#anti antoine

[breadbugg]

oooh if requests are still open maybe a anti sally/alicia and anti antoine/patch d coolette

havent read much archie tbh but these were fun to draw! thanks for the request!!!

[boomstyle]

Distant Twin (sneak peek)

Anti Mobius Sonic (later Scourge the hedgehog) has just escaped twice from No zone prison after Zonic rearrested him for stealing spare parts of giant borg (sonic super special issue 10) and vandalizing the wall "Sonic is here" in the dimension of Litigopolis where J.U.D.G.E. ruled (sonic super special issue 14). Unhearthened by his Anti boom counterpart and Anti St John, Anti Mobius Sonic returned to his dimension, overthrow Anti Sally and kicked out St John. Anti Freedom fighters weren't willing for his return but at least its better than under Anti St John. At this point, they are running out of ideas since they lose against Freedom Figther and Anti Boom Team Sonic. Hence, Anti Sally suggested that they invade Mirror Boom world, Alternate boom world and Sonic boom world as they are weaker dimension. Plus, the border between Sonic Boom world and Anti Sonic boom world is less guarded. Hence, Anti Freedom Fighter managed to invade Mirror Boom world and Alternate Boom world. As Anti Freedom fighter reached Sonic Boom world, they defeated Team Sonic easily even go as far as strangling the leader. All hope was lost until Team Sonic's villain counterpart from Anti Boom dimension defeated Anti Freedom Figther. Zonic arrested Anti Mobius Sonic to zone cop again however give strict warning to other member of Anti Freedom Figther and confiscated their weapons for 2 months. Afterward, Zonic legalized the Anti Boom dimension invasion of Anti Green Hills as reward for helping Sonic Boom world after all Anti Green Hills zone is always part of Anti Boom dimension. However, Zonic knows the main reason Anti Boom Team Sonic helped its non antiverse counterpart is to prevent Scourge from taking over his dimension.

Timelapse

[magnetisticc]

a little hater

[missile-the-sandcat]

Important Suppression Squad Poll

[doctordeepzone]

"No Longer Just For Show"

[squid-in-a-party-hat]

undefined

Who knew Evil Antoine would go so hard?

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[thingsthatneedtobesaidsblog]

This might be a little controversial but I really hate adopted Skye/Daisy with Phil x Melinda like it good at first but when everyone starts doing there own little version and they're some what identical the magic in the trope gets lost its the same with Peter and Tony either being adopted or his biological son. I enjoy these stories here and there but it's very rare after I discovered it.

I really wish the Fandom would branch out of these 2 being the main target for adopted children when it comes to Tony, and Phil and May because there are plenty of options especially in AOS there's Bobbi, Jemma, Fitz's, freaking Hunter and Trip. I just really wish there was more fics that didn't focus around Daisy and Peter but at the sa.e time I understand why they do.

Also with Tony there's literally Harley, Tony was also a playboy he could have kids literally showing up on his door step!! (People actually do do this trope I just wish there was more POC Stark children ciz I fear it would eat especially if there's some cultural differences between Tony and the kid)

[frevandrest]

Blérancourt drama: Thérèse Gellé's mother attacks National Guard and tells them to fuck off

I was going through Monar and I found about an incident from 1790 Blérancourt, involving SJ's arch-enemy (from the village), Gellé. Or, more precisely, his wife, Thérèse's mother. It's a small thing but it's sending me so much. Background: Gellé doesn't want to serve in the National Guard because he is a royalist. So a delegation is sent (possibly/probably) by Saint-Just himself to check why he is neglecting his duties.

Monar writes (Google translated; emphasis mine):

At nine o'clock, under the command of Captain Clay-Lefebvre, four men of the National Guard, a cook, a carpenter, a white tanner, and a day laborer, presented themselves with the letter before the Gellé's house. If the social status of the delegation, which was unquestionably quite low in the eyes of a wealthy Notabein, was intended as a provocation, it achieved its goal: Mrs. Gellé stepped out and immediately indulged in such indelicate words against the guardsmen that the expressions in question were only indicated by the first letter in each case in the protocol that was later drawn up. She [...] continued to shout at the National Guardsmen: que son mari la [la garde] monterait pas, n'étant pas fait pour se trouver avec des bandes de canailles, de coquins et de geux comme eux et ceux qui composaient leur f... milice. [her husband won't stand guard, as he was not the kind to find himself among groups of scoundrels, rascals and bandits like them and those who make up their f...(probably "foutu" so "fucking") militia] - translation by @robespapier Having already thrown ashes at the speechless, she finally picked up a stick to strike a blow at the captain, who flinched and drew his rapier.

It ended up with Gellé and his brother appearing and the delegation went back. But! A detailed report was made about the incident by SJ's best friend Victor Thuiller. Which was later used as a proof of Gellé's anti-revolutionary behaviour.

This hilarious (?) anecdote is just one of the many (many many) instances of Blérancourt bickering and drama early in the Revolution. There were a lot of tensions, often at the Gellé vs SJ front (well, royalist vs revolutionary front), and it's so, so interesting to me. I need to make a list of all the incidents and research them in more depth.

But seriously? SJ had a LOT of practice with political bickering before he got to the Convention. But also, since this is a village of 2.5 600 people, it also reads like a total soap opera.

[rachelbethhines]

Based off this post https://www.tumblr.com/theamazingsallyhogan/660233441493876737?source=share if you want more context.

[hitchell-mope]

What I hated about the final two seasons

Be warned. There WILL be unpopular opinions in this one. This WILL get petty. And it WILL be mean. So tread carefully

Quinn. That woman should not have been directing a family musical.

Mack. Anyone who’s a threat to Ricky needs to leave

Dani. Too falsely perky. Like Audrey Rose

Redlyn breakup

The cheating plot point

The whole Adam Westing thing Bleu and Johnson had going on.

The fact that there was neither hide nor hair of Efron at all. Ricky could’ve used a pep talk from him. Seeing as he’s played Troy twice. He deserved it.

Ej’s Mirror!Spock facial hair. It never suited him

The constantly poorly thought out parallels.

The overly glorified depiction of Chad Danforth. He was not a The. He was just a supporting character. And not a very good one at that.

Ricky crying. He’s my favourite character. He should never be sad.

Terri Porter. Like. I get that she just wants what’s best for Gina. But she’s very, I dunno, smug about it. Especially when it came to Mack vs Ricky.

The lack of Ryan/Grabeel after the season four premiere

The lack of Big Red and Seb.

Principal Gutierrez. Although I think that was supposed to be the intended effect.

Jarred Pumpkinhead. Enough said.

Dewey Wood. Jackson Stewart I like. Dewey Wood I do not.

No Val in season four.

No last names for Maddox, Jet or Emmy

Lily and Antonine. I still hate them.

The film that Seb and Big Red watched. Couldn’t it have been Brokeback Mountain or something to that effect?

Ricky’s parents. Although I highly doubt that anyone’s going to be surprised by that.

The lack of hip movement during Ricky’s “pants are too tight” line in night to remember

Natalie Bagley only returning for a single episode

The fact that the final two seasons were only eight episodes each.

The implication that absolutely NONE of the theatre club seems to know what Romeo and Juliet is.

The constant lack of sympathy Ricky gets. He was never at fault for anything that happened from his parents splitting up to how Nini treated him. And it’s such a bloody shame that the show never seemed to want to acknowledge that

I understand that it was necessary. But I still kinda wish that Ricky and Gina weren’t a secret for most of the final season you know?

The fact that we only ever saw one rina date.

The fact that season four was the end of such a great show.

There’s probably more but that’s all I can think of right now. Tell me what you think?

[froppy-butterflyfan2000]

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety/Panic State and Angst

A prequel of the epilogue of Clown Fight

Be warned: Please wait for Volume 3 of Cappyverse: Guardians of The Supernatural and Volume 3 of Cappyverse: Neighbours, as this take place after the Volume 1, two years into the future.

Antoine Diaz and Nebula Butterfly-Lucitor (mentioned) belong to @ej-cappy-universe

Anty Diamond and Panacea Spiderbite (mentioned) belongs to @cooltmoney95

Javelin (mentioned) belongs to @hotsassbacon

Haruko Fife (mentioned), Morgan Morningstar (mentioned), and Reggie Mann (mentioned) belong to @aprilbrowines

Hannibal Zomboni and Janaya A. Bloodworth-Thomason (mentioned) belong to me.

[doctordeepzone]

Drew Patch in his old outfit from the first fight with the freedom fighters

[hardlyinteresting]

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 

[nimrochan]

Students impaled severed pig heads to threatened Jewish students at UBC.

Oh but antizionism isn’t antisemitism!! 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪

[galatoma]

We get to know the crimes!!!

Baghera -> anti federation propoganda and accidentally executing a presidential candidate

Etoiles -> possession of illegal objects, vandalism of public roads, and break-ins

Pierre -> possessing illegal objects, trespassing (?), and disturbances on public roads

Antoine -> possession and distribution of unauthorized images and trespassing

[odusseus-xvi]

You know it's really interesting to think about the French Family because yesterday for the first time in a WHILE all four were here (sorry again Kameto) and I realized just how Different their relationship is to the Brazilian family.

Because when you see Tazercraft, Felps, Cellbit and Forever, they can have disagreements, but from what I see of them (which is still limited) they still try and help each other first, they love each other and will trust each other until the very end, until the very last line is crossed. HOWEVER the French, and even more since Pomme's disappearance, are CONSTANTLY lying to each other and straight up distrusting of each other. Just yesterday, Etoiles was wary of Antoine and Baghera because they didn't show a strong anti Federation feeling and decided not to show his full sword to them, Antoine and Baghera are thinking Etoiles is lying to them and are convinced he is hiding things, and is afflicted by the Code, Baghera doesn't trust Antoine with her secrets, and in return Antoine knows she is lying and hiding things, Aypierre still charges the others for use of his machines and still bargains information away, even with them sometimes, Antoine knows Aypierre is mostly here to cause problems, and doesn't hesitate to throw him under the bus when he knows what he did.

And yet they all aknowledge that they are in fact a family, they arrived in here together, they alltogether lost one of their own (Kameto), and they were intrusted with a child to take care of together. In the end they are not the people they trust the most on the island, but they still care enough about each other that in times of need they will help. Etoiles holds optimism for the troops, they will get their daughter back. Aypierre will open his machines freely to them (and only them) if it's absolutely nescessary. Baghera will tell the others what she thinks and what she discovered in time, it's always a matter of when, not if. Antoine for as suspicious of the others as he is, will help them how he can if they feel distressed.

Yesterday they were all four discussing for a very brief period of time, and they all lied at least once in the conversation, Baghera muted herself and told her chat something I could translate as "Look at the dysfunctionnal family :D". They are dysfunctionnal, there is no doubt. They are still a family.

It's funny, if you think about it, the two outside things that holds them together the most are Pomme (gone) and their love and trust for BBH (going to the deep end.)

Can't wait to see where this goes.

(Give us Pomme and Dapper back. Give us all the eggs back everyone is freaking tired)