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waitingforwinterwinds · 2 years ago

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A Clash of Kings - 48 DAENERYS IV (pages 628-639)

Dany has a bad time at the House of the Undying Ones.

Long and low, without towers or windows, it coiled like a stone serpent through a grove of black-barked trees whose inky blue leaves made the stuff of the sorcerers drink the Qartheen called shade of evening.

...do you think it's on purpose that the colouring of the trees basically screams anti-weirwood? "is the dress-" no, shush!

"Queen Daenerys must enter alone, or not at all." The warlock Pyat Pree stepped out from under the trees. Has he been there all along? Dany wondered.

well now I'm just imagining him hiding behind the tree trying to eavesdrop on their conversation so he can find a good dramatic entrance point.

Further on she came upon a feast of corpses. (...) In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf.

Sounds like the Red Wedding.

I know this room, she thought. She remembered those great wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And there outside the window, a lemon tree!

🍋=🥛

... Rheagar? "The man had her brother's hair-" babe your whole family has your brother's hair. (I think technically it's ethnically Valyrian hair?)

Could there be a secret door? A door I cannot see? Another torch went out. Another. The first door on the right, he said, always the first door on the right. The first door on the right... It came to her suddenly is the last door on the left!

Yay! she escaped! good logical thinking under pressure.

The show did not do this place justice, just btw.

"You have taken a wrong turning. Come I will lead you." Pyat Pree held out his hand. Dany hesitated. The was a door to her right, still closed... ... She walked away from him, to the door on the right. "No," Pyat screeched. "No, to me, come to me, to meeeeeee." His face crumbled inward, changing to something pale and wormlike.

Yeaahhhhhh! When in faerieland, trust the rules, trust your gut, trust nothing.

To her right, a set of wide wooden doors had been thrown open. They were fashioned of ebony and weirwood, the black and white grains swirling and twisting in strange interwoven patterns. They were beautiful, yet somehow terrifying.

House of Black and White vision time?

...oh no, the head honchos... being very not like the show?

Fake Undying king: Hail chief, we've been expecting you Fake Undying woman: we got all the loot for you, SSS grade gear, sweet kit~ Drogo: Seems sus, let me bite stuff first Secret door: ooohhhh, not a nat 20 on perception, my hide-and-seek win streak, noooo!

... I feel like I should probably be ashamed that my first alarm bell was "The breast she had left bare in the Qartheen fashion was as perfect as a breast could be." But I didn't pop alarm flags until "and magic weapons to arm you with."

I'm pretty sure I would have crumbled for the loot, I know this of myself.

A long stone table filled this room. Above it floated a human heart, swollen and blue with corruption, yet still alive.

Metaphorical reference to The Night King?

... no.

... morrows not yet made...

So there's a few things in these 'prophetic words' that I was thinking 'oh is that *previous event in the story*' but this line in particular makes me think these things she's being warned about are things that haven't yet occurred.

... mother of dragons, daughter of death... ...mother or dragons, slayer of lies... ...mother of dragons, bride of fire...

Ohhhh, that's interesting. The way these visions are grouped with these titles... Viserys, then whom I'm assuming is Aegon/Young Griff, and Rheagar being labelled Daughter of Death, literally linking the Targaryen house with death, two of them receiving death and one in the act of burning a city. Blue eyed king with red sword, I'm thinking Stannis, then a fake dragon, and a beast of shadow fire being placed under Slayer of Lies, we all know Stannis isn't really Azor Ahai, the fake dragon seems obvious, the beast of shadow fire is curious though, I'm thinking that's the one people think is the dragon escaping from Winterfell during the sack? Hmmm, I'm... not going to go with that as an answer just yet, given the theme of 'false' in this trio. Her silver by the river of stars... Drogo, that's a Drogo metaphor for sure. Middle one is curious, I'm not sure if I want to interpret this one as the Night King or an Other, or as someone who- ... I forgot about Euron for a minute there. He would make more sense in the context, I mean I think I recall there's a thing with him and Dany in the books that didn't make it to the show? And he's... yeah, creepy sonovabich. Third one, blue rose and ice wall? Jon, I'mma go with that's Jon, who's mother is associated with blue roses, and who himself 'bloomed' on the Wall. I mean it does kind of bias me that they had a thing in the show whether I shipped it or not, and this is the Bride section, mind you, the Bride of Fire title as a whole gives me the impression that her connection to fire supersedes her connection to the men.

But the 'Mother of Dragons' having both repetition and priority over the other titles, that's her unchanging title, that's her hat, her priority character trait.

You know... the description of the Undying molesting Dany has echoes of the first vision she saw, of the woman being used and violated and devoured. Not saying it is, just saying echoes.

*hefts steel chair to smack D&D around the head*

Look, I understand why they changed this scene for the show, giving Dany a girlboss moment when she turns the tables and burns Pyat alive, but I feel like it literally wasn't needed in the face of her cunning and logic in this chapter.

Except mental fortitude and wisdom isn't badass enough for some folks, and only deliberate violence is winning. bleh.

There is nothing wrong with Dany needing to be saved by Drogon here, she is still young and finding her footing and facing powers and methods of deception she's never faced before.

When Dany looked behind her, she saw thin tendrils of smoke forcing their way through cracks in the ancient stone walls of the Palace of Dust, and rising from between the black tiles of the roof.

You know what, it would actually be funny if this was the slain lie with the smoking tower and the shadow fire breathing beast. Even though it's not an actual tower and there's no beast. Metaphors~

#a clash of kings #a song of ice and fire #daenerys targeryan #a chapter a day reading #acok #asoiaf

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charlies-palace · 4 months ago

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hello, i saw your post about how ur friend said the coiner/creator of the term transandrophobia had been racist to them. could you please provide some evidence? i have been told and was pretty sure that the creator of transandrophobia was a person of colour (iirc they were black themselves) so your claim seems dubious to me. i’m not asking u to post any identifying info of ur friend or anything, but could you please show some evidence of the coiner of the term being racist?

Hello Anon, I want you to know that I don't want this response to come off as aggressive. I'm not angry or anything, just exhausted, so please excuse any grammatical errors as well.

As we all know, you can be affected negatively by a bigotry and still perpetuate it- plus, there are other POC who aren't Black.

I trust my friend. They are kind, wise, and they know better than to spread rumors.

It is not my place to ask them to prove their traumatic experience. We believe victims in this house, and to loop back to #2, they know better than to lie about something like this.

They are not trying to shut down conversations about anti-transmasculinity. They are simply asking that I (not you, not everyone, I) use alternative terms because of their experience- because they are my friend and I care about them, I have changed my language.

I appreciate your concern, it's important to verify stuff like this, but it's also important that we respect the people who tell us these things.

#🌷.txt #answered asks

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ferns-n-ravens · 8 months ago

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visualisation of conversation then allegiance with the queen 🛡👑

followed the instructions in clovenstone where this was mainly a visualisation of my own making, but had the potential to carry over from the otherworld. think it lasted just over 20 minutes even though it felt shorter.

began in the forest and quickly arrived at the church, which had a little wooden fence around it. i wanted to go inside but knew i mustn't be distracted. found it easy to walk backwards clockwise (thought it was anti but oh well) and met... well, i don't know that he was the man in black, or at least not with the appearance i expected. he was a goat-man and did not give me his name, but promised to guide me to the fairy queen.

the path, of course, was working against me with lots of hills and even a massive crater, but i quickly passed through (even temporarily gaining wings), which is due to His presence

when we arrived at the door in the mound, he said he could go no further but wished me luck. i went in.

first there was a hall which led into the Hall, not exactly guarded. i started to take things in, the long tables with ghostly figures, but was quickly summoned to the throne. the queen knew my name but asked me to state why i was there (though i think she knew). i told her about the book and how i wanted to do things properly. i also had to restate why i wanted to practice witchcraft, so i told of my feelings of being from both worlds, wishing to have magic in my life (not adventure? joy, peace. magic, always). i mentioned my request for the favour of curing me and retold of the promised offerings.

it is important to note that this whole time, it felt like there had been wisps of influence from Somewhere/Someone else, but now (and this could also be the melatonin kicking in), things were increasingly feeling like a surprise to me, and not of my own doing.

i asked for her name but i will learn it later. she told me that the hall was full of my ancestors, and that this was a very ancient path i wanted to follow. did i know what i was getting into? i answered truthfully that no, but i wanted to learn. she responded that i must pledge.

somebody brought over a beautiful knife and i had to cut my palm and pledge myself to her, doing her bidding as long as it was in my capabilities. at the last second, someone put a book beneath my hand and i smeared the blood onto it.

next, i was instructed to drink from a wine chalice, though she somewhat told me it was ambrosia. at this point, it really felt like there was the surface conversation i was creating AND the real thing beneath it. anyways, the liquid was red and i drank it all, almost greedily.

that was on my left. on my right, now bread appeared, a whole loaf but with a slice already cut. i ate it, again practically stuffing myself.

when i was finished, she told me to kneel and then announced that i was officially a part of her fairy court. she said i must act wisely from now on, and i got the impression that my education would continue with the devil, though perhaps not her.

i then stood, and turned to everyone in the hall, who clapped and cheered. my physical body was starting to go in paralysis and the dream world was spinning in front of my eyes, but the queen told me i could now leave.

i bid all my farewells and met the goat man again, who was suddenly very warm and congratulated me. i then roused myself from the vision and instantly went to write this down.

out of respect, my language was very formal, until i was taking part in the communion when i started asking questions. she seemed very kind though, and almost amused with me at times. very wise, very knowledgeable, and very ancient. appearance is hard to note, but she started off almost as a butterfly woman (antenna included) but i think simply human looking by the end? quite fair, with brown or auburn hair? makes me think of the 3 of pentacles. she wore a white dress with certain embroidering of course, though i am unsure of the colour

anyways, seems like this is now official. :) 🌟🌘

#initiation #fairy queen #familiar #guide

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kutputli · 2 months ago

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So this list is a bit tongue-in-cheek, which is absolutely fine, but I do want to point out that the creation of Sam Barclay as a character is a great example of the failure of Rolin and Co to create a coherent world. And it's because they are white writers.

See, the entire existance of Sam's character is a giant in-joke by (Western) theatre nerds - Sam is, in this universe, the beloved and iconic Irish playwright Samuel Beckett, and Waiting for Guido is the ur-draft of Waiting for Godot.

It's one of those har-har what if's that one jokes about in relation to a foundational theatre text that has been dissected and theorised for the past 50 years - oh suppose Vladimir and Estragon were vampires, that would explain the eternal waiting. Who better than a vampire to write a work of existential literature, eh?

But if you're going to say Sam wrote Waiting for Godot, then you need to address Lucky. (For those who are not familiar with the play - there are two characters called Pozzo and Lucky. Pozzo enters the plays holding a rope which is around Lucky's neck. Lucky is explicitly, a slave who Pozzo is planning to sell. Lucky doesn't speak in the first act except to deliver one nonsensical monologue when commanded to 'think', and in the second act he is mute. Lucky is burdened with all of Pozzo's possessions and fetches and carries them, while Pozzo carries a whip.)

Now, when Waiting for Godot was first staged, in the French it was written in, in Paris, in 1953, all the actors were white. This has remained the case for the majority of the play's revivals. With two exceptions - as early as 1957, an all-Black cast did the first Broadway production of the play (if anyone can access the full article linked, I'd love a copy!), and in 1980, in apartheid South Africa, a 'multiracial' casting had Black Vladimir and Estragon, while both Pozzo and Lucky were played by white actors. This production went on an international tour, and was boycotted in the US by anti-apartheid protestors. Beckett himself had, in earlier years, been part of a colalition of playwrights that refused to give permission for their plays to be performed in segregated South African theatres.

Now, there is an interesting parallel one can make between the Black American protestors in Baltimore whose boycott of the production ultimately cancelled its performance, and the way non-white fans have been responding to IWTV itself. The white British director of the South African play, who denounced apartheid, felt that the protestors misunderstood the play's intentions with its multiracial cast. I myself, looking at the incident from the perspective of normalisation and BDS against Israel in the 2020s, feel much more sympathy for the protestors' position.

But those are thoughts for a larger essay. The simple point of this is - if any version of Waiting for Guido included a version of Lucky in it, then it is inconceivable that Louis and Claudia would have nothing to say about it. It is inconceivable that Sam the playwright would have written a play with slavery, and not have had a discussion about the implications of it, when he has a Brown director, and Black and Asian actors in the company. Those discussions could have gone in various directions, but they had to have happened, and there is no way such conversations could then be erased when it came to the way he wrote the lynching play.

Frankly, I find it telling that we do not get any conversations about the minstrel show nature of the Baby Lulu play - all we see is Louis's look of wary discomfort while watching it. I do not believe that Louis and Claudia would not have talked about it. I do not believe that Louis would not have talked about it with Armand. The fact that we are shown none of this, is because the white show writers are, like the white Sam they are writing, oblivious to what conversations happen between creative people of colour.

Further, the mind which wrote Waiting for Godot was the kind of mind that the avante-guarde admiring, abstract art appreciating Louis would have enjoyed talking to. Clearly, Samuel Barclay is not the intellectual equal of Samuel Beckett - both the absence of any such conversations, as well as the texts of the other plays he has written shows us this.

But then why have Waiting for Guido at all?

It's a trivial, cheap joke, but what it does is show us that Rolin sees no functional difference between the two Sams. Barclay COULD have been Beckett, because to him there is no fundamental moral distinction between the two. This is one of the facts of liberal white people who are so fixated on racism being only a thing that evil right wing fundamentalist people do - they cannot see the difference between themselves and another white person who may be more clued in to racial violences, because none of it registers as racial violence in the first place.

I have no idea how racist or not Samuel Beckett was in real life, of course. If Louis and Claudia had interrogated the politics of making Lucky a slave in Beckett's most famous play, that would have been a rather brilliant way in which the race-bent characters of IWTV add new richness to the source material. It could even have been a commentary on the merits and failures of absurdist art that is on the surface, apolitical. They could have then drawn a through line to explain why he went on to write the lynching play.

But we get none of that because Rolin and Co do not realise that they have written a lynching play.

And THAT is why I hate the character. You can add that reason to the list.

Joining in on Sam Barclay haterism. The list of things this man needs to pay for:

He wrote a racist play that killed Claudia (this should be enough reason for all of us to hate him and want to kill him)

He also wrote the Baby Lou Lou play so we need to kill him for that too

His plays, when they are not racist, are just plain bad. Wtf was that "Enduring for Guido" shit anyway?

He wrote a racist play that killed Claudia

He has ugly hair and doesn't do anything about it, despite clearly having the money to.

Says shit like "Its an honor to work in the company". Sucking up to fucking Armand of all people? Come on!

He wrote a racist play that killed Claudia

He works for the Telemasca (i don't know if I spelled that right and i don't care), which I have decided is a really boring and sloppy plot point so he needs to die for that too

HE WROTE A RACIST PLAY THAT KILLED CLAUDIA

#interview with the vampire #my meta #other people's meta #my reblogs #sam barclay #media racism #samuel beckett #waiting for godot

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cutestrawberrycat · 3 years ago

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I'm gonna chose to defend Isabela

Man some of yall really saw Encanto and completely missed every point huh? Like some of yall really said apology conga line or it didn't happen huh? Can't see past your own personal experiences therefor this depiction is unrealistic huh? What's the next hot take? 'Casita didn't make Mirabel a non magical non nursery bedroom so it's also anti-Mirabel'? The world isn't black and white! The world isn't straightforward! Humans don't change at the same pace! They don't even do it in a steady pace!

Do not get me wrong. I am the Mirabel of my family too. I hate the way they treated her too. I know what she went through was unfair, especially because it's so arbitrary and out of her control.

But good grief that doesn't mean that everyone who pushes back against her is irreparably evil.

Let me be super goddamn clear;

They were wrong in the way they treated Mirabel

Spoilers if you read ahead and I did my best to keep a neutral tone and use facts from the movie only

So here's me going on the defense of Isabela, my second least favourite character Alma I am coming for you

I cannot stress enough how important it is to remember that Alma practically raised Isabel to be the Golden Child and to fulfill 'her dreams' and make the family proud.

How did I reach this conclusion?

Alma is very often seen coaching or talking to Isabel, how perfect something must be or what is about happen, Isabel even wears a purple dress that puts her closer to Alma than it does her cool family. (Especially when you put the characters next to each other but YMMV on this one depending on your personal colour reception). Next when Alma is retelling her story to Mirabel and her visualization walks through the doors, we see Isabel, who immediately corrects her posture. There's more but they're minor and more implicit so I'm sticking to the big ones.

I can't say for certain this was her entire life (I mean, she IS the first grandchild) but I can reasonably pinpoint to it atleast starting at 12, when Mirabel didn't get a gift. Putting pressure on a 12 year old, the start of some very important formative years, to be a specific way and to have specific standards of perfection is... what's the word? Oh yeah!

Damaging.

A gifted golden child who is told they need to set an example for those coming after them? Mind-warping. Being told you're perfect as reinforcement for anything? Not great. Receiving punishment for doing something Different? Also not great.

You don't come out of that without some sliver of frustration. You have to be perfect, you don't get to chose to be something different, you're the example.

Okay great, so Isabela, who's life is outwardly perfect had it rough growing up but subtle-like, considering Mirabel was apparently unaware of this. Fair enough.

Wait, hold on, but why did she take it out on Mirabel? Tell her she's not helping, to be quiet and to stay out of the way?

That's what Alma does.

No, really. The first like proper conversation between just Alma and Mirabel is Alma suggesting to Mirabel that she leave the decorating to everyone else. Alma has like, no expectations for Mirabel and basically just wants her to 'be out of the way'. You can tell from her tone and expression. The vibes are totally "Sit down and let the grown ups handle this."

Okay but what does that have to do with Isabela? Imagine you're in class, your teacher gives handouts for everyone to work on but they run out at the last student, so they just tell that last student to go outside and play, before turning to you and telling you to make sure you do well because they expect an A+ from you. That's unfair right? Imagine how annoyed you'd be looking out the window seeing that one kid sit on the swing as you have a handout to complete.

That could very well be Isabela's perspective, she's the golden child who has to do everything while Mirabel gets off with no responsibilities.

Now, we the viewer know that that's not the whole story, we the viewer know that actually that last kid feels excluded and is sad about it so they do their best to get back into the class by idk asking to make a different handout or to do quiet reading but they get shoo'd away by the teacher. What would you the student think? That they're annoying, why can't they just be quiet, they're being disruptive and oh my gosh they're going to ruin my grade!

That's what I believe it to be from Isabela's perspective too. She has all these expectations to meet and Mirabel doesn't have any. She is doing her best to keep the Madrigal image and Mirabel is ruining it. She is capable and talented and helpful and Mirabel isn't.

So at some point she just repeats her grandma's words (which she does a few times in the movie btw), prefacing it as 'sisterly advice'. It literally parallels Alma a few seconds later and as I said in my rant;

"Her 'advice' at the start was rude as heck and her tone didn't help but she was truly under the impression that Mirabel wasn't being helpful"

That's what she's always heard Alma say, and Alma probably said it a ton.

She was still in the wrong for this but at least I hope I offered some perspective on where it's likely coming from. (I didn't grow with that pressure myself, but I have seen plenty of top student classmates dislike average students for somewhat similar reasons. "My mom/dad is gonna kill me when they see I got only an B+" anyone?)

Now, the big blowup. I saw some people genuinely upset by Isabela's words. Valid. Everyone says hyperbolic things in the heat of the moment and people say things they really shouldn't. Unfortunately though I can 'understand' why Isabela claimed Mirabel ruined her life.

It was still wrong.

Now step into Isabel's shoes for a second. (Or don't). For the last 10 years, you have done everything to be exactly what you are told you must be. You have made everyone proud and your life is on track. You aren't super into it but knowing you're making others happy is okay for you. Your hair is just right, your dress is neat, you've perfected your walk and now you are to be engaged to (presumably) the most desired bachelor in town. Your uncle predicted this 10 years ago so as far as you know it's all going according to plan.

That's your personal duty.

Then over the course of a diner it all goes to heck. Your proposal is ruined (you even punched him in the face by accident, can you imagine the scolding you got for that?), your family loses control of their powers (including you), you've caused a scene in front of the whole town and to top it all of you find out your sister is supposedly the catalyst for the destruction of your family and their powers. 10 years in the academy of hard work wasted.

For all intents and purposes, the life that was promised to you and you worked to achieve, is ruined. (Not permanently maybe but it is still at that point ruined.)

The house is in chaos and everyone is in some state of panic and the culprit has managed to go into hiding.

You finally get a moment in your room to try and sort out your thoughts and maybe some anxiety has built up too because now what? What are you to do? And suddenly, boom, here comes your sister (the alleged doom-bringer and the very culprit everyone's looking for) barging in suggesting to just hug it out. No apology about the engagement she just ended. Just a hug.

Your life was, essentially, destroyed in front of your eyes and all you get offered is a hug.

You might be willing to take the high road with just an I'm sorry, which you nearly get, before she just? insults you? calls you names? You're her older sister so you have to be the bigger person here but she is literally insulting you and your husband to be, she is practically mocking your sacrifices, she wouldn't know, she's been frolicking in a field for all you know, but here she is, refusing to leave your room/sanctuary, and calling you names.

And suddenly it's all too much and you explode and say somethings you're not sure you mean.

It happens to the best of us and the worst of us. Words are complicated and when tensions are high, you're always at a loss for the right ones so you say the wrong ones.

That's still messed up.

But it happens. Teens everywhere accuse their parents of the same thing. Heartbroken people tell their exes something similar. Disgruntled artists may even shout it when they get fucked over. Doesn't mean it's always wrong or right and they all very clearly mean it in a different way.

Accusing someone of ruining your life isn't excusable

But frankly who the hell ever has the right words during the heat of the moment. Look me in the eye and tell me you were never at a loss for words or had a lame comeback only to figure out the perfect response in the shower a few days later.

MY POINT IS

I wish Isabela didn't say it and I wish Mirabel never had to hear it but frankly I get where she came from and Mirabel didn't take her very serious anyway like she wrote that off as Isabela being dramatic

This part gets immediately mitigated anyway. Isabela, in letting herself vent out her frustration (of which Mirabel is the catalyst, instigator (from Isabela's perspective anyway) and unfortunate recipient), makes a new plant. Which is kind of the same as Taylor Swift writing music while heartbroken imo but botanical.

I chose to spell this part out because I'm on a roll at this point. In creating new plants it's so obvious to both her and Mirabel that they both misunderstood Isabela. Isabela in that out of everyone she has lied to herself the most and Mirabel in that actually she has no real understanding of who her sister is. She even directly thanks her for encouraging her to just be creative, something Alma would definitely not allow.

And during Mirabel's argument with Alma, she finally understands that she also misunderstood who Mirabel is.

At the end we see her change her clothes to something a bit closer to her sisters (incl the Colombian flag), she admits to crying sometimes, she helps her sisters and engages with them (which she notably doesn't do throughout), she and Mirabel hatch a babyplot to bring Dolores to Mariano's attention (which means she really stopped trying to force her own wedding/knows about Dolores' crush (maybe Mirabel told her?)), it's not perfect and it's not flawless and it's clunky and she still so long to go but she started.

And a part of me has a feeling that if Alma didn't interrupt them, they would have kept talking, they would have continued to open up because once that ball starts rolling it typically does not stop.

To be very clear;

Isabela is wrong in her treatment of Mirabel

Isabela is wrong in how she speaks to Mirabel

Isabela has like 10 years of harsh treatment towards Mirabel to address

Isabela should not be lightly forgiven for any of her past transgressions

But here's a few statements that coexist

Isabela has made a positive change

Isabela has shown a willingness to change

Isabela has acknowledged that Mirabel has been brave to stand up for what's ultimately the right thing to do

C'mon, let's plant something new and watch it fly

We see how brave you've been

#disney encanto #encanto #isabela madrigal #encanto disney #this one is for the Isabela haters #You're valid tbh #Doubt #But saying she hasn't done anything to start her change or that she's easily forgiven?#also someone commented on how she's 22 talking down to a 15 year old #listen #breakdowns have no age #arguments have no age

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chazukekani · 4 years ago

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Previous // Next

Summary for Code:04 is here!

Please notice that this is just a summary so not every single detail is included!

Stormbringer Summary 5

Code 04: Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again

Recap: N and Verlaine escaped from the laboratory.

The chapter begins with an excerpt of Rimbaud's diary. He wrote that there was once an anti-government movement 'May Revolution', and the leaders were called 'The Fauns'. They created a secret weapon which was named 'No.12 of Darkness' that can control gravity freely. Once Rimbaud acquired this weapon, he was ordered to educate him and trained this weapon to become a spy, and its name was Paul Verlaine.

- Unbelievable. The Secret of the Gentle Forest was decoded. Here it lies the most fierce beast, and Verlaine...

Rimbaud wrote in his diary.

Verlaine and N were at the top of a tower crane. Verlaine had N here because he wanted to know why N knew the Secret. However, N claimed that the last 6 pages of the Secret was erased by Rimbaud himself so he couldn't tell much. Verlaine couldn't believe that's actually Rimbaud who altered the information.

He was strong, Verlaine referred to Rimbaud. He is the only one who was capable of battling with Verlaine in his organisation, and they were partners. Not only this, Rimbaud also called Verlaine his friend, but Verlaine just felt like he couldn't like Rimbaud.

Verlaine left N on the tower crane alone and left.

It was a night with a clear sky, a train was moving on the railway and Mori was sleeping inside. At once, a human showed up on the railway, and stopped the train. The train was derailed as a result of mass shock. Verlaine went inside the train and searched for something, and he believed no one inside the train was able to survive after the shock.

Verlaine found the body of Mori, and he approached to confirm the breath. But that wasn't Mori. It was a man who wore the outfit of his, but was not Mori himself. Turns out it was Mori's double, Hirotsu. A tiny person also appeared afterwards, and that's Dazai.

Suddenly, there was light in the dark, and that was flame. By the mountain near the railway, there were 50 and more sniper bullets aimed and shotted Verlaine, and the target was in utter pain.

'Don't think these little rocks could kill me...' Verlaine was trying to use the woods beside him to attack the snipers who were hiding in the mountain, but he stopped

'Hoho- You really look like my subordinate when I take a closer look' said an elegant lady, Kouyou. She summoned Golden Demon and launched offense towards Verlaine.

'You can't beat me alone,' Verlaine said.

'Who said I am alone?' Verlaine then felt his whole body sinking down to the ground, and turned into multiple snakes that were about to swallow him. That was the Lieutenant's ability (reference to Dead Apple manga, former Port Mafia executive), that could manipulate the state of objects.

'Ability organisations are stronger than ability users,' Dazai observed and smiled. Various ability users from the Port Mafia were launching all kinds of attacks towards him, such as the ability of slowing the time and freezing. In fact, Dazai sent 420 Mafia members which included 28 ability users to the scene to defeat Verlaine.

'I will mourn you,' Dazai said to Verlaine, and took out Rimbaud's diary from his pocket.

The next moment, a black wave inflated and spreaded to the whole field.

'-- You hatreds, your dumb torpors, your weaknessses,

And your brutalisation suffered long ago,

You give back, O Night, like an excess,

Un-malevolent, of blood, each month or so, (extract from The Sisters of Charity, by Arthur Rimbaud)' Verlaine said the spell.

The wind calmed, the buzz on the ground vanished as if escaping from something. The invisible waves were flooded in the atmosphere.

'The door was opened,' Dazai observed. A black object appeared far far away in the forest. Right after, where Verlaine were, ejected a form of dark energy. The car that was hit by this energy was completely deformed with half of it vanished and the remains were just like a wrapped paper.

On the mountain, there was a monster who controlled a dark sphere. When people touched the sphere, they died.

No.3 Forces, annihilated; No.5 forces, all dead, No.8 forces, no response, as reported from Dazai's walkie talkie. The mountained was eliminated, and the ground was distorted. All the mafia members were screaming and suffering.

'It's all in the plan, we will win if the next attack succeeds,' said Dazai.

Up in the sky of Yokohama, Chuuya and Adam were inside a helicopter and they jumped off from it due to the attack from the monster. Adam was able to fly in the sky because his body allowed him to transform himself into a flying machine.

Similar to Chuuya, Verlaine was also intolerant to poison despite having ample physical strength, so actually it was their plan to approach Verlaine closely, so that they can inject poison into Verlaine's body. It was notable that Adam mixed this poison pill.

It was very difficult to get closer to Verlaine because he had activated his corruption, which he lost his consciousness and attacked the surroundings without rationality.

Nonetheless, Chuuya did put a toxic pill into Verlaine's mouth, which he has his conscious back. Yet Verlaine splitted out the pills right after.

'You always surprise me, Chuuya,' Verlaine spoke. He told Chuuya that once he said the spell, he would have his human personality unlocked and become a mad beast that generated ability singularity. However, that is Rimbaud who thought about adding a spell on Verlaine, which enabled him to get back to a rational form after using his corruption.

'He always thinks about what he could do for me,' said Verlaine.

'But you betrayed him,' Chuuya replied

'Because I wanted to save you,' Verlaine answered.

Suddenly, a finger touched Verlaine's face.

'What an unexpected offense. I bet no one could foresee this. What a joke,' said Chuuya

Verlaine turned back, and realised that was Adam's finger.

'Do you wanna hear an android joke?' Adam's finger was installed with a tiny syringe, and this enabled poison to be injected into Verlaine's body.

'Seems like a child's trick can defeat the king of assassins. Thanks for listening to my android joke.'

It returns to another section of Rimbaud's diary. Rimbaud was thinking about what presents he should give to Verlaine on his birthday. He came up to a conclusion: a black hat. That was not an ordinary hat. The materials used inside the hat consists of 10% platinum, 10% titanium and the rest were made with rainbow-coloured ability metal which was installed with the ability of the Fauns inside. By wearing this hat, it enabled Verlaine to act on his own will and less interfered by external instructions and interruption. In other words, Verlaine was a step closer to a man with free will by having this hat.

Rimbaud gave the hat to Verlaine on his birthday, and he did not look surprised or happy either way.

'Just take it,' Rimbaud told Verlaine, and there was no response. They drank some wine that night and said goodnight to each other.

The battle was so called ended, but the field was left with gravity waves and the forest was completely destroyed. Verlained passed out, but still alive. Dazai told Adam and Chuuya that N was rescued from the tower crane, but disappeared during transportation.

'I can't die here...' said N. The car that he was taking bumped into a utility pole because he injected some form of medicine to the driver. He took out an old style flare gun and shooted.

'Is this some mistake made by the offense team?' Chuuya noticed the shot far away.

'Shit...' Dazai's eyes were in despair.

The shot that shooted from N's flare gun was exploded with colourful metal pieces floating in the air like snow, and even accompanied with some music. Verlaine suddenly yelled painfully. His eyes were filled with blood and the blood stream was clear on his face and grabbed his chest hardly.

'That was not the effect of my pill!' Adam shouted, 'The gravitational field was unusual here!'

The space was deformed, and Verlaine was flooded inside his own gravity wave.

'The world ends here...' Verlained whispered just like an old man who's dying 'Run, Chuuya.' Verlaine smiled sorrowfully.

The sky was divided, the thunder was coming and the atmosphere was expanding. N saw the ability form of Verlaine. It was a black beast, the opposite of god, and original demon -- Guivre the Beast. The monster annihilated all the aircrafts incoming and was about to proceed to the city center.

'See that Verlaine! That's your end!' N laughed, almost screamed. 'An unique being like you will die because of such a boring creature like me! HAHAHAHA DIE VERLAINE!'

Here comes a flashback during the night of Rimbaud and Verlaine's mission of stealing Arahabaki.

'Don't give this kid to the French,' Verlaine was holding the young Chuuya on his arm.

'What?' Rimbaud was confused.

'Don't hand him over to anyone, and don't let him go back to the lab. Grow this kid in a farm and just never let him know about his truth.'

'What are you talking about?' Rimbaud asked once again.

'Think about it Rimbaud,' Verlaine's voice was tense and hostile at the same time, 'If someone tells you you're not a human, how impactful it will be. You are not born with god's blessing but just a programme, how hurtful it is. You cannot see the moon and live in darkness forever without any hope, and no one will come save you. Even such a feeling of despair is designed by someone else!'

'We have this conversation countless times, Paul,' Rimbaud stepped forward, 'You are a human, everyone sees that. Instead of thinking how you were made, isn't it better to think what you should be as a being?'

'Paul...' 'Don't get close.'

'I am sorry. Anyways, should we go back and have a chat?' Rimbaud stepped forward again.

'No, it's too late.'

A huge fight between the spies broke out.

Adam had an idea to stop the destruction of Guivre. Almost at the end of the Great War, Britain had developed something that was currently the energy source of Adam's machines. However, the initial usage of Adam's energy source was a mass destruction weapon. Adam smiled and continued. If they used Adam's weapon inside him, they could burn and melt the Guivre.

So they put this in practise. Adam asked Chuuya to tie Adam's own arm to an electric cable. However, Adam pushed Chuuya away when he was about to trigger the weapon. He explained to Chuuya that the weapon inside him was called the Shell (55 minutes reference). It can burn down the surroundings of 22 yard radius, and the internal temperature could reach 6000 degree celsius, and that is almost the temperature of the sun surface. This was sufficient to destroy the Guivre.

'Don't do this!' Chuuya cried

'Don't you have your dream! To build an investigation organisation purely ran by machines right!'

Adam silenced for two seconds.

'My dream is to protect humans,' Adam replied, 'and my dream comes true now.'

'Wait!'

A gigantic fireball. It burned the woods, and boiled the land, and altogether evaporated. The Guivre moaned miserably and decomposed in the air. Adam sacrificed himself and the monster was destroyed.

However, the tail of the beast in front of Chuuya and Dazai was forming into something. That piece of tail suddenly grew a face out of it, something like a reptile. It then turned into a huge form of creature. Its head was pretty much the head of the former Guivre, but the number of eyes were different, and it had red eyes.

'Don't look at it, Chuuya,' Dazai warned, 'He was sensitive to emotion, so don't let him see you.'

'I know how to defeat this ability singularity,' said Chuuya, 'I recalled from my memory.'

'Let's brief me that,' Dazai smiled.

They figured out how to open Chuuya's door. In order to activate Chuuya's corruption, he needs to say the spell 'Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again'. Together with the hat gifted by Rimbaud, Chuuya could control the door with his own consciousness. However, there's a problem. Once Chuuya said the spell, the log inside his programme will altogether be erased, which means Chuuya could no longer find out whether he was human or not via the programme.

Chuuya was flying in the sky. He grabbed his hat tightly and recalled his friend's word

-- I am satisfied that I can protect you.

And he said 'Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again.'

The battle between the gigantic beast and a tiny Arakami (God of Arahabaki) began. Dazai was directing the forces to launch offense towards the beast. Meanwhile Chuuya's physical body could no longer tolerate the power inside his body. He was bleeding severely. Finally, Chuuya created an enormous fireball that was as if the second sun in the night. Finally, the beast disappeared and Dazai nullified corruption.

Code:04 End

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs storm bringer #bungou stray dogs storm bringer #bsd storm bringer #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd paul verlaine #bsd adam frankenstein #bsd dazai osamu #bsd ozaki kouyou #nakahara chuuya #paul verlaine #adam frankenstein #dazai osamu #ozaki kouyou #hirotsu ryuurou #bsd hirotsu ryuuro

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isleofdarkness · 2 months ago

Text

Well, I'm going to reblog with my speech anyways.

I was asking you to consider why the choices in the source material were taken. I was asking you to look a little deeper. Let me compare this situation to a well-known example;

In Twilight, Jacob sexually assaulted Bella by kissing her without her consent. While we could take this at face value and come to the conclusion that Jacob is a sexual predator who would readily force himself on Bella, we also have to consider why the writer chose Jacob specifically, a member of a minority that has stereotypes associated with sexually assaulting white women, to sexually assault a white woman. Jacob's actions as a fictional being with no agency reflect the beliefs of his writer, who is racist and white supremacist and reflects these beliefs in her work. Meanwhile, Edward's behaviour and how he treated Bella caused their relationship to meet every single warning sign of an abusive relationship, but because he is white, this is excused and brushed off. His actions are no worse, or even worse, that Jacob's were but, due to the beliefs of the writer, he got all the grace and excuses and nuance in the world whereas Jacob was vilified. We must keep in mind that these characters are not real people. They are the products of their writers.

The canon treatment of Audrey, Uma, and Uliana is like that. Their actions are really no worse than Mal's actions but, while Mal is afforded nuance and sympathy for actions that are objectively worse, these characters are given zero sympathy and nuance by the writers and are left as evil, bitter bitches. I genuinely don't know how to better explain this.

And while, yes, you didn't mention race, it's a factor. It's why they're treated the way they are in the source material so it is, whether you realize it or not, the reason you are anti Audrey. Their actions are a product of misogynoir from the people who created them, and that is being perpetuated by every single person who just accepts these characters as they are without question. Her race is a factor because she fulfils stereotypes and tropes assigned to Black women, and because the writers treated her as they did because she is a Black girl.

We all have unconcious biases to unpack. We all have to learn to lick critically at the media we consume and see not only what the characters did, but why they did it. I am not accusing you of being actively and maliciously racist. I am stating that you are perpetuating the stereotypes and tropes that went into this character and specifically targeted her and singled her out as irredeemable and evil due to her status as a Black girl. Honestly, I wouldn't hold it against you because gods only know I was the same way when I was younger. But I am inviting you to see the nuance and real-world causes of what you have come onto my post telling me, I am inviting you to realize what this is and why it is and why it isn't right. I am not accusing you from a high horse, I am inviting you to learn and grow in the same way I did and continue to so that rather than unknowing perpetuating the problem, you can look deeper, see the real reasons and the real damage, and work towards fixing it. And you did not upset, you reminded me of myself. And gods do I wish someone had had this conversation with me when I was younger.

I only said fandom racism because a) if there are any readers of colour who were not in the mood to hear about this, I wanted them to have the option to filter out my post, and b) because this fandom is supremely fucking racist and to be honest, I don't always want to scroll through my blog and be reminded of that either while I'm trying to calm down during a stressful day at work.

You really shouldn't have put all that candy back there. Candy contains a lot of common and uncommon allergens (worst offender being the peanut butter cups, which contain dairy, peanuts, and are not gluten free) and you have no idea what these kids are allergic to. They probably don't even know what they're allergic to. Unless you're willing to risk them needing to go to the hospital instead of AP, probably not a good idea. Are there even epinephrine auto-injectors back there?

Like, I get the sentiment. But that wasn't safe.

#the darkness speaks #fandom racism #swearing

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bailey-reaper · 3 years ago

Note

Hhhhh could you write a sequel to the hades fic???? it was SOO good!!!!!!

For Dear Life (Hades & Persephone AU)

Notes: (continued from here) Hello anon, I'm very happy to hear you enjoyed the Hades/Persephone fic! As I've said before, I love mythologies!

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: abducted / hostage situation; power imbalance; intense emotions; Tia seriously screws around with Greek mythology. Like really REALLY screws around...; I'm sorry historians (again!) and mythologists

It was impossible to say whether or not the underworld met their expectations, because such things were normally so abstract and not a subject they really thought of; so, to be suddenly confronted by the literal domain of the dead, was utterly mind-boggling.

All they really remembered, as the chariot dove deep into the bowels of the earth was the feeling of the God of the Underworld holding them close and partly shielding them with his long cloak of darkness. It had surprised them to hear a heart beating in the deity's chest – surely that was something of an oxymoron?

With a firm shake of their head, they quietly wondered why they were dwelling upon that precise detail; it seemed like such a trivial thing...

They had been escorted to a garden within the deity's palace: the plants were unusual colours and shapes, no doubt thanks to the lack of sunlight they enjoyed, but it was a soothing space nonetheless and one that helped their racing thoughts to calm. As they looked around and overhead, it struck them how easy it was to forget this was a subterranean domain given how high the vaulted cavernous ceilings were.

"It is a pleasant garden, is it not?" a familiar, but terrifying, voice remarked as the tall and imposing Lord of the Dead entered the space.

Instantly the feeling of calm abandoned them and they stood with a small yelp of shock, "........" even if they'd wanted to speak, it was as if their voice was stuck in their throat.

"...." the God's expression was momentarily odd, they might have taken it as him being wounded or even disappointed, before he cleared his throat and sat on a bench fashioned from black marble, ".... I have no intentions to harm you. It may be difficult to believe that, but it is the truth... won't you come here?" he held out a hand, "I have shown you a great deal of discourtesy thus far in failing to properly introduce myself... My rashness can only be attributed to the passion you make me feel. It is... very out of my usual character."

And it was, for the Lord of the Underworld was known among his brethren as a level-headed judge who maintained utmost composure at all times. In fact, they often described him as being 'cold as a corpse' and brutal when it came to matters of logic or strategy. Impulsiveness was an unknown concept in his mind, until now...

"...I... am fine here," they replied, settling back down in grass that appeared to be more peacock blue than green.

"... Very well," once more he wore that wounded expression, but the God seemed willing to respect their reluctance, "I am the God of the Underworld, I believe your kind call me 'Hades'."

"... Hades," yes -- that was what humans called the stern God beneath the earth, but it sounded to them as if that might not be his real name, "Is... that not your name, then?"

A smile graced and lifted his features for a moment, brightening them in an unexpected way, "You are as astute as I thought... that is correct: my 'true' name is not Hades, though, mortals may call me whatever they wish."

"Then... what is your real name?" this topic of conversation made them curious: where had the names of the Gods actually come from? Were they brought to the minds of men in a dream? Or did the Gods themselves provide false identities, if so then why?

"Mmm," he looked momentarily pensive, "That is a secret, for now... a God's true name holds great power. To entrust it to another is akin to making a vow."

Their eyes widened, "Oh... I... I see."

"You will forgive me if I do not offer up something so personal at this delicate juncture, I am aware that your presence here is entirely of my doing and that you are... unhappy about it. I will not keep it a secret any longer than I must."

"...." it made sense that a God would not trust a relative stranger with something that seemed to hold a great deal of power. They wanted to ask more about it: what did it mean to know a God's true name? What kind of 'vow' did it create? But, it seemed more prudent to leave the topic for now, "... Please won't you let me go home?" they asked, eyes pleading, "I am... flattered to have caught the eye of a God, but I am a mere mortal. I cannot see what lasting intrigue I would have to a divine being such as yourself."

The Lord of the Underworld tilted his head, "Do you think me a shallow man who saw your beautiful face and thought only of that?" he shook his head, "I appreciate that we Gods have a less than glowing image among mortals, and that we have a reputation for treating humans in a superficial manner, but, that is not why I have brought you here. I do not see you as some pretty trophy to keep until I tire of you. Though you are beautiful, yes, it is not simply your appearance that has captivated me so."

"What...?" for some reason his impassioned words made their heart thud in their chest; did he really meant to say that he, a God, had fallen in love with them?

"You possess a quality of character and strength of spirit that has quite simply dazzled me... I have watched you from afar, seen how you have helped your fellows and maintained your grace and resolve even in the face of adversity. I was blinded by more than just your looks."

They blinked a few times, going over his words again and again in muted silence. How could they respond to such a heartfelt answer? It was clear that the God of the Underworld was sincere, if nothing else-- but, this was too much to take in.

"... I'm sure it must come as a surprise to hear a God's confession, but I cannot yearn from afar any longer... that is why I have brought you here. So that I might marry you and take you for my spouse."

"This... it's... this is far more than a surprise... it's shocking. I'm a simple human, surely there are other Gods and Goddesses that are better suited to wed one such as you?"

The God chuckled, "Gods and Humans aren't so different you know... We're possessed of the same diversity of thought and feelings, the same irrational sensibilities and yearnings... it is not as if for every God there is a comparable divine partner. In fact, I find a number of my divine brethren to be a noisy, irksome lot and ill-suited to my temperament. I gladly opted to rule the Underworld for it lessens the time I have to spend with them."

".... huh?" suddenly, they couldn't help but giggle, "... Are you... saying that you view the Gods as annoying relatives?"

"...." he pursed his lips, "Well... they are."

"Oh... I had no idea... So, you came here willingly?" he nodded, "That's not what our books say: apparently you drew lots with your brothers and received the underworld having drawn the shortest straw."

"...?" he looked genuinely bemused by that account, "... I've... never heard something so ridiculous in all my life... drew lots? By the Gods, no. The last thing I would want is to rule the Gods and endure the constant politics of Mount Olympus. Truth be told, I have no idea how my brother manages it..."

Once more they were laughing, for the God of the Underworld --Hades himself-- looked utterly aghast, "Oh! But what about the sea then? Wouldn't you have preferred your brother Poseidon's domain?"

"First, Poseidon is not my brother, he was a 'brother-in-arms' who assisted me and my brother... second, the sea is not much better than Olympus given its relative proximity. I find that my brethren are far slower to make the trek down into the bowels of the earth than any other place."

"I... had no idea the Lord of the Underworld was so anti-social," they mused, smiling to themself having almost entirely lost their nervousness, "But... I suppose it makes some sense, given that your domain is that of the dead. Have you... always been like this?"

"Like what?" he cocked his head.

"... Disagreeable to spending time with other Gods."

"I suppose so," he folded his arms, as if trying to recall some divine equivalent of childhood, "There are so many irksome and tedious Gods in the world, I discovered that during the wars with the Titans."

"Oh... so those wars actually happened then? Our human books are right about that much at least?" he nodded, "So... are the myths about your brother, Zeus, true?"

"What myths about Zeus?"

"That he's the most terrible womaniser who forces himself upon anything that catches his eye?"

"What?!" he stood up, clearly flustered, "Who dares to tarnish my brother's name so?! He's not some philandering hedonist! He's a man of the utmost integrity and happily married! Not to mention his wife would punish him severely were he to hold such callous disregard for the mortals..." suddenly, he stopped his ranting and looked apologetic as he sat down, "... Forgive me, that outburst was uncalled for..."

"I'm... surprised," they said, "Because our myths suggest that you and Zeus do not get along... but you seem incredibly fond of him... oh... and what did you mean that Poseidon is not your brother? Aren't all the Gods related?"

"Of course I'm fond of him," the God said, "He's my brother... and as for your other questions.... what kind of inbred bedlam do you think the Gods live in? We are not begat as generations of mortals, we all issued forth from the black waters of Chaos..."

"But how are you and Zeus related if all Gods are not born?"

"I... was a weak little God when I emerged from the primordial darkness, in fact it was questionable whether or not I would survive. Zeus took pity on me, and shared with me his ichor.... that sustained me and breathed life into me. We are brothers who share the same blood, literally."

"Oh... wow... I had no idea..."

"Why would you? It is not as if we Gods are at pains to correct the fantasies that mortals dream up to explain the world around them," he folded his arms, "I'm... glad you seem a little less nervous in my presence."

"Ah..." they blinked, "Now that you mention it, I do feel a lot calmer."

"That's good... I hope, with time, that perhaps you will... take a liking to me."

"...." funnily enough, seeing more of the God's character had endeared him to them, "I... can't make any promises," they said, while looking down and smiling.

He seemed to pick up on that coyness, "Hmmm... that's better than an outright no. Now, I should like to show you my domain. Do you feel up to a chariot ride? I won't burst up from the earth this time and grab you..."

"In that case, yes."

#barok van zieks #Barok x Ors #alt universe #request

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animanightmate · 11 months ago

Text

I only saw a fragment of what occurred here, but this white person is more than willing to take the word of members of the former server who are people of colour/ people of the global majority when they say that many of the key responses from the old mod team came from a place informed by racism.

[Image description: Two screenshots of discord messages in dark mode. Text follows:

Screenshot 1: Message from Kier Zhou Today at 6:40 AM

Obviously I've missed something here.

No dramas being kind to people. It is, in fact, what I was asking for.

Unfortunately I don't have much faith that I will see it. So I, like a number of other creators uncomfortable with the fascistic coup, will be leaving the server.

It is not a safe place here any more, which is a real shame because I really did love it.

I am an ally, I am a friend. We share the same goals. but I have just watched you guys harass my friends, bully almost everyone into being silent, insist that they should be uncomfortable and you should not and, exhaust the people who make all the amazing and valuable community projects happen.

Many of the people here have egregiously broken Wheaton's law and have paralysed the mod team with fear of being labelled anti-black.

You guys have shown yourselves to be the boogeymen that conservatives have been warning about and I feel dirty for sitting here and vindicating them.

and all... all of it... because someone was impolite... I know anger is real, I know pain is real and I don't want to diminish anyone's suffering. But there is only so much that people can do about it- especially, when what you are hurting about is much more about wider societal and structural injustices of which you have seen echoes of in here.

Scapegoating my mates and raking them over the coals isn't going to undo that. In fact it is going to alienate people who share your goals. It's going to polarise & fracture the solidarity we all need.

I can't stay because I genuinely fear becoming a punching bag (for what honestly has all of the aesthetic qualities of a fascist vanguard) because people's (real and fully acknowledged) anger is misdirected into toxic autoimmune puritanism.

I have read every argument, I have tried so hard to give all of this the most charitable reading I could! I read the Open letter multiple times...particularly where it unequivocally and unambiguously called for harm to the server and the community

(there are two 💖 reactions to the above message)

Screenshot 2: Message from W. Keith Tims Today at 7:31 AM

TL;DR, effective on Tuesday, January 9, 2024 9:00 AM, the Audio Drama Lab will close for good. We encourage people to visit our extensive collection of links to other Discord Servers # 18 discord-links to find other places to meet, network, and support each other.

This statement is from the collective remaining mod team (we) but as I'm one of the few remaining, I will occasionally have to speak from my perspective (I).

Over the last few days, the moderation team has been dedicated to listening to everyones' suggestions on how to make our space more inclusive, and allowed members to express their frustrations freely. However, the mod team as a whole has been dramatically reduced because of burnout, stress, and a need to turn more attention to work, family, and mental health. Almost all of the new mod team has expressed that they no longer feel comfortable with the conversations that are happening, and a few of them have even left the server, including mods from minority perspectives.

What this comes down to is that the only mods remaining with a full time commitment to the server are me (Keith) and Lou. Lou has said ey are willing to work with me on finding new mods, which I applaud em for, but it's such a large ask for someone who has only been in the position for three days. And as much as the teacher and leader in me wants to try to find a way forward, I do not have the mental space or energy to find people to take over the many projects that are now idle, onboard and train new mods, and develop new programs.

We sympathize with the hurt that Tonia experienced as a result of AnonAD's articles. As we've stated before, AnonAD was not a mod of this server, and we have condemned the articles. We should have condemned them sooner and stronger. Tonia had a right to her hurt and her anger from them. Tonia was also under the belief that Jess was AnonAD, which was not true. Afterwards, Packhowl, Jess, and Tonia all publicly apologized for their roles in the argument.

We recognize that many of the problems that occurred here were due to not having community rules in place that were appropriate for our growth. For those of you who found this place useful and supportive, we're so, so sorry to close the doors. And for those of you who feel like you weren't welcome here: we are so, so sorry to have let you down.

The server will be closing on Tuesday, January 9, 2024 9:00 AM. This will give you time to copy materials, make connections, and so on. Until then, all channels will become read-only except for #lab-discussion, which will be on slow mode to help control spam, since moderation will be necessarily limited. We also have opened a channel called # goodbyes which is a place for people to connect before they part and to leave room in the other channel for sensitive conversation. Please remember that we will still not tolerate any invidious prejudice in the chat and ask that everyone treat each other with kindness and respect. After that, the existing channels will be deleted. But we will leave two things:

The first thing is that through this process we began to develop a set of rules and guidelines to better serve the community. Even though we won't be here to put them into practice, we hope that maybe future creative spaces can learn from them and not make the same mistakes we did. #lab-rules

We will also be leaving up our directory of other audio drama-related servers. #8》 discord-links It's our hope that you may be able to find connections there that will meet your needs. We hope that those spaces will devote the time that we did to providing support, programs, education, and resources for AD creators.

Thank you for a year of audio drama creation. Keep telling stories.

(there are 21 ❤️, 3 🧡 and 13 🫂 reactions to the above message)

End image description.]

The AD Lab Discord server has shut down and I think it’s easy to attribute this to “drama,” but I want to underline that the central reason for this closure seems to have been a few members speaking up about the mistreatment of Black creators. I genuinely think understanding the issues at play here are an important part of ensuring our wider audio drama community doesn’t do the same thing.

To quote an open letter to the ADL (posted two days before its closure was announced), one member observed the mods “fielding an accusation from a concerned woman of color, dismissing that accusation, sometimes as soon as the very next reply, throwing ourselves a ‘we are all friends’ party, and when those women are too emotionally exhausted to keep extending their grace to a server of people who dismiss them and go quiet as a result, claiming the issue is over.” I directly observed Tonia getting this treatment back in September.

The letter says in summary, “the moderation team has proved in the past few days that they have no desire to address the multitude of problems within their server, including issues on disregarding concerns about racism within the moderation community, using a small number of marginalize mods to attempt to divert attention, lax moderating practices, and discouraging the creation of other independent communities.” It suggests several practices for better moderation: “establishing a system of boundaries for the moderators from marginalized groups,” “create a PUBLIC system how mods intervene with harmful behavior,” “address ‘poaching’ concerns and UPLIFT alternative AD servers,” and “admit responsibility for the harmful actions we’ve seen detailed, and issue a public apology using first person language.”

A few hours before the ADL shutdown was announced, one server member, Kier Zhou of No Return, referred to the open letter as a “fascistic coup,” saying “it unequivocally and unambiguously called for harm to the server and the community.” No moderator of the server directly pushed back on these statements. I’ve linked the letter above and invite all to make their own decision, but personally I am disappointed to see a letter by a Black creator dismissed in this fashion. I’ve also seen someone say moderators of the server faced “a campaign of harassment and bullying,” but I hope most people are able to understand the difference between holding self-styled community leaders accountable and cyber-bullying them.

The statement by the mods announcing the server closure said “the mod team as a whole has been dramatically reduced because of burnout, stress, and a need to turn more attention to work, family, and mental health. Almost all of the new mod team has expressed that they no longer feel comfortable with the conversations that are happening, and a few of them have even left the server, including mods from minority perspectives.” They also write “We recognize that many of the problems that occurred here were due to not having community rules in place that were appropriate for our growth.” No apologies were made to mistreated creators.

It seems that the ADL would consistently brush off criticism by members of color to prioritize the comfort of its (white) mods and users. There was a focus on saying “the right things” that did not extend to doing the right things, which led to a performative space with a culture of toxic positivity. Ultimately, I think the closure of the space was probably the right call, I just want to push back on blaming petty drama for it.

#image #image description #audio drama #audiodrama #ADL #The “fascist” line - OH BOY #Not interested in stirring #Just providing ID #And the teensiest sliver of extra context

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theshedding · 4 years ago

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What Haiti's past tells us about the meaning of Resistance & “Revolution”

One of the realities of American education (public or private) is that the already abbreviated history of Black people in the United States is completely non-intersectional and without recognition of the larger international African diaspora with respect to (1) Black liberation or (2) American and New-world European colonial history. For instance, it is not commonly recognized that proportionally-most Black people from Africa who arrived in the “New World” due to the Atlantic Slave Trade did not live in North America but in the Caribbean, South and Central America. That is to say, if you were enslaved (or newly freed) outside of Africa at any point from the 16th through late 19th century outside of Africa, you would’ve had a one in three (or four) chance of living in the United States. Ask your average Black person on the street about this and it’s news. Ask your average non-Black person on the street about this and it’s even more surprising news. And why wouldn’t it be? Due to highly racialized educational systems, steadfast commitment to Black marginalization, indifference and/or Black & indigenous marginalization, most Americans who don’t actively seek this information have very limited knowledge about critical historical events. The American Revolution and details are reduced to incoherent romanticized narratives about English tea and “tyranny”. The Civil War is also vague and obtuse in its descriptions of Southern animus and economics. “Reconstruction” is a word that, admittedly, I did not learn (or had forgotten about) until an adult...and as a young person I fancied myself more knowledgeable than most about Black History through extra-curricular history lessons, elders, activities and educated parents. Even I was unaware of the sequence of Black history, resistance and triumph on critical historical events in Black American history.

Fast forward to the 2016 Presidential Election, the word “Revolution” and phrase “We need a Revolution!” was flagrantly thrown around and abused in public discourse by young (and older) people who undoubtedly grew up with the same biased and negligent public educational system I had grown up with and (in many cases) profoundly less extra-curricular historical exposure and education. As a culture, we would then start to see real gains in the #BLM movement and the zeitgeist towards radical change and structural reforms from race to finance and public safety. I was quite happy to participate in the resurgence of a resistance movement, especially one centering itself around issues of Black liberation. It’s what I’ve been around most of my life. What I wasn’t comfortable with however, was the use of the term “revolution” to describe it. At least not by White people (there’s a reason for that) and/or by younger people (of any color/ethnicity) who also undoubtedly had been steeped in the vapid romanticism of ‘revolutionary’ history taught to us by our primary and secondary US educational indoctrinations.

I have been in formal activism and education personally 30+ years now. Make no mistake, I absolutely support of “change” in our society, particularly towards social justice and Black liberation. And I have no wish to exclude White people or any other ethnicity from being enthusiastic activists or communicators of social/economic/political justice. That’s not my point. What my case is however, is that I’ve always been uncomfortable with the careless use of the term “revolution” in our national political conversations about race, justice, history and radical change. Particularly if that term is being appropriated for something other than racial equality of Black or indigenous people in this country. Historically, “revolution” has been inextricably tied to some aspect of Black resistance in the new world. To update the term in a way that erases or obfuscates deep racial inequities makes me uncomfortable in its lack of this historical context. Aside from that appropriative term however, the use of the sub-category or phraseology “radical change” in connection with “revolution” is problematic for its own reasons; ‘radical change’ and ‘radical ideas’ have become erroneously conflated terms in this way. Historically speaking, radical ideas have always endured much longer than the actual moment of revolution and change itself. In my lifetime there have been a number of “radical” changes; cigarette use and public smoking, seatbelts, recycling, eco fuels, Black people being on television and not talking “jive”, Gay/Bi and Trans people simply existing while not living a sad, diseased-ridden and isolated life, smoking weed and pre-existing conditions in health care are all things which were massive structural changes in society that took lifetimes to negotiate, deconstruct and implement. The idea came way before the actual change. And every one of those ideas were not radically “changed” in any one moment or by any one person. Instead those changes represented a patchwork of efforts by nameless, thankless individuals, organizations and multiple leaders whose work at times overlapped in various ways. Many of whom died or had to leave their advocacy before their desired change could be realized. Simply saying “radical change” and/or conflating change with charismatic leaders, “revolution” and politicians without acknowledging radical ideas, radical people (plural) and radical efforts over long stretches of time is a betrayal of history, the people working to change and correct it and those who have worked to correct it, for our sake.

On this day, January 1st, 2021, the 217th anniversary of the dissolution of Saint Domingue and the beginning of Haiti (Áyitì), the very first ever Black republic in the European/Western colonial world, named in honor of-and deference to-the indigenous Arawak/Taino “Indians” of the Caribbean, the process of what change really looks like is as profound as it ever was. Most of us have not studied this history in any appreciable detail-Black people included. Many might be surprised to know that Haitians came to Philadelphia, Charleston (S.C.) and New Orleans as a direct result of what happened in the late 18th and early 19th century and that there are Black and White Americans living there right now with traceable ancestry to this Caribbean island and the revolution that occurred there (until earlier this year I wouldn’t have known that either). Despite what Kanye West said, Black people did not ‘choose’ inferiority, slavery and colonial oppression. In fact, they resisted it and plotted revolution from the moment they boarded ships in West Africa. Especially in places like Haiti where many of the Africans arriving were literally soldiers, prisoners of wars and being replenished every 5-7 years because of the high death and production rates. There were hundreds of rebellions and revolts of enslaved Africans in the New world during the Atlantic Slave Trade; Haiti’s is just one of many. But Haiti’s is the largest, sustained revolt, with the most cultural, political and economic implications for its White, Black/African & African descended people -and- as people living in a “new” world trying to reconcile what it means to live together in a land post-slavery, post-European colonialism. To this day its people are a living testament to how difficult that work of Anti-Black resistance is in a global economy built around the presumption and instance of Black inferiority. The “project” of this revolution is yet unfinished.

Therefore in 2021, anyone studying, protesting, manifesting and politically agitating against our current socio-economic-political structures in America needs to study the Haitian Revolution in as much detail as possible. It is one of the biggest examples of how intricate, dynamic, long-suffering and difficult it is to actually perform “radical change”. During the pandemic I began (re) introducing myself to this subject by reading books, watching documentaries and listening to lectures outlining the layers of narrative involved in what would be come the Haitian Revolution; Macandal, the three “Commissions”, the Tricolor Commission, “Declaration of the Rights of Man”, the determinative links of the French Revolution, “Code Noir”, André Rigoud, British blockades, Spanish regiments, the “Coloureds”, returns to the plantations for Africans only, not “Blacks”(e.g. caste systems), trade embargos, Toussaint, Dessalines, etc....all confirming what was already apparent: change is hard, long and often takes generations.

If you are currently fighting for something, or against it, know that not one person or one act can or will likely “radically” change the reality. A “revolution” is a term not to be used lightly. When we de-romanticize it and “dig” into it we can begin to see more clearly how ugly and non-inevitable it’s results truly are. History tells us so-and we can learn from this history in a way that informs our present-day activism and fight towards justice of any kind, for any person, any ethnicity. Commit yourself and learn from those who have done it before you and recognize that the past will always be relevant to the present in resistance and change.

Below are some great resources start to learning more on the Haitian Revolution👇🏿:

“Revolutions” (Apple Podcast, a immensely detailed lecture series!) https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/revolutions/id703889772?i=1000358493623 PBS, “The Black Messiah: Macandal” https://youtu.be/cHIEYx2_C9Q “Haiti and the Atlantic World Reborn (New York Historical Society)” https://youtu.be/dpbLMkAJFtE “Noam Chomsky, Modern-Historical Political Commentary” https://youtu.be/e1JWr03P9W8 “Haiti Journal, 100th Anniversary of US Occupation” https://youtu.be/pILrdFJ683M

Happy New Year, Happy Haitian Independence Day and most importantly, Happy learning!!! 🤩🥂

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thr-333 · 4 years ago

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Mismatch- Part 17

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

“Push me off the roof you coward!”

First< Previous > Next

------

“So do you want to be Batman or should I?” Marion brings out the two outfits identical in every way except size.

“It’s not actually dressing up,” Marinette scolds fixing her hair.

“Well then you single handedly ruined halloween,” Marion grins coming up behind her, “Everyone wears them for it,”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Marinette watches him warily in the mirror, prepared to defend if-when he makes a move to mess up her hair.

“So Batman or Robin?” Marion holds the outfits up, dangerous close to her head.

“I don’t care,” Marinette stands up, spinning around, using the chair as a shield.

“Coin flip then,” Marion drapes them over the chair, “Oooh foreshadowing!”

“Please tell me you're going to take this marginally seriously?” Marinette leans back on the dresser as he fishes for a coin.

“You’re starting to sound like our manager,” Marion flips the coin with extra flare, “Heads,”

“You should thank Kate for setting this up,” Marinette catches the coin before he can, “Tails,”

She takes the Robin outfit from the chair, ducking Marion as she passes.

“You know I don’t think Kate wants to see me,” Marion takes his outfit behind the opposite curtain, “She's pretty stressed something will go wrong,”

“In Gotham?” Marinette pokes her head out the curtain on the other side of the room.

“I know, crazy right,” Marion also peaks through the curtain, “Where would she get that idea?”

“Who knows?” Marinette cheekily grins before ducking back behind the curtain.

“If we get attacked again I think we might give aunt- I mean,” Marion pauses pulling on his grey turtleneck, “ugh, this is hard,”

“Mari, the outfits are designed for easy use,” Marinette teases, tone sounding half hearted even from this distance.

“What are you calling her in your head?” Marion pulls the turtle neck down all the way.

“Selina,” Marinette answers, as he shrugs on his hooded crop top over the turtleneck, split into two colours to make a vague bat-shape. “Although I just avoid saying it out loud,”

“Great minds think alike,” Marion pulls on his grey leggings, that Marinette had thankfully made into thermals.

“I’m the only great mind here,” Marinette teases, Marion lets out fake gasp as he pulls a pair of shorts over his leggings, “You just like to copy,”

“How dare you!” Marion pulls the curtains aside dramatically, Marinette doesn't even look up from where she's putting on bracelets, “Dishonour! Dishonour on you, Dishonour on your kwami! Dis-”

“Hey!” Tikki flies out of the backpack.

“Sorry Tikki,” Marion looks away from the fuming Kwami, trying to avoid her by pulling on his black and blue boots.

“It’s ok Tikki,” Marinette finishes putting green and gold bracelets up to her elbows, “He’s just trying to be funny,”

“And succeeding!” Marion corrects, smoothing a mask over his eyes.

“Ah-ha,” Marinette stands, black and yellow scarf flaring out at the back.

“You know I don’t think she agrees,” Marion stage whispers to Plagg from his bag.

“Ah-ha,” Plagg says in the same tone, as Marion is pulling on his black gloves.

“Traitors, all of you,”

“Hey look,” Marinette bumps his shoulder, nodding towards someone.

“It’s Jason,” Marion whispers back excitedly, moving to wave.

“MCD doesn't know him,” Marinette grabs his arm, “Let’s hope this isn’t as awkward as it was with Chloe,”

“I thought that was fun,”

“Of course you did,”

"Hi," Jason approaches nervously, completely different to how Marion's met him before, it's cute.

"Oh hello, stranger," Marion grins, ignoring the kick from Marinette, he'll be careful, it's fine he's got this, "Whats your name?"

"Jason," Oh my God he's blushing!

"Jasin," Marion repeats pretending to write on what he was handed.

"Um…." Jason looks like he's about to correct Marion, this will be perfect- "yep,"

Fuck fuck fuck i though he would correct me fuck, Marinette help! Marinette rolls her eyes at his pleading look.

"Jason, CD," Pointing to the page without writing, "son,"

"Ohhhh Jason,” Marion says, as if he had come to some amazing realisation, Marinette looks like she wants to slap him, “haha, sorry, of course, I just didn’t hear you right, because I don’t know your name, why would I know your name? It's-"

Marinette rightfully cuts off his rambling with a swift kick, that both knew would never actually hurt him. At least Jason looks just as embarrassed as him, neither quite knowing how to start the conversation back up,"

"How about we take a picture?" Marinette says, their saving grace.

"Yeah, that would be great," Jason fumbles for his phone, Marion hopes his mask will cover his blush, as he remembers what Jason had said about him at dinner, the only reason he was blushing.

They take a nice picture together. Then one where Marion throws bunny ears behind MDC. She swats his hand away and he pushes her out of frame. The next picture is one of him and Jason with Marinette rising up, like a threatening blur in the background.

"Aw thats a nice picture" Marion looks over Jason shoulder, they were meant to be with the next person already but they were a design hopeful, babbling to MDC about her designs, "You should send it to me,"

"Of course," Jason seems flustered with his proximity, enough so that he didn't see Marion's trap.

"Great heres my number," Marion quickly writes it down on blank piece of paper, a picture seeming a bit too narcissistic at that point.

"...Waut,"

"Well you have to send it to me someway," Marion shrugs, conveniently ignori-forgetting that pictures were sent through his social media all the time.

"Right... right," Jason seems to be in a bit of a daze when Marion sends him off, standing next to Marinette as the fan leaves.

They watch Jason leave. Marinette starts giggling when he almost runs into a wall.

“Are you ok?" Marion asks, partly for the security guard who was waiting for their ok to send the next person up.

“You are such a dork,” She breaths through her upcoming laughter, “I think I need a minute,”

“Fine but if I get a hopeful fashion designer I’m telling them your new direction is crocs,” Marion huffs, not really insulted, but if he didn't act it she would only up the anti.

“Do it and your casket will be made out of crocs,” Marinette threatens ineffectively, walking to the backstage door.

“I kinda want to see that,”

“You’d be dead,” Marinette calls from the door.

“Minor issue,”

Marinette waves him off, which could have been an aborted swat. He watches as the crowd nearby begin whispering, some offering others to go first to stall for time. Marion plans to shove this in her face next time Marinette claims she isn’t popular. He’s about to take a camera out for evidence when one of the groups, fast tracked but the crowd, approaches.

Marion goes to do his more basic greetings when a gun is shoved in his face. The group made up of armed men surrounding him, one holding a camera.

“Smile for the camera,” The figure pulls his coat back, revealing the frankly disturbing face of the Joker.

“Oh it’s you,” Marion keeps a blank face, evidently confusing him, “Any chance two-face will show up?”

“.... No?” Marion fights to keep his composure as the crowd are threatened by the remaining thugs, pushing them to the ground.

“Pity, what a waste of good foreshadowing,” Marion shrugs casually, that camera is probably filming.

“What,” Marion supposes its a rare thing to see the Joker taken aback, but watching a group of armed men storm backstage distracts him from the sight.

“Nothing, I just made a brilliant joke earlier and you're sort of ruining it,” Marion makes exaggerated gestures, testing his limits, the guns follow him but don’t shoot. “Anyway are you here for an autograph or what?”

“I’m not-” He watches the Joker's face twist in gruesome realisation, “you’re trying to stall me,”

“Stall you from what?” Marion tries not to make his scan of the crowd obvious, “Please go in depth,”

“How about on the way up to the roof?” Chilling smile, but Marion is too used to fear to let it get to him.

“Oh goodie, I hear it has wonderful views,” Marion claps his hands, probably getting weird looks from the goons hiding behind masks, but who are they to judge?

He’s guided to the elevator. The Joker making the mistake of not tying his hands, or gagging him. He feels Kaalki and Plagg tense in his pocket.

“Huh, no elevator music,” Marion observes as the elevator starts to rise, “I just kind of expected it at this point,”

“You are strange,” Marion makes the mistake of glancing over, the Joker does not seem perturbed by that fact.

“You’re telling me that?” Marion tilts his head, “Actually that's quite the achievement,”

The Joker starts to go on about his plan, something about throwing MCD off the roof in front of the crowd for whatever reason, he’s not really listening. No, instead he’s made his own plan. There's no way Marinette was caught, not when she has no one to look after. She must be somewhere in the building, probably as Sparrow. It’s best if Sparrow and Songbird are seen near their other identities as little as possible, so he had to deal with the camera. If she saw the footage, which was probably being broadcast (a brilliant idea, really, no problems with that) she would intercept them. The best position would be on the elevator, but he had to buy time.

The cameras closest so he strikes, hitting it out of the goons hand, mid sentence. In the split second confusion he hits the number panel, lighting up all but a few.

“Huh, that was easy,” Marion says with genuine surprise.

“And here I thought you were being a good hostage,” Marion feels several guns press against him, but it’s only the pistol with the Joker at the end that worries him.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Marion smirks cockily, the threats turning more violent.

No, not threats, promises. Marion debates calling on Kaalki, while he’s still able too. It wouldn’t be great for a miraculous to be seen in a different country, but better than the one that can teleport than Ladybug. If Marinette couldn’t stop them in time she would surely turn to Ladybug and pick him up as he falls, right in front of the crowd and cameras. Not great.

There were other heroes in Gotham, they both knew. And if it was just him at stake he would put faith in them. But it’s not. He’s Chat Noir and there's not enough time to train a new Black Cat, not anymore.

The elevator finally reaches the top. Marion braces to help Marinette fight on the other side of the door. It opens. There’s no one. Great, great, great .

“Well, well, well why don’t we see what's behind that mask and carve up your pretty face, hm?” Joker leads him close enough to the edge of the building that anyone else should be scared.

“That sounds counter productive,” Might as well try plan b, he should have come up with one, but as is he’ll have to wing it, “Weren’t you going to throw me off the roof?”

“Eager aren't you?” Not really “After, promise,”

That grin paired with the knife inching closer should scare him, but honestly the only thing that truly scares him anymore is someone going for his ring, or Ladybug’s.

“What's the point? I’d be dead soon anyway, sounds like a waste of time,” Marion debates adding a yawn to match the tone, but it seems like overkill.

“A few screams are never a waste of time,” Marion is backed up further to the edge of the roof, able to see the fretting crowd below.

“Sounds to me like you just don’t have any confidence,” Marion says with all the sass he can muster, which is a lot.

“Oh, do explain,” The knife inching closer to the edge of his mask encourages the opposite, but he was never much good with warnings.

“If you really believe your plan will work and I wouldn’t be saved by I-don’t-know, Batman?” Yep that strikes a cord, probably not the best cord to strike with a knife in your face, oh well his wounds will heal soon anyway, “Then you’d throw me over the roof, a few cuts doesn't matter much when your dead,”

He can see the gears turning, debating if there's merit to his bullshit or if it’s just that. Honestly Marion doesn't know either.

“Revealing my identity and stuff is just a way for you to feel like you’ve won when Batman beats you,” He carefully doesn't emphasise the ‘when’, making it sound casual, like a given fact, “Cutting my face is just admitting you think the heroes will win,”

Just a little bit more. He’s almost pulled off plan ‘b’ for bat-shit crazy. He has the horse miraculous in his grip, Kaalki won’t like it but it's hard to put glasses on in mid air.

“Besides, won’t the mask leave a bit more impact?”

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“You really think the Bats going to save you huh?” The grin is unnerving, so Marion matches it with one of his own.

“I do,” He challenges, chin tilted up, “do you,”

He hears a cackle that would have surely appeared in his fear toxin dream if he heard it before. He’s pushed, vest twisted in the jokers grip, trying to stay balanced on the very edge.

“I like you kid,” And yeah, by that smile it’s not a good thing.

“Goodie,” Marion says sardonically, ignoring the shouting below, probably because his torso is all the way off the edge.

“Make sure to scream,” He feels the grip loosen, not having the natural response to grab onto something.

“I won’t,” he sends one last smirk as he’s dropped, weight sending him off balance and off the edge.

He’s in free fall and knows the screaming is not his own. He’s too busy debating the right time to transform. The street is getting closer and closer, no staff or grappling hook to save him.

“Klakki!-”

The air gets knocked out of him at the sudden change in directions. He can feel the arm and hears the glass shattering. For all the speed of a few seconds ago he is not expecting the quiet that follows. He’s leaning forward against someone's chest, both crouched down inside the building he just fell from. He recognises the shade of red first, Marinette had spent weeks with it pinned up all over their room and Marion has been wearing it ever since. He relaxes.

“Are you ok?” He gets pulled back from the chest, his complaints are cut off, a gloved hand tracing over his cheek, he feels the sting so it must be cut.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Probably not convincing, since his crush is the closest he’s ever been and Marion is almost the same shade of red.

“You’re fine?” The disbelief is clear and it takes Marion a second to realise why.

“I mean… Oh no! Trauma!” Marion tries to fall dramatically but the arm still on his back catches him.

“Good thing you’re a popstar not an actor,” Marion feels relief at the stiff atmosphere relaxing.

“Excuse you,” He snaps back up, poking Red Hood’s chest, smirking, “I’d make a wonderful actor,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Red Hood looks away, as far as Marion can tell with the helmet, “You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, are you?” Marion stresses, remembering that he broke through the glass.

“... what?” Red Hood's full attention comes back to him.

“Are you ok?” Marion tries not to get annoyed at the answer, humour then, “After all breaking through a window isn’t much fun,”

You idiot you can't use his line on him ! Not in different identities! What if he figures it out?!

“Yeah.. yeah," He looks away again, "I’m… great,”

Marion smiles, guess things did turn out great in the end.

“CD!” Marion jumps out his skin, both suddenly realising how they looked and stand, Marinette runs right up to him, “Are you ok!?”

“Yep I’m… great,” Marion exchanges a private glance with Red Hood as Marinette frets over him.

“Thank goodness,” She sighs, shoulders sagging, then coming back up to hit him over the head, “Then why are you such an idiot!”

“Natural talent?” Marion rubs the spot, she put some Ladybug strength in that one.

“At least you’re good at something,” She sighs, brushing her hand over the spot.

“Rude,” Marion pouts, even as his head feels better, and his cut is startling to close up.

“If every things ok then,” Red Hood says awkwardly, “I’ve got a clown to go beat up,”

I Forgot!! How do you forget that! Marion yells at himself When your crush saves you from falling to your death…. Less romantic than it seemed in the moment.

“Have fun….” Marion waves, increasing the awkwardness ten fold, “dear god, I am an idiot!”

He groans into Marinette's shoulder after Red Hood left.

“Yes, but blush later, we need to be ready to provide backup,” Marinette pulls him out of the room stepping over broken glass.

“Uh- yeah! Right! lets go,” Marion snaps out of it, running after her.

“You are such a mess,” She insults as they jog, or with their speed, sprint up the stairs.

“Of all people you don’t get to call me that,” Marion needn't remind her of how she spilt orange juice all over herself at breakfast.

“... You just fell off a building, I was talking about your clothes,” Marinette has on her, ‘you’re an idiot’ face, well practiced that one.

“Oh,”

“But yeah you are a walking disaster,” She speeds up.

“Hey!” Marion sprints after her.

They reach the roof, not as out of breath as they should be.

“I thought I told you to stay put?” Red Hood snaps, alone on the roof.

“You didn’t,” They chorus coincidentally.

“I thought you had common sense,”

“We don’t,” They chorus on purpose.

Red Hood just shakes his head, probably smiling under the helmet.

“So the Joker escaped?” Marinette is the first to wipe the grin off her face.

“He was gone when I got up here,” Red Hood shrugs, “Waiting on intel,”

Probably from oracle.

“I didn’t say thank you!” Marion realises, not used to being the one saved.

“You don’t have to,” He looks away again, “Just doing my job,”

“But I want to,” Marion walks into his line of sight “So thank you,”

“Yeah well… thanks too I guess,” He looks away again and it's starting to get annoying.

“For what,” Marion leans over enough that he should be in sight, but he can't see his eye to confirm.

“I like the outfit you designed off me,” Marion freezes, almost stumbling over, “The interview was… entertaining,”

With that killing blow, a grappling hook is sent out and Red Hook is whisked away.

“.... Hey, can I borrow your miraculous?” Marion says blankly when Marinette comes to stand by him, “I need to wish myself out of existence real quick,”

----------------

Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90 @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month @nalu-ismyjam

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #bio dad bruce wayne #Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020 #Mismatch #Marinette #marinette is mdc #twins au #vigilante au #pop star au #bio dad au #bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020 #Maribat #mlb

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loverlele · 4 years ago

Text

Courage

Lesbian!Emily Prentiss x Lesbian!Female Reader

Warnings: bad language, a bit of a steamy makeout session ;)

A/N: Hello you lovely people. I only have a few things to say about this one. First of all, I think this is my favourite one shot I’ve written so far. There is a lack of Emily one shots on here and I plan on changing that! Secondly, there will be time skips within this one shot to help with the story telling that will be indicated by the use of ‘-’ between paragraphs. Also, it’s going to be a long one so buckle up folks! So with that said, enjoy :)

Word count: 5669

Taking a deep breath I raise my hand to the door and knock three times successively.

“Come in” a deep, smooth voice comes from within the office.

Opening the door I smile at the man within, “Agent Hotchner? Hi I’m agent Y/L/N. I’ve just transferred from anti-terrorism, the lovely brightly coloured dressed lady told me I could find you in here.”

“Ahh that’d be Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst. Agent Y/L/N, I’ve been expecting you. Have a seat” the tall man in front of me responded, closing the file in front of him. It didn't take long for my brain to connect the dots and realise it was my file he had been reading.

“I see you got my file” I say, still smiling.

“I did, and its an impressive file at that one. I see you’ve worked with Agent Jareau before, you should get used to the rest of the teams dynamics soon. It’s... an odd dynamic” he says, smiling slightly.

“I’m used to an odd dynamic, I had a complex team to say the least” I reply, chuckling to myself slightly. Agent Hotchner smiles at my reply before standing up.

“You ready to meet the team?”

“Of course, lets go!”

We make our way out of his office and down the hall into what I believe to be a conference room of sorts. As we make our way in my thought were confirmed when I was met by 5 sets of eyes, all trained on me. I recognised Penelope from earlier, I sent her a big smile before moving my eyes onto the other people stood in front of me. I also didn't fail to recognise JJ sat down at the table, as well as another face that I couldn't quite put a name to.

“I wasn't we were getting a transfer Hotch. Who’s this pretty face?” a dark skinned man spoke out, extent ending his hand out to mine.

“I’m Agent Y/L/N, nice to meet you” I reply, shaking his hand and smiling at him.

“Derek” Agent Hotchner says raising his eyebrow, “Team, meet Agent Y/L/N who’s just transferred from anti-terrorism.”

“Y/N? Hi I didn't recognise you!” JJ squeals, standing up and rushing towards me, arms out.

“Hey JJ, it’s nice to see you again. No I had black hair back then and as you can see, I’m a red head now” I laugh, giving her a hug.

“I can see that, nice hair!”

“”Y/N this is Dr. Spence-”

“Dr. Spencer Reid, hi. I was at one of the seminars you and Agent Rossi guest spoke at last year” I say, smiling widely.

“Hi, I thought I recognised you. It’s nice to speak to you again” he replied, with a smile on his face. Something tells me that he didn't get recognised a lot by the expression on his face when I spoke.

“It’s nice to meet you Agent Y/L/N” Agent Rossi says, extending his hand. I accept the invitation and shake his hand. A smile hadn't left my face since I walked into the room.

“Where’s Emily?” Agent Hotchner asks the room.

“I’m here, sorry traffic was a nightmare” a response comes from my left. I move my gaze onto the beautiful brunette that had just walked into the room. All the air from my lungs seemed to be sucked out at the sight of her,

“Prentiss this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s just transferred here from the anti-terrorism team.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you” I say, offering her a wide smile. She returns the smile, brow furrowed slightly as if she was having an internal conversation with herself.

“Please, call me Y/N. Y/L/N makes me feel like my mother” I say, making the team laugh.

“Now introductions are out of the way, shall we Garcia?”

“Of course sir, today we are off to Chicago.”

“You did well today Y/N, not many people would be able to connect the dots as quickly as you could. Well apart from the boy wonder laying on the couch” Derek comments from across the table.

“I heard that Derek” Spencer shoots back, sending a chuckle through the four of us.

“Why thank you, I have a sharp eye” I say, with a semi-flirty tone in my voice.

“So, tell us more about you.”

“Well I joined the FBI 8 years ago now I think, I was bouncing around teams for about a year until I joined anti-terrorism. I stayed their for 7 years until I decided a change of scenery was just what I needed. Luckily Hotch got in contact just after I’d decided I wanted to switch to a different team. And here I am.” My gaze slipping onto the brunette sat next to him.

“Talk about lucky timing” JJ says from besides me.

“You could say that” I reply, winking at Emily.

“Any juicy details we should know about?” Derek says, wiggling his eyebrows.

I chuck the file in my hand down onto the table and lean forwards slightly. “What do you want to know handsome?”

“Well, are you single? Boyfriend? Married?”

Smirking I lean backwards into my seat, “Nope, single for many years now and even if I wasn't, I wouldn't have a boyfriend.”

“You’ve lost me angel face” Derek responds, brows furrowed slightly.

“Well I’m a bit like you Derek. Except for the face I’m not a ladies man, I’m a ladies lady” I reply, smirk on my face. Emily’s face lifts up from the file in her hands, eyes connecting with mine and smirking at me.

“No fucking way. You’re gay” he says, eyes wide open with shock.

“You say that like its a bad thing Derek.”

“No no no! I didn't mean it like that, I-”

“Yo chill out” I say, reaching my hand out to grab Derek’s arm, “it’s cool. I get the reaction, most people either react like that or even worse. I get it.”

“Please know I didn't mean anything by what I said” Derek says, the panicked tone in his voice prominent.

“Derek, its all good I promise. I know you mean well” I reply, sounding as sincere as I could.

“He had the same reaction when I came out, don't worry about it?” My head snapped up, straight to the source of the voice. My smile quickly turned into a smirk,

“Oh did he now?”

“Yup, then he tried to set me up with one of Penelope’s friends. Unsuccessfully, may I add.” Her smirk now mirrored mine.

“Don’t worry Derek, I won’t need you to set me up with anyone.”

“Oh, and why would that be sweetheart” Derek inquires, a smirk growing on his face as he puts together the pieces. My line of sight swaps from Derek to Emily, my own smirk evident.

“I’ve got this one on my own” I reply, winking at Emily one final time before picking the file back up from the table.

The last few months at the BAU have been some of the best ones in my career. Granted, they’ve been bonkers and the team has been all over America. But overall, I couldn't be happier being here. Actually thinking about that statement, I could be happier. But that’s not the point here. We’ve had some good cases, some bad cases, and some truly hideous cases. But we’ve got through them together. As a team.

Speaking of team, we’d just got back from a pretty straight forward case - well, as straight forward as cases go in this job - and most of the team scattered, having done the paperwork on the plane ride home. I believe the only ones left in the office are myself and Hotch, although I think Emily is around here somewhere as her bags are still at upon her desk. I hadn't got all my paperwork done on the plane as my attention had been elsewhere, but I didn't fancy having a stack of paperwork to do tomorrow so I decided to stay back and get it done. Besides, it wasn't as if I had anyone to go home to. If anything, the person I wanted to go home to might still be in the building with me. I’d call that a win.

My suspicions about Emily being here were confirmed when Emily sauntered into the office with 2 cups of coffee in her hands, making a beeline straight to my desk.

“Hey gorgeous, is Hotch still here?” I ask, spinning round in my chair to meet her body as she plants herself onto the edge of my desk. She leans down slightly, handing me a cup from her hand.

“Soy milk caramel latte, right?” Emily asks, brow raised. Nodding my head, I reply,

“Perfect. I’m surprised you remembered.” “I remember everything you tell me princess” she replies, her head tilting down a bit to meet my gaze, “and as for Hotch, no he left a few minutes ago. I bumped into him coming out of the elevators. It’s just us here. Speaking of which, why are you still here? You never stay this late.”

“Ahh keeping tabs on me now are we Prentiss?” I ask in a flirty tone.

“You know I am sweetheart” she says back, with the same flirty tone. This wasn't unusual for us, we flirted all the time. Some might say we are worse than Penelope and Derek but I say we are better than them. It’s never led anywhere though but who knew, tonight could be different.

“Y/N?”A hand comes up to my face and pulls my chin up so I our eyes meet. Her fingers run down my cheeks slightly before pulling away. My cheeks instantly flush at both the contact and the loss of contact.

Coughing slightly and maintaining eye contact, I reply softly “yeah I’m here. Sorry I zoned out for a second. What did you say?”

“I asked why you were still here again.”

“Oh right sorry. I was a bit preoccupied on the plane to finish all the paperwork off and I’d rather not come in tomorrow and see files stacked on my desk. Especially considering we don't know where we’ll be tomorrow” I reply, sarcasm lacing in my voice causing her to chuckle lightly.

“A very wise decision on your part there Y/N” Emily says, voice trailing off at the end. It was my turn to reach up and make skin to skin contact. But since she was sat on my desk her face was too far up for me to reach without me standing up. So I placed my hand on her arm and rubbed it gently.

“You okay Em?”

“Yeah all good” she says, her hand laying on top of mine. It was rare that we had moments like this, so when they did happen it makes me treasure each of them a bit more than the last one.

“Em, come on. You can talk to me you know.”

“Do you ever think that life is passing you up sometimes?”

“It sure feels like that sometimes” I say with a sigh, “why, what do you think’s passing you up?”

“Any sort of life outside of the BAU. A family. Kids. A partner. Hell, even any sort of stable life. Me and you both know that we don't get any sort of down time with this job” Emily practically yells out “how am I supposed to get any private life stability with this kind of job?”

Sighing softly I stand up from my seat and walk a few steps closer to Emily’s position on my desk. It’s a bit nerve wracking since we’ve never been this close before. But this wasn't about me and Emily, it was about making sure she would be okay.

“Hey come here” I take her hand into mine, trying to soothe out the anxieties in her, “look I’m not going to stand here and say that this job makes for an easy life outside of it because we both know that’d be a load of bullshit. But what I am going to say is that you can’t lose hope about all of this. Yes this job is practically impossible for stability, but I believe it can be done. You just have to work twice as hard unfortunately. But hey, nothing good in life is ever free, is it?”

The final comment seems to make her laugh, easing the tension in a heartbeat. “Thank you Y/N, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, you know that” I say, a wide smile plastered on my face.

Emily hesitates for a second, unsure if she wants to say anything. “Do I?” she finally replies. I take a step backwards, confused as to what's going on.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious Y/N!” Emily yells, finally loosing her temper, “how do I know that you're not just here for the chase, for the game?”

“You don’t Em” I begin. Emily doesn't take well to the start of my speech, getting up and storming over to her desk before turning back round to me.

“That’s not ... how does that-”

“Let me finish Em!” I shout, retracing her steps over to her.

“Okay, sorry.”

“You don’t know that I’m not here for the ‘game” I quote, “because I have only shown you the signs that this is a game to me. I swear this, this thing we have between us, its not a game. Not to me anyway. You have had me under a spell since the day I locked eyes on you four months and 13 days ago.”

“You’ve been counting?” she chuckles, making me laugh with her.

“I wish I could say I have, but Spencer informed me earlier how long I'd been longing after you.He said it was time one of us told the other how we felt.”

“Good old Spencer.”

“No really, without hearing that from Spence earlier I don't think I’d have had the courage to tell you. Not for a while anyway. Here's the thing Emily. You put up all these walls to stop people from coming in, but the higher your walls get the more I want to break them down. No matter what it might cause. Because I am falling for you Emily Prentiss and I need to know you’ll be here to catch me when I fall.”

The room falls silent, my words sinking into Emily. Judging by the air, I put two and two together and realise I’ve just blown my shot. Or any chance I may have had. Spinning round on the balls of my feet I drag myself away from the woman whom I adored and to my desk, gathering up the paperwork and placing it into my bag. I hear footsteps crossing the room but don’t think twice about it, figuring she was running away. Not that I could blame her, I had come on quite suddenly I guess. What I didn’t realise was that the footsteps had been coming my way until a hand grabbed my arm and soft lips smash onto mine. It took a few moments to realise what was happening before my mouth moved at the same pace as the one attached to me did.

Just the thought of kissing Emily made the butterflies in my stomach go crazy; but this, this was a whole new level of butterflies. And fireworks. Lots of fireworks. Like the firework show over the Thames on New Years Eve, but better. So much better. The fireworks only increase when I feel Emily’s tongue run across my lips, asking for permission to enter. Granting her permission, the kiss goes from being controlled and passionate to frenzied and full of lust. The kiss goes on for what feels like simultaneously forever and not long enough (although there will never be enough time to kiss Emily) before I pull back for air. Our eyes open at the same time and become locked on one another, neither of us moving too much.

Our happy little bubble quickly pops when a text tone alerts us that we’d got an emergency case that we needed to leave for within the hour, giving me and Em very little time to change before we were to meet the rest of the team on the tarmac. Luckily for us I always carried two changes of clothes in each of my go bags meaning we both had a change of clothes and didn't need to go home.

After getting changed and sorted we both headed down to our cars, knowing it'd be incredibly suspicious if we both rolled up in the same car. Even though we know Penelope probably caught our takeout on the CCTV cameras, we knew she wouldn't spill without confronting us first. We share a quick, but passionate, kiss before splitting up and heading to the tarmac separately.

We were met by the eyes of a suspicious Derek Morgan and a half asleep, yet smirking Spencer Reid when we stepped onto the plane. Granted, my ponytail may have been a bit messy but he has no solid proof as to who (or what) caused it. I fell into the seat opposite Spencer, who'd since put his book on the table between us and shoot a wink his way. Spencer chuckles, causing Derek to sulkily say “what, so pretty boy gets to know the 410 but not me.” The conversation unfortunately got put to a halt there as Hotch comes onto the plane with a concrete look on his face, alerting us that the case was more severe than we’d thought.

“I’m so sorry for calling you in so soon after we got back, but you know I wouldn't do it unless it was absolutely necessary. Don’t worry, we have a long flight ahead of us so you can all get some rest before we arrive. Garcia, go ahead.”

“Okay my lovely cherubs, we are off on a not so lovely case to Nashville, Tennessee...”

“Oh it’s been a week too long Quantico” I mutter to myself, pushing the elevator button. I’d had a week of off days to use up so I decided to visit my best friend in sunny Florida. It’d been an odd week that’s for sure. When I flew out I decides to keep my break completely communication free, telling Hotch that unless I’d been fired then everything could wait until when I got back. I even left my phone stuffed in between paperwork inside my desk. In hindsight, definitely not the best move on my behalf. But nothing could’ve ever pointed to what was going to happen within the last week, so I didn't think twice about cutting all contact and communication for a week. I expected everything to be the same as it was before I left. However as the elevator doors opened to the 6th floor, the air became sticky and heavy. I didn't think much of it until I opened the glass doors into the BAU and saw the team all stood near my desk, awaiting my arrival.

“Hey guys! As nice as it was to get away, I’m so glad I’m home” teary eyes all look at me, each of them trying to find the right words to say, “Jesus Christ, who died?”

My apparent attempt to lighten up the mood did the complete opposite, causing Spencer to collapse in a flood of tears. I jerk my eyes quickly from a huddled up genius to a hard faced Hotch. “Hotch, what the hell is going on?”

“I need you to sit down Y/N” he replies, dragging my chair out from under my desk.

“You’re scaring me now Hotch” I reply, taking a seat and gently placing down my bags down before turning slightly to face them all, my eyes finally doing a sweep of who's here. JJ stands the furthest away, in her own little world, with Penelope holding Reid slightly further forwards. Rossi stands with his hand on top of Morgan’s shoulder, his fingers almost massaging Derek’s skin every now and again, soothing the obviously distressed boy. Hotch sits on a chair in front of me, reaching his own hand out to hold mine. It takes my brain a few moments to register that Emily isn't present.

“Where’s Em?” I ask, peering around the empty room to try find the brunette I adored so much.

“Y/N. When you were away, there was a case. A personal case. One that included Emily’s past.” Hotch starts.

“Okay, I still don't understand how that answers my question. What happened on the case? Is Emily okay? Was she hurt” starting to get agitated.

“Y/N-”

“Emily’s dead Y/N” Derek yells, “the bastard killed her.”

“WHAT!”

“I’m so sorry Y/N, she was fighting someone named Doyle and he killed her.”

“No, this cant be right” I yell, getting up from my seat in a trance. “You’re lying, she's right here. She’s just in the conference room, look!” I run to the conference room, shouting “Em” as I search the room for her. I hear the footsteps behind me coming into the room as I stop in the middle of the room, feeling sick to my stomach.

“She’s gone Y/N, I was with her on the way to the hospital” Derek says softy, his sentence causing me to fall into a heap on the floor. Bodies rush to my side, but none of them are the body I crave the most. I know Spencer’s the one with his head against mine when I feel the tears fall from his cheeks onto my forehead.

“I’m so sorry Y/N” he whispers, kissing my forehead lightly.

“I- I never got to tell her that I love her” I say, the last bit of my facade crumbling causing me to sob violently into Spencer’s arms. More arms wrap around me as my sobs become more hysterical.

Within minutes my body had become numb from all the pressure being put on it, but I couldn't care less right now. I just want my Emily back. “I want my Emily back.” A sentence, when said aloud, caused the majority of the team to break down. Including the two team members isolated by the door.

“Hotch are you sure it has to be this way?”

“If there was any other way then we’d have done that. You know that JJ.”

“But look at her Hotch, she’s never going to get past this.”

“She has to, the team needs her.”

“I can’t stand here and look at her like that Hotch, I have to get out of here”

Above the cries of the room I could make out JJ and Hotch’s voices having a hushed conversation, one they obviously didn’t want anyone hearing from the tones of their voices. I, however, picked up a bit of the conversation before it was cut short by the small, teary eyes blonde storming out.

I can’t tell you how long it’s been since Emily’s funeral, partly because I’ve completely lost track of time. I wasn't allowed to be on my own for long periods of time, under Hotch’s order, so most nights I’d stayed with Derek. He’s become my rock throughout this all. Him and JJ. If I didn't have them I think I’d still be in complete denial about the whole thing. All I do know is in whatever time had passed, the team managed to get Doyle in their custody. Without much struggle apparently, which I have to admit is a bit odd considering how many years he'd gone under the radar before. I wasn't allowed into the room with him, which is understandable. Hell, I wasn't allowed into the same vicinity as him without at least two other people with me. He murdered the love of my life and, from what I’d been filled in on, the love of his life. I just sat at my desk in autopilot mode, just getting things done. I wasn't much more helpful in the field mind you, so I usually stayed back with Penelope when the team had a more complex case.

A gentle squeeze of my shoulder jolts me back to reality. It was Rossi. He said Hotch had called a team meeting in the conference room and required all of our presences, specifically mine apparently. Whatever that meant. Derek helped me into the conference room and into a chair closest to the door we’d just walked through. My joints groaning at me from the lack of movement in them recently. Not that I could've helped it. Some comments are passed around the room upon my arrival, not that I could tell you anything that’d been said.

“Damn Hotch wasn't kidding about needing us all” I mutter under my breath as Hotch files in from the door in front of me.

“Welcome back” Derek says.

“Thank you” Hotch responds, “Everybody have a seat.”

Glancing at each other in a confused matter, the rest of the team take their seats. Derek stayed standing up, placing himself as close as he could to my seat.

“Why? What’s going on, is everything alright?” Derek asks, taking my hand into his and pressing circles into it. JJ appears in front of us next to Hotch, further confusing the team.

“7 months ago I made a decision that affected the team. Some of us more than others” Hotch started, his gaze flickering to mine. My brows furrowed and I squeezed Derek’s hand slightly tighter as out eyes met. “As you all know Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle” wait, had? “The doctors were able to stabilise her and she was airlifted from Boston to Birthesta under a covered exploitation.” Everyone’s eyes lifted up, snapping from person to person, wondering if they’d heard right - including me.

“No” I muttered lowly.

“Her identity was strictly on a need to know basis. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, one of which we had access to for her security.”

The room fell silent for a minute, everyone starting to process what they'd just been told.

“You’re lying” I say, my voice still low but my eyes moving up to meet JJ’s. Her eyes met mine with an apologetic glint in them. “No fucking way.”

“Sh- she’s alive?” Penelope asks through her tears. Hotch’s slight head tilt gave us our answer.

“But we buried her...” Spencer says, his voice breaking and trailing off at the end.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues?” Derek says, his voice raising “yeah I got issues. This girl has been a shell of herself since Emily’s funeral and now your telling us Emily was never dead in the first place?!” Footsteps make their way up the corridor and stop a few metres behind me.

I noticed JJ and Hotch’s attention move slowly onto the person behind me. “No” I muttered again slowly standing up, this time loud enough to gain everyone’s attention. As quick as I’d gained the attention, I’d lost it again. Everyone’s faces had a look of pure shock and surprise on them. All of them apart from Hotch and JJ’s. “I knew it” I growled lowly, my gaze pointed directly on JJ.

“Y/N” JJ began, but got cut off by Penelope’s gasp.

“Oh my god.”

I didn't need to look behind me to know who was stood by the door. It was Emily...

“Hi” the soft voice says, “I’m so-”

“I trusted you JJ. I trusted you and all this time you knew she was still alive?!”

“Y/N, I couldn’t-”

“I don't care if you couldn't! I called you up, every single night, for the last 6 and a half month in tears because I couldn't cope with the pain. I had to live at Derek’s apartment because I can’t go home.”

“Y/N, you need to calm down.”

“No Hotch, I won't calm down! I have woken up every morning screaming and with sweat running down my face because I’ve just watched the woman I love die. I don't care that you couldn't tell me. I care about the fact I put all my trust in you only to find out she’s still alive!” I scream, spinning round and pointing at the figure in the doorway.

“Oh my god you're still alive” I say, my voice rough from screaming so loudly.

“Hi Y/N” she replies, a small smile ghosting her lips as she speaks.

“No, I can’t do this” I say, moving around my seat and making my way to where Emily stands. As I try to make my way out, she grabs hold of my arm and pulls me back

“Y/N stop, we need to talk about this-”

I snatch my arm quickly out of her grasp, “No, I have nothing to say to you. And don't you dare think about following me!” I respond, running out of the room and out of the office as quickly as I could.

Emily Prentiss is still alive...

The news about Emily’s not death had spread around quickly. The team had managed to catch the ones hunting for Doyle’s son and Doyle had been shot dead, along with a few others. I wouldn't have known that however, had Derek not shot me a text to tell me what’d happened. vI’d spent every minute since I got home laying in the arm chair I’d sat in when it first clicked that I’d fallen completely in love with Emily. We were sat playing cards one evening after a case and I’d just called her out for cheating, she was defending herself so articulately that it made something just click in my brain. I realised I was in love with her, but I was always too big of a wuss to say it to her face. I think deep down she knew, but if she did she never said anything.

A gentle, but firm rasp at my door knocked me out of the spell I was in. I knew that rasp anywhere, and I knew that it could only be one person at my door.

“Y/N, I know you're in their. Please, I need to talk to you” the voice said, further confirming who it was. On the other side of the door stood Emily Prentiss, and I was about to come face to face with her since I stormed out of the conference room 4 days ago.

I pad over to the door, unlocking the clasp and walk back to my chair, sitting back down in the position I was in before. I can hear a sign come from behind the wood before the door creaks open. Emily slips into the room and locks the door behind her, taking off her coat and making her way to where I sit.

“Can I?’ she asks tentatively.

“Sure...”

Em places herself strategically into the sofa directly opposite from where I sat, knowing this was the best way at getting me to interact with her at all. We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, both unsure of how to handle this.

“Look, I know you're mad at me-”

“For gods sake I’m not mad at you Emily!” I practically yell, “I’m not mad, I’m fucking hurt. Do you know this is the first time I’ve been here in nearly 8 months? I tried to come here, but I could never get passed the door because the place still smelled like you. Like that stupid perfume we all love so much.. I’ve slept in Derek’s spare room. I spent at least an hour on the phone with JJ every night because of how much my heart hurt, how much it ached for you. Poor Spencer has ripped himself up about not getting to say goodbye to you. On the outside Rossi might look like he’s stable, but these last few months have not been kind to him. If anything, he's taken it the worst out of anyone.. I’m not angry at you. Am I angry at JJ and Hotch? You bet your ass I am. I’m beyond pissed with them. But you? I could never be mad at you Emily.”

Tears were streaming down my cheeks at this point, tears I was no longer able to hide. Emily moved from her seat on the couch and crouched in front of me, our faces at the same height. Our bodies were as close to each other as we could get them without sitting on one another laps. Her hand came out and rested itself on my cheek as I subconsciously pressed my cheek further into her hand. We stayed in this position for a few moments, just taking in each other, before Emily’s voice perked up,

“I begged JJ to tell you I was okay. These past 7 months have been the toughest months of my life. I lost my family. I lost the best people I have ever met. I lost a part of myself that night, a part of myself I’ll never be able to get back. But most heartbreaking, I lost you.. I lost you right as I got the courage to tell you how in love with you I am.”

The tears, whilst still prominent, had calmed down a bit. I hadn't looked at it that way. I may have lost my favourite person, but Emily’s entire life had been swept up from under her feet without any warning.

I sighed, reaching up with both my hands to cup her face.

“I love you Em, so much. I just.. I need some time to process all of this” I say gently, pulling myself flush into her. She wraps her arms around my body, placing her head against my shoulder.

“Okay, take as much time as you need. I’ll still be here.”

“Promise?”

“I promise sweetheart” Emily says softly, “and I never intend to break that promise.”

Maybe we can find a way to work through this after all...

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 4 years ago

Text

Colour Coordniation - Mikey Way x Reader Drabble

Request: Hey, are your requests open, if not than feel free to ignore this, but I was wondering if you could do like a x reader where the reader is colorblind with someone from IDKHOW or MCR. Thank you for all the amazing fics, sorry if this bothers you

Word count: 865

A/N: I forgot who I wanted to write this for, so I’m just randomly going with Mikey since it was his birthday this week. Hope that’s alright. Since I don’t know what it’s like not to see colours, I hope this is written okay. Also for the Anti-Flag heavy conversation, I just love them.

“What about this one?”

You turned back to the bathroom door through which Mikey stepped back into the room. He was trying out outfits for tonight’s show, and as his partner it was your ‘job’, as he liked to call it, to make sure he looked presentable. He always claimed it was because he was terrible in deciding on clothes, but you knew that was not true. In fact you suspected he just wanted you to compliment him. So you did.

“I love it,” you exclaimed, “it looks so much better with the jacket. And you can still take it off later on in the show.”

Mikey nodded happily, and looked down his body.

“Shoes?”

He stretched out his leg to you, presenting the boots he was wearing.

You nodded in approval.

“Looks great,” you agreed. “A little bit reminiscent of Danger Days!”

Gerard sat up from where he had been laying on the bed of the hotel room. Since you were staying with a friend who lived in this city, he and Mikey shared a room. Now that he looked over his brother’s outfit he frowned.

“Dude, if you wear the aubergine top with the red boots I’ll kill you,” he sighed and dropped back into his pillow.

“Aubergine and red,” you asked, looking at Mikey’s clothing. “Man, I may have an eye for textures and cuts, but you need to do the colour work.”

“I like the combi, though,” Mikey complained with a pout directed at his brother.

“You can’t go on stage like that,” Gerard disagreed, “And since (y/n) can’t see the colours, you need to be responsible. We did talk about that.”

You giggled at Mikey’s annoyed face, and reached over to his suitcase that was thrown open on the bed next to you.

“What colour is this,” you asked pulling another tank top out of the mess.

“Dark green,” Mikey answered.

“Olive,” Gerard corrected.

“Green shirt and red boots… not perfect, is it,” you shook your head remembering the colour wheel. Even if you could not see the colours, you knew which colours theoretically should match each other.

“Why don’t you just wear the black boots, and the black jeans as always, and then you can wear which ever shirt you like and I get to nap before the show,” Gerard groaned.

“Because I want to wear the red boots,” Mikey argued, shrugging of the leather jacket.

“You sound like an angry toddler,” you laughed, and searched for a shirt which you were pretty sure was completely black. “Alternatively you could wear all black and the red boots, a Chris Dos homage so to speak.” You held up the black shirt.

“Bassist solidarity,” Mikey laughed and took the shirt from your hands, showing it to Gerard.

“But for that you’d need a button up, wouldn’t you,” Gerard asked, giving the shirt a thumbs up.

Quickly Mikey pulled of the aubergine shirt he was still wearing, and slipped into the black one.

“Nah, he’d definitely need that one for Justin, but Chris sometimes wears t-shirts too, I think,” you shrugged, “and I mean… it’s not like anyone would notice. None of the fans realised Frank and Chris had the same haircut in 2004 either.”

“Oh shit, right,” Mikey laughed, “I’m still not over that.”

Pulling around on the shirt a little he spread his arms and presented himself.

“Perfect,” you grinned and got up to kiss him.

“Wonderful cosplay,” Gerard laughed, “wait, is that even considered cosplay?”

“Crappy cosplay at best,” you giggled. “Chris wears sneakers, not boots, I think.”

“How do you know so much about his outfit,” Gerard wondered, draping himself dramatically across the bed.

“Because I happen to be friends with him and I regularly see their shows,” you answered, poking your tongue out at him.

“I kinda find it doubtful that you know more about your friend’s stage outfit than about mine,” Mikey pouted, linking your hands with his.

“That’s just because you change it up all the time, darling,” you leant up and kissed him on the lips, causing him to drop the pouty façade, and break into a smile instead. “But whenever you feel like it, you really should wear the ‘Art is the Weapon’ or the ‘Mikey Fucking Way’ shirt again.”

“Cool, cool, now that we managed to dress Mikey into something presentable, would you two love birds minding to go out or something, I still wanna nap,” Gerard whined.

“Oh dear, he’s just like a toddler too,” you whispered to Mikey making him laugh.

“Hey, I heard that,” Gerard complained, and wrapped himself in one of the blankets.

“Yeah, let’s give this grumpy three years old some space,” Mikey agreed, “I saw an ice cream parlour down the street. What do you think?”

“That I really love ice cream,” you grinned.

“Perfect. Ice cream it is.”

Mikey grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, taking hold of yours with the other. And while Gerard was still mumbling how awfully cute you two were together, and how much he sometimes regretted setting you two up, because you were just disgustingly sweet together, Mikey and you left the room to go for an ice cream.

Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know):

General: @justawriterinprogress @robinruns @jayloverthe3rd @lookalivefrosty @butterfycore @starduststy @vamp-void @angelevansfalls

MCR: @deadlovers

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years ago

Text

(Any Category Villains) x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: Congratulations, you have caught character A’s (Italics in the ‘Includes’ section) attention and they’ve been bothering you since you met (Caught you sneaking into the museum, caught Peter Pan bringing you into Neverland, or you transferred to Dauntless and jumped) and you have upheld the front that you dislike / hate him but your real feelings are given away when you see Character B, who is a reincarnation of Character A, and you are visibly attracted to this person.

Includes (Italics = The love interest. // No italics = The one you gush over) : Al Capone and Frank Castle / The Punisher, Captain Hook (2003) and Lucius Malfoy, and Eric (Divergent) and Captain Boomerang.

Warnings: Looking at our line-up, I’m assuming theirs gonna be some swearing and, because of the topic their will probs be sexual references. Some THIRSTING

Notes:

I dunno who will want this but I wrote it a week ago and was having trouble adding the last two character (Freddy and Buckman) but I got a new idea for Buckman (And Hoyt, and Jafar. Ya’ll just sit back and wait for what I’m brewing with these unholy three) now so no worries! Imma just post it. I like Al’s at least ^^ NATM fans will be maybe happy :D

~~~

Al Capone: Frank Castle / The Punisher ( @blueinkblot )

“So, you’re supposed to be the other me?” Al talks to his doppelganger with contempt in the other room, and you can just imagine the pinched look on his face. Chuckling about it, I get up from the lunch table and leave the break room, going to see what’s happening and oversee the visit – hopefully I don’t have to use the dreaded torch the museum gave me as a weapon,- , go-ghurt still between my lips and my teeth. Strawberry flavour! Its delicious. The cooling sleeve was a smart purchase, I think. Despite what Napoleon and Kahmenrah might say… Stupid, pompous bastards. Thinking yoghurt out of a tube is inferior to yoghurt out of a tub.

Pfft!

Rounding the corner, I see two Al’s. One of them is grey scale, of course, and he’s holding his tommy gun like it will make any difference in a fight if it came down to it, with is having no bullets and all, and the other looks like he’s recently been to war.

Oh, good, lord.

Really, he is as gruff looking as they come. Where Al’s clean and baby-faced, this guy has that sexy five o’clock shadow. He’s also buffer, human coloured and… is he taller?? I don’t know how it could be possible, but just way the way he looks at people makes him seem taller.

Suddenly he looks my way and I smile… but of course, I still have a tube of go-ghurt in my mouth and when I pull it out -a bit too excited maybe,- some specks of white yoghurt fleck onto my mouth. I go bright red with embarrassment and Al looks over to see what the new guy is looking away from, -me, - as I use my sleeve to wipe that stuff off. I miss his broad, knowing grin.

I flash him a toothless, joyless grin which I hope reads ‘Don’t talk to me, stop looking at me, don’t even mention me. I’m going to go find a hole to live in’ before raising a hand quickly to waive, slouching and slowly moping off to my hole. Go-Ghurt, how could you betray me like this!!

Ahhh, its better off that way anyway. Wouldn’t want Al to get to the idea that I think he’s attractive, haha. I sit down at the table Napoleon, Kah, Ivan and a couple other exhibits are playing go fish on and watch them play for a while, my legs stretched out under the table and arms crossed over my stomach, watching and not saying anything. Even when Kah matches a 6 of clubs with a 7 of clubs and no one else notices- I’d rather not set off any high-pitched French shrieking right now. My ears are still sensitive from last night, thank you very much.

When midnight strikes, they finally decide to give Go Fish a rest for the night, thank god, and disperse to separate areas of the museum. I’m just playing with the cards, shuffling them and organising them into suits and chronological order when Al plops down in the seat beside me. I glance at him between separating hearts and diamonds. “Your guy left?” Oh, thank god.

“Yeah; Said he had some work to do before the night was over.” He responds, and I nod in understanding. “Makes me wonder what kinda work he does, at night… with a gun… in all black… But I don’t ask questions.”

“Oh, you don’t?” I turn over my shoulder, set the cards down and look sceptically at him. I could have sworn he asks me a million questions about myself every chance he gets. “Do you?”

“Fine, I don’t ask that guy questions. I ask you, a lotta questions.” I make an immediate ‘Ahhh’ sound when he admits the first part and look back to my cards. I look right back at him through when I hear the legs of his chair scratch against the floor and find that he’s much closer now. “One more question.”

I raise an eyebrow at his mischievous face. “What?”

“Did you embarrass yourself checking the other me out?” A wide grin takes his mouth, and I gasp.

“I was no checking him out- and- and he’s not even like you, anyway. He looks completely different! In fact, I think he was 4 inches taller!” Okay, not quite that much taller, but if it gets under Al’s skin then fuck. Four inches is what I saw.

And it does get under his skin! His eyes go steely and he looks from you to where the guy had been a moment ago, then back. Pointing at the spot they were in, he exclaims. “There’s no way.”

“Oh sure, there was.”

“Bring a measuring tape tomorrow, we’ll see who’s really taller!”

I hold back a laugh, looking away from him and shuffling the cards again just to have something to do with my hands. “Sure, Al!~”

“You know what?” Ooh, he sounds frustrated. Success, for me! Yippee!

I grin, and ask him. “What?”

Then Al cups my jaw, drags my head around and plants a kiss right on my mouth. I shouldn’t- No, it shouldn’t have the effect on me that it does. I should push him off and leave, but I immediately transform into mush and turn fully to wrap my arms around his neck, tilting my head into it the kiss instead. I’m not gonna lie, I think, this boy can kiss. And maybe I’d been waiting for it.

A little bit.

Captain Hook (2003): Lucius Malfoy

“My dear Y/N come over here please! ~” Hook calls over to me from the lower deck, and I look up from my phone -surprisingly enough, I get great connection in Neverland,- like a sullen teenager, earplugs still in my ears, and wait for an explanation. What? What does he want? He’s keeping me hostage and now he wants something from me?? “I’d like to introduce you to my reincarnation! His name is Lucius Malfoy, he’s a wizard!”

For a moment I consider pretending I didn’t hear him, but then decide it’s always a good idea to stay on the good side of your kidnapper and huff. Getting up from the floor where I was sitting, I take my earplugs out and wrap them around my phone as I walk down the stairs to the lower deck where they are, stuffing it in my hoodie pocket when I reach them. “Hi, I’m Y/N. The Captains hos- “

“Consort! My fair Y/N.” A hook picks up a strand of my hair, and Hook watches as it slips off the hook.

What?! I look immediately up from the floor to Hook with a look of utter horror and ‘hell no’ carved into my features. Um, absolutely not- “Yes!” I hate myself for this, but what choice do I have? “That’s me, it’s nice to meet you- “

My mouth goes dry as soon as I see him for the first time and my expression softens quickly. So pretty! How?

I offer my hand to him to shake and he smirks -Lord help me, - and takes it, shaking for a good amount of time. “Lovely to meet you also, Y/N… Its funny, you look nothing like my wife. I guess reincarnation exists but not fate. Peculiar.” Hmmm, yes, or I was kidnapped. Not really his consort! Not at all!! No??!

Ahhhh, rats though. He’s married.

I run a hand back through my hair and take my hand back, smiling politely. Oh well. “Yeah, I guess! I haven’t really thought of it- Hook?” I turn promptly to him to keep up the conversation. I’m not going to. I’m anti-social and introverted. Besides, he started this. Conversation was thrust upon me.

When we connect gazes, I notice he was looking at me before I even turned. I flash a nervous, toothless smile and look away the ocean awkwardly. Oh, dear. What’s going on in his mind?

As they talk, and watch the ocean and feel… slightly, at peace watching the beautiful blue Neverland waves crawl over the expanse of water and the disperse into its depths after crashing. It almost feels like I’m back in Britain again… until a certain hooked arm hooks its way around my bloody waist and my head whips around to see what the hell he think’s he’s doing.

Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to my ‘husband’, giving Lucius a quick ‘excuse me a moment’, and gesturing for Hook to lean down to my level so I can whisper something in his ear. “Yes, hi. Hook. Get your fucking arm off of me; Your touch feels like gross bugs on me.”

He turns to face me, and our faces are uncomfortably close in this moment. “Dear, if you think I’m going to give up on you just because you’re too stubborn to admit you want me too because of some abomination of a moral dilemma then you’re mistaken.” My face burns, from embarrassment and anger -maybe just embarrassment? He touches his lips thoughtfully, then uses those same fingers to pull my chin up so I’m more at his mercy as his expression turns into a full smirk. Bastard. “And don’t think for one second that I somehow didn’t notice your reaction to my lookalike. I know just enough about how you feel about what I look like now to hold on. You will fall for me, you’ll see. “I watch with a deep frown on my face, heat running down my neck and into my clothes as he straightens up again to continue talking with Lucius. I take a deep breath, now that his focus isn’t on me anymore before he tugs me even closer against his body.

Eric (Divergent): Captain Boomerang (Keep in mind that I have never seen Suicide squad or anything else with Captain Boomerang)

Ohh, Eric was not happy about this. Eric isn’t happy about most things, unless they included the misfortune and pain of others and more recently, regrettably, me. But he reaaaaalllly hated this.

Contrasting drastically, I’m living for it. Naturally.

And the fact that ‘Captain Boomerang’, or Digger Harkness which is one of the sexiest given names I’ve ever heard, is gorgeous in that ruffled, dark way doesn’t hurt the situation one bit. No, it does not. Eric is villainous looking too, sure, but he’s so clean cut and angry looking. Its harsh on my irises.

“So, Captain, you said you grew up in Australia?” I’m enjoying this, and I’m sucking every morsel of joy out of it as I can- which means ask the Captain copious questions while Eric just stands with his arms crossed over his chest and tries to intimidate someone the same size and scary level as him, right beside me. I don’t know how he thinks that’s going to work out for him, but I think it’s the only form of offense he has right now to utilise. Poor, evil Eric. Boo hoo.

“That’s right, you ever been there?” He grins -he grins! The only time Eric ever grins is when he’s being cruel and because he does it so little, it’s kind of scary now. Very good for making birds fall out of the sky and babies cry, - and pats my arm. His hand is big, and I beam up at him because I’m getting attention from a pretty boy. “You’d like it, I think. Most people would.”

“Sure!” Will you take me, handsome?

Eric notices the Captain’s hand still on my arm before I do even, zeroes in on it, picks it up so tight I can see his knuckles are white and drops it back towards its owner. I press my lips together and bite on them, looking down at the ground for a moment to widen my eyes at the awkward tension.

When I look back up, they’re staring daggers at each other and it’s even more awkward. Eric! Could you go stand somewhere else possibly!?

Ooooor, maybe I will. This doesn’t seem like a safe place to be anymore.

“Well, it was really nice meeting you Captain. I have to go be somewhere else now, see yaaaaa,” I give him a jaunty and half-assed salute as I’m already occupied with turning and wheeling it out of there.

I was hoping to get away from them, but its two seconds out the door before I realise Eric has followed me. I continue on though, ignoring him and hoping he’ll get the hint- and screw off. I get that that’s a pipe dream though, so I’m not surprised when instead he starts speaking to me.

“So, what was that about?”

“Stop trailing me.”

“Answer my question.” He counters. Oh, scary stubborn Eric.

I know what he’s talking about. I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say I think Captain Boomerang is pretty so I must think he is pretty- which is just not true!!

Is... is it?

No, no it mustn’t be that. I cannot be. I repeat, it c a n n o t be. “I refuse! Get off my tail Eric!”

He chuckles from behind me, pats my back and quickens up to leave me in his dust as he speeds down the hall effortlessly. “Sure, Y/N. Sure.” Soon, he’s out of sight, and I stop walking.

It… it’s not true, is it?

#Drabbles #Horror Drabbles #Slasher Drabbles #Divergent Drabbles #Misc Drabbles #NATM Drabbles #Al Capone #frank Castle #The Punisher #Captain Hook 2003 #Lucius Malfoy #Eric (Divergent)#Captain Boomerang #X Reader

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