halfway across the country, I’m sorry I don’t call you back, I’m sorry I don’t let you in on much.

“I’m sorry I left so soon after dad died,” your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “I just… I had to get out. I know you say it’s okay, but it wasn’t. We were going through hell, and we should have done it together. You’re an amazing mother. I’m sorry for being such a shitty daughter. I just… I hope you know how much I love you. I love you more than anything, mom. I’m sorry it ended this way. I’m just really, really sorry.”

Ten minutes later, Dr. Kimura and a few other people were inside. You stood up, taking in her airtight suit.

“You look good,” you said sarcastically. “I’m going to a banquet next month. Can I borrow your outfit?”

She chuckled. “I haven’t worn this in a long time.”

“How are the patients at the hospital?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she said instead. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, I feel fine,” you said. “I don’t need anything.”

“Are you sure?” She asked. “We can at least try to make you comfortable.”

“Narcotics cause drowsiness and nausea,” you said. “I’m still here because I want to be useful.”

“Y/N!” Spencer said, tapping the glass to get your attention.

You turned around to see him with his phone pressed against his ear.

“The three ER patients all went to the same bookstore before being admitted,” Spencer told you. “They found traces of anthrax in the vents.”

“How can I help?” Dr. Kimura asked.

“Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist, which means he was most likely secretive and paranoid,” you said, stopping to breathe. “Odds are, he hid the cure from his partner in a place he wouldn’t suspect. Look for things that are obvious, hidden in plain sight.”

Your phone rang in your pocket. You turned to Spencer again, who raised his eyebrows. You picked up your phone.

“I’ve got Garcia on the line,” he said. “Rossi and Prentiss don’t think the accomplice was a coworker.”

“Okay, uh…” you frowned, thoughts jumbling. You retraced your steps back to Nichols’ desk to look for more clues. “I see a framed photo of Nichols teaching.” You looked in the file holder, coming up with nothing. You then looked through the basket in the corner and found a binder. “I see syllabi and assignments going back to the 70s.”

“He valued himself as an educator,” Spencer said.

“A teacher,” you whispered in thought. You dug through one of the drawers, looking for something you saw earlier. “I didn’t make the connection before, but he has a study on anthrax. There’s red ink and notes in the margins — it’s graded, like how a teacher grades a paper. Nichols wouldn’t open his lab to just anyone, but he might let someone in if they were interested in learning.”

“He appealed to Nichols as a student,” Spencer agreed. “Nichols is helping him with his thesis.”

“I can look up local PhD students,” Garcia chimed in.

“Check the sciences — biochemisty, microbiology,” Spencer instructed.

“Cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore…” Garcia said. “Nothing, my doves.”

You coughed loudly, covering your mouth. “Here, listen to this,” you said after recovering. “‘Each household should have gas masks and a 2-month supply of cipro.’”

“That’s verbatim to what Nichols said,” Spencer spoke. “The partner’s adopted Nichols’ views to his own.”

“The chapters are on setting up triage and mobile emergency rooms,” you said, flipping through the paper. “Last time I checked, science students don’t write about city preparedness.”

“Garcia, cross-check with students in social studies — public policy, urban planning,” Spencer said.

“Hot to trot,” Garcia said. “Chad M. Brown, studied public policy, graduated from University of Maryland. He’s a former employee of the bookstore, no steady job, was slapped with a restraining order from his ex-girlfriend.”

“He’s our guy,” Spencer said. “Y/N, get out of there.”

You hung up, looking over and smiling faintly at him. He returned the expression.

You stood up. A wave of coughs rolled through your chest, each hack more violent than the last. You eventually pulled your elbow back to see your paled skin splattered with blood.

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring. Vaguely, you heard Spencer call your name, but it sounded like you were underwater. You knees buckled under your own weight.

The world went dark.

_____________________

You can’t see anything, so your other senses are amplified.

The smells.

The sounds.

Sweat, urine, blood, rotting flesh.

Rodents scurrying across the dirt, brushing across your ankles as they went after the real prey.

This place is hell on earth.

You’d rather die than spend another second here.

_____________________

You woke up to a steady beeping sound. You frowned, briefly opening your eyes only to squeeze them back shut. The room smelled sterile. The bed you laid on was hard, but it was draped with soft sheets. Other than the fact that it opened in the back, the standard gown you were wearing was surprisingly comfortable too.

“Welcome back,” Spencer greeted faintly.

You rolled your head to face his voice, eyes still closed. You finally noticed the cannula feeding oxygen into your nose, as it pressed against your cheek. Still, you smiled, and it wasn’t forced. “Hey.”

“You scared us, kid,” a deeper yet just as warm voice spoke up.

You tried opening your eyes again. You could faintly make out a tall, stout man with his arms crossed. “Hey, Derek.”

You tried sitting up, only to hiss in pain and reach for your side. Spencer put a hand on your shoulder.

“Take it easy,” he said softly, only moving his hand away when you laid back down. “They had to put a chest tube in — your lungs were starting to fill with blood.”

“Kimura said if they found the cure minutes later, your heart could have stopped,” Derek said.

“Where was it?”

“Nichols’ inhaler,” a voice from the doorway spoke up. Dr. Kimura stood there, a small smile on her face. “You were right: it was hidden in plain sight. And now, both the strain and the cure are going to be locked up in Fort Detrick along with other chemical warfare.”

“The other patients?”

“They’ll be okay,” Kimura assured, “just like you’ll be.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Kimura said before dismissing herself.

“Well,” Derek said after a brief silence, “I’m starving. You two want anything?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Coffee, please,” you said.

“Coffee for the lady, comin’ right up,” Derek said, then left. He closed the door behind him.

Spencer scooted in closer, running a hand over your hair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he scolded gently. “I’m just really, really relieved. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. You moved your gaze to the ceiling, swallowing thickly. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“I’m ready to tell you what happened in Syria.”

_____________________

Tags: @blueskies-whitehighs @geeksareunique

Want to be tagged in future parts? Shoot me an ask!

Like what you read? Let me know! Feedback seriously keeps me inspired to write <3

#stolen dance #spencer x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds reader insert #spencer/reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/reader #stolen dance part 7

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years ago

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 18 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1500

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who fair warning are def laughing at everyone freaking out because they know exactly where the story is going

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings, @lokis-butter-knife

WARNING: Loki is M A D and thus HYDRA agents die sickly deaths

[[Bold+Italics = Y/N’s thoughts, Italics = Loki’s thoughts]]

Um. Loki?

Loki’s head snaps up, eyes blazing, fists curled in green magic. “I have her.”

“You have found her?” Thor demands. “How?”

“She is…” his voice breaks, words spiraling off into an abyss of bittersweet terror. “She is praying. To me.”

Thor’s eyes soften just for an instant, before his resolution returns in spades. “Then I believe you would do well to answer her, yes?”

Loki looks at his brother, standing by his side, matched in fury and determination. Ready to charge headfirst into battle for nothing but the sake of himself and yours. And he wonders how he has called himself intelligent for millennia while still being so oblivious to who he truly has had poised in his corner all this time. “Brace yourself,” he says, and puts a hand laced with green magic on Thor’s arm.

In a shimmer and haze they reappear in some sort of compound. Based on the chill emanating from the concrete walls, underground. Though he does not know their precise location, Loki can tell they have travelled hundreds of miles from where they began- how had they managed to move you so quickly?

He shakes his head. Questions for another time. Both warriors are silent as they take in their surroundings, noting the echoing of footsteps- a hallway, through the door to their right- and low chatter all around.

“This is the HYDRA they spoke of?” Thor’s voice is a low rumble; Mjolnir seems to crackle impatiently in his grasp.

“Yes.”

“Can you sense her?”

Loki reaches out through every means he has, trying to strengthen your thoughts in his mind. “Faintly. She has little time.”

“Time enough.” Without warning, he arcs Mjolnir into the ground below him, crumbling the floor to dust and landing on a lower level. The screams start scarcely before the rubble settles, and despite the circumstances, Loki spares a moment to roll his eyes. And they call him dramatic.

With Thor providing a sufficient distraction, he summons his daggers to him and slips through the nearest door, every footstep bring him closer to wherever you hide.

He comes upon his first opponent the next time he hears your voice. Do I need to, like, invoke your full name or something? Startled, he falters, and the lackey dressed in military gear almost lands a blow before Loki’s reflexes kick in and efficiently pin the man to the wall. He is dead in mere seconds, when green energy overwhelms him and seizes his heart. The body slumps to the floor, and Loki tries to regain his balance. He can still hear you. And that means you’re still alive. For now. Leave it to you to ponder the proper protocols of summoning a god whilst bleeding out in a corner somewhere. Something in his heart pangs. Keep talking to me, love. You can do it. I’m coming. By the stars, I’m coming.

Loki Laufeyson, son of Odin

When you speak his name, your connection grows stronger. He makes a hairpin turn down a corridor to his left, and bangs open a door so hard spiderweb cracks are left in the steel. It leads to a staircase

rightful king of Jotunheim

Steps are cleared ten at a time, each leap pushing him further underground

God of Mischief and Lies

When two stocky guards appear at the bottom of the steps, Loki doesn’t hesitate before putting a dagger through one’s throat, and smashing the other’s head into a concrete block, leaving a sickly trail of blood leaking from the back of his skull

Royal pain in my ass for the past year

Had any HYDRA personnel glanced at the god’s face in that moment, they would have seen a ruthless, wolffish grin overtake his features, his smile as sharp as the daggers aimed at their hearts

Um, hi. It’s me.

Loki huffs as he retrieves his weapons from yet another pair of unfortunate victims. As though it could be anyone else. As if anyone else could have worked their way into his head so quickly, wrapped their fingers around his heart so thoroughly, had their laugh running through his veins like morphine when the nights proved too dark for him to handle on his own

You’d laugh if you were here, trust me

“My sense of humor only goes so far, Witling,” he growls, “and at the moment you are severely pushing its boundaries.” His next target only has time to give him a confused glance before their eyes roll back into their head

So, I know you’re kinda in a cell

Once again, his smile turns dark, and he lets a little extra energy crackle and spiral up his arms, enjoying the feeling of pure power he’s been missing in his imprisonment. Not anymore. Would there be consequences waiting for him? Yes. But he’ll gladly take them and more if it means getting you out of here alive-

I mean, I’m gonna die either way

With a roar, he rips more pathetic beings out of his way and descends another level. You. Are. Not. Dying. Stop saying that.

Sorry, that was a joke. You know I like you better.

And I adore nothing in the world so much as you. Is that not strange?

More hallways that lead to dead ends, more rooms with no treasure to be had but the thrill of seeing the light leave another’s eyes

I don’t know if you can hear me

My love, I would wager all of Asgard that I could still hear your voice if I was frozen in the heart of Ginnungagap itself.

a prince is still a prince, no matter where he comes from

And with his shoulders steady, his aim quick and true, his feet lithe and dancing over the destruction that lay in his wake, Loki Laufeyson looks every inch a fearsome prince no one in the nine realms would dare deny

Thor loves you, even if you don’t believe it

Somewhere above him, thunder rumbles, and the building shakes with heaven-sent lightning. The telltale smell of ozone lingers in the air. Loki has seen enough battles to picture his brother now, glowing with energy as he searches for the next soul that stands in his way

try not to dagger him unless he really deserves it

A smile touches his lips. Ah, Witling. Always so forgiving.

So does Frigga

Frigga. Something low in his gut twists. All-Mother, may you hear her pleas as well as mine. Watch over us both.

Trust me, I know these things

Indeed you do, darling. Somehow you seem to know more of the world than I ever shall, and you have only seen a pinprick of what it has to offer. The thought makes him angry, makes him curl his fists harder and slam it into someone’s jaw even more ruthlessly. I will show you the cosmos, my love. I swear it.

You’re close now, he can tell, because your anguish is starting to feel like a tangible thing he could reach out and rip from the air. Your pain becomes his, his terror becomes yours. He isn’t sure if the blood lingering on his tongue is yours, his, or a mingling of both

You aren’t anything like I expected

A smirk quirks his features. I have never, ever been what they expected. I have always been far more.

Closer, closer. He is closer but your voice grows dimmer, further away. He abandons stealth for an all out run, recklessly wrenching open doors as he passes in desperate hope that you might lie behind them

but I’m glad you’re not

You’d be the first.

I don’t think I’d love you nearly as much if you were

I don’t think I’d love you

love you

An unassuming hatch cracked the slightest bit open gets ripped off its hinges so forcefully it is thrown down the hall. Light floods the abandoned space, highlighting old equipment and stray bullet casings

and you.

You, curled up in the corner, clutching an old weapon to your chest like the cold metal might keep your heart from stopping. From here, he can see jagged edges of bone, glowing white against pale skin. Your hair sticks to your scalp in a mess of blood, and drops of it trickle down your cheek, marring your face. What isn’t white is red, and what isn’t red is black and purple and blue.

Keep yourself out of trouble, Trickster. For me.

“Never,” he breathes. It is trouble that led me to you, darling, and for that I shall consecrate myself at its feet for the rest of my days.

Your eyes open, blearily, his whispered words having stirred something inside you. Though you look right at him, your gaze goes through him, seeing nothing but a shadow haloed in green light. Some minuscule part of your brain wakes up enough to say point, aim, trigger

You manage to fire off three shots before everything in you goes slack.

Some notes:

- So @christ-on-a-fucking-stick-tm decided to go and WRITE ME A FUCKIN FICLET and it’s amazing and go read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631224/chapters/48990377. In honor of their utter perfection, have a chapter <3

- Ginnungagap = “gaping abyss”. It’s basically the primordial void of Norse mythos.

- Spot the Shakespeare quote! ‘Tis one of my favorite quotes, and I feel like Loki would have a (grudging) respect for the Bard.

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