#I feel wrung out after watching these two seasons and not in a good satisfied way

[liam-summers]

About to watch “Home” and be released from the shackles of AtS season 4 once and for all

GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE 🗣️

YOU COULDN’T PAY ME TO EVER REWATCH SEASON 4 (and season 3, for that matter!!) OF THIS DAMN SHOW EVER AGAIN!!!!! I would rather gnaw off my own LIMBS!!!!!!!!!

[2manyfandoms2count]

Alix's rom-com night

The June event of the @mlwritersguild was to create bonus content for one of our fics - I decided to seize the opportunity to finally sit down and write one of the bonus scenes of You can count on me (I will be there for you), and to do draw a bit of fanart to go with it (4 panels, including a Marichat piece)! Let me tell you that the Burrow is a pain to draw, but I'm actually quite proud of the result :)

About YCCOM: It's an aged-up, one-sided reveal with "fake" wedding fic, based on Sallteas' art. The fic is 9 chapters and 20k words long. It was written before season 4, so it's no longer canon compliant in terms of who knows who's identities at the beginning.

Synopsis: Ladybug's identity is compromised, and somebody is after her. After a lot of pondering, she and Chat Noir come to the conclusion that her best bet is for her to marry Adrien Agreste. It breaks her heart that she is not marrying Chat Noir, but she knows that she's buying them time to figure out who is behind the anonymous letters she's been receiving, and hopefully to find Hawkmoth. Whatever the situation might be, her wedding day should provide a moment of respite. And maybe it would have, had Chat Noir refrained from coming to visit her just before the ceremony...

About Alix's rom-com night: it's a one shot that's chronologically set before the main fic, but I recommend reading it after reading the latter since it contains spoilers for it. It follows Alix (obviously), and includes Ladybug revealing her identity to Chat Noir and the set up of their "fake wedding" plan.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Alix opened her door and dropped her keys in the bowl as she kicked off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. Home, sweet home.

Her studio apartment wasn’t very big, but then again, she didn’t need a huge surface when she had a whole extension waiting for her just a transformation phrase away. She’d mentally thanked Marinette more than once for choosing her to wield the Rabbit Miraculous, rather than somebody else, just for the savings she made in rent.

She whistled happily as she made her way to her kitchen area, grabbing a bag of popcorn out of a cupboard and shoving it in her microwave.

She deserved the treat. She’d been running around all week, trying to slide letters to her targets without being spotted, spending hours on end to find the perfect stationary, and then staying up at night to get the wording exactly right, a delicate mix of subtlety and threat to elicit some sort of response from them. It had taken a lot of trial and error, especially for Ladybug. Her friend had always been surprisingly oblivious on many fronts, and it seemed that her honeymoon phase with Chat Noir reinforced her optimistic ability to brush ominous details aside. It had taken three letters for her to start freaking out and to promise Tikki she would talk to her partner about them, whereas Hawkmoth had started the analysis phase upon the first one he’d received.

Alix had only been mildly surprised by the identity of their nemesis when she’d decided it was high time she knew who they were facing; it was all too fitting that the man who leached off Paris’ most intense negative emotions should be the most embittered person she knew, and the one who, in retrospect, had been the cause of many an Akuma (she still shuddered at the what-could-have-been of Chat Noir’s akumatisation).

The microwave dinged, bringing her thoughts back to her timeline. She took the bowl out and called for her Kwami.

“Fluff, clockwise! Burrow!”

A white portal appeared in the middle of her living space and she walked through it, emerging in the ovoid room covered in screens. She made her way to the furthest point, hung her umbrella up on the coathanger she kept in there, and grabbed a folding chair. It was a director’s seat which supposedly had belonged to a rising name in the cinema world before their career had been shot down for obscure reasons, but she didn’t really care about its story; she’d bought it for a very low price at a yard sale, and that was all that mattered to her.

“Right, where are you…” She muttered, scrutinising her surroundings, until she found the screen she was looking for.

She unfolded the chair, zoomed in on the empty (for now) rooftop, propped down in her seat and threw a fistful of popcorn into her mouth, waiting for the show to start.

Unsurprisingly, Ladybug was the first to arrive on the scene. She paced around, mumbling to herself as she wrung her hands together. Alix felt a pang of guilt as she watched her rehearse how she would break the news to her partner, but reassured herself that the ordeal would soon be over.

Finally, Chat Noir landed beside Ladybug, and she flung herself at him, holding him so tight he had to untangle himself from her arms to breathe.

“Well, well, well, my Lady, I know I couldn’t make it to patrol last night, but I didn’t think you’d miss me this much,” he chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Alix rolled her eyes at just how lovestruck he looked as he did so. How could her friends be so sappy, and yet still be at square one in terms of knowing who the other was?

Some might have said that it was romantic, that they loved each other regardless of who they were; but those people did not have to deal with the constant end of the world threat.

“What was so important that you couldn’t just text me?”

Ladybug took a deep breath. Her fingers slid along his arms as she relaxed her embrace, taking his hands in hers at the end of the line. “Somebody knows my identity,” she said quietly, looking down. “And I don’t know who they are.”

“What?!” Chat’s voice detonated in the previously peaceful quiet of the evening, making a couple of pigeons take off in a loud flutter of wings.

“I’m so sorry, I must have been careless when I got home one night, they must have seen me, I bet it was last week when I was tired and I-”

“My Lady, no offence, but I don’t care about the when and why, just... are you okay?” He tilted her chin up, gently turning her head to each side, checking for any signs of injury.

She placed her hand on his, making him stop, and gave him a soft, sad smile. “Yes, Chaton. Just a little rattled; you know you were the first person I wanted to reveal my identity to. Not including Bunnyx, although technically I never told her who I am.”

“And technically, I’m still the only person who knows who you are,” Bunnyx smugly commented between two handfuls of popcorn. “Now come on, I want to see how you react when you reveal your identities to each other.”

“How do you know somebody knows, though? And do you have any idea what their intentions are?”

Ladybug’s expression darkened. “I received some letters. They’re not signed, but they’ve got enough butterflies on them to make me think that even if they’re not from the biggest pest in Paris, then they’re probably from somebody who’s up to no good.”

Chat Noir swore under his breath, then regained his countenance. “So, what do we do now? Do you think we can hunt down the bugger?”

“We definitely will, but…” Ladybug bit her lip, and Alix leaned forward in her seat. This had to be it. “Chaton, I think the time has come for me to tell you who I am.”

“YES! Finally!” Alix cheered, almost spilling her popcorn bowl.

“Are you sure, my Lady?” Alix didn’t have to be on site to tell that Chat Noir’s heart was beating faster than usual; the corners of his mouth twitched as he repressed a smile, as though his excitement could make her change her mind.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I really want you to know.” In case something happens to me, Alix was pretty sure her friend had left unsaid.

“Okay, okay.” Chat Noir took a deep breath, buzzing with anticipation, so much so that he apparently missed the whole subtext of her previous words. “Do you want to do this now? And how do you want to do it? Do you want me to close my eyes? Are you going to write it on a piece of paper for me to read? Are you going to detransform? Should-”

“I was thinking the latter, and yes, now,” Ladybug said timidly. “Up to you if you want to look or not.”

“For some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t.” He took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles without breaking their eye contact, then took another deep breath and closed his eyes, a blissful smile on his lips. “Ready when you are, my Lady.”

“Ok, here goes.” She let out a shaky breath and called off her transformation. The soft pink glow engulfed her and receded, her suit melting away to reveal her true appearance.

“Wow, Marinette, you actually broke out your favourite dress for this? Glad to see all of this isn’t affecting your ability to think straight.” Alix smirked. If her friend had gone home after a long, stressful work day, and found it in her to change and doll herself up to make a good impression on Chat Noir, things couldn’t be that bad. She had to agree that her dress, simple, white, with little red hearts embroidered on it, was perfect for the occasion, though.

“You can open your eyes now, Chaton.” Marinette gave his hands a squeeze.

Chat Noir obliged, blinking slowly as he took in her appearance, her identity, her. Marinette squirmed under his gaze, his expression not giving away any of his thoughts.

“H-Hi,” she stammered when she couldn’t take it anymore. “I, erm, I guess I should introduce myself? We’ve run into each other before, when we were younger, and even if you actually had lunch with my family that one time, I guess it’s been a while… My name is-”

“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Chat’s smile finally broke free, spread from ear to ear, almost literally illuminating his face. Alix wondered if anything could ever wipe it off. Love and admiration twinkled in his eyes as he picked her up and started spinning her. Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling giddily, before Chat Noir closed the gap between their lips.

Bunnyx modestly looked away, allowing them to have their moment. Her eyes landed on a rerun of Plagg putting an end to the dinosaurs’ reign.

“I should have known that it was you, Princess.” Chat panted slightly as he carefully set Marinette back on the roof. “Everything makes so much more sense now, I-”

“Before you finish that thought, I can’t know your identity.” She placed her index finger on his lips. “Yet, of course.”

“What?” Chat froze, and so did Bunnyx, her hand pausing midway between the popcorn bowl and her mouth. “But why?”

“I don’t know what might happen to me, but I don’t want to put you in any danger.” Marinette cupped his cheek. “And I don’t want to lose my memories of you. Of us.”

“Oh for Kwami’s sake.” Alix rolled her eyes. “Boo!” She threw a fistful of popcorn at the screen as her friend continued to list all the reasons Chat couldn’t reveal his identity.

“My Lady, Marinette, if you’re worried about your safety, maybe we should do something about it. I could move in with you, or in a flat nearby, maybe, stay transformed or wear a mask at all times so you don’t know who I am, we can figure it out… Of course I know you can protect yourself, but I could stand guard while you sleep, or...” Chat raked his hand through his hair as he thought.

“You know I love you, Chaton, and that’s why I can’t let you do that! You can’t live like that, I can’t ask that of you. Not to mention how difficult it would be for me, do you really think I could resist having you so close, and not trying to get a glimpse of who you are?” She joked, trying to diffuse the sudden tension.

“Then we need to get you a bodyguard,” he insisted.

“I thought about it, but… Well, I can’t really afford it, and how could I justify suddenly needing personal security? I’m just a designer, and nothing I’ve ever done has been avant-garde enough that I should be worried about my safety.” She shook her head.

“Damn, I knew I should have targeted Chat Noir,” Alix swore under her breath. “He would’ve had to reveal his identity, and she definitely wouldn’t have been a pushover on her kitty’s protection matter. Come on Adrien, do something.”

She could tell that he was up to something just by looking at him. He’d been silent for a little too long for it to be natural. Cogs turned in his head, making him squint. He let go of her completely and paced around the roof, almost pulling his hair out as he did so. Alix sensed that whatever was on his mind was going to be big. She leaned forwards in anticipation.

Finally, Chat Noir came to a halt in front of Marinette, the fever in his eyes and his dishevelled hair making him look slightly unhinged.

“Buguinette, I think I’ve got a solution,” he whispered.

“You do?” Marinette’s voice was full of hope, although she looked slightly concerned about him.

“You’re probably not going to like it,” he warned her, lifting a finger.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She shrugged, taking a step forward.

“Right.” He gave her one last look, an opportunity to stop him before the words tumbled out. She nodded encouragingly. “Okay, here’s the thing. I have it on very good authority that Adrien Agreste is being pressured into getting married by his father.”

“I see Gabriel’s just as delightful as always,” Marinette shook her head.

“Unlike good cheese, he definitely doesn’t get better with time.” Chat smiled bitterly, eyes losing focus a little.

“What’s it got to do with us, though?” Marinette prompted, placing a hand on his arm.

“Oh, Agreste, you absolute genius, I think I know where this is going.” Alix took another handful of popcorn.

“Oh, yes, right.” He cleared his throat. “See, Adrien’s not dating anyone at the moment…” Right, Alix snorted. “And he’s not really planning on starting a relationship with his father breathing down his neck, but, well, he happens to owe me a favour, and I’m sure that he’d be more than happy to put his security detail to good use…”

“So you’re suggesting that I marry Adrien.” Marinette deadpanned.

“Well, er, I actually thought you could just date, but thinking about it… It would be less strange for you to request a bodyguard if your relationship was more serious…” He trailed off.

Alix was impressed by how well he concealed his emotions. His poker face was truly exceptional.

“And you think Adrien would be ready to marry me because of a favour he owes you?” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips and squinting at him as she tried to pick at his lie.

Alix winced for Chat. Maybe he should have waited a bit before blurting out the (as it turned out) probably only sane option in that situation so he could work out all of the details for himself. Marinette was very good at trying to shake plans to see how solid their foundations were.

“Please. Adrien had a crush on you when you were younger, if anything I could probably smuggle it as another favour, given how perfect the fake scenario would be. Although I guess that since you also liked him… It might just cancel out.” He tapped his lip pensively.

“Adrien had a crush on me?” Marinette frowned. “Oh, you must mean Ladybug. I think Nino mentioned it once.”

“Well, yes, but he also had one on you, Marinette.” Chat stepped forward, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he poked her on the nose.

“Really, now,” she muttered to herself.

“The main reason he didn’t act on it was that he thought you loved somebody else.” Chat smiled ironically.

“Wow, what a pair of idiots.” Marinette chuckled.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He kissed her forehead.

“But you know what?” Marinette didn’t pick up on her partner’s comment. “I’m actually glad we didn’t get together. It probably would have delayed us getting together.” She pressed a peck to his lips. “If we’d gotten together at all in that timeline.” She smirked.

Alix snorted. Out of all the timelines she’d watched unfold in an attempt to keep things in check, there wasn’t a single one where Marinette and Adrien, Ladybug and Chat Noir, didn’t end up together, and not just because of her interventions to help them, and the rest of the planet, stay alive.

Marinette’s face fell at Chat Noir’s lack of response. Alix knew her friend didn’t particularly believe in soulmates, but she understood that she would have liked a sappy Chat Noir special comment on how he’d told her he’d grow onto her anyway, and that she would have soon discovered that the Agreste boy had nothing on him. She assumed that he was too busy restraining himself from saying the wrong thing.

“Actually… What about us, then?” Marinette cleared her throat and looked up at him, eyes glistening slightly in the half light.

“My Lady… If you really think that you being a divorcée will spur me away…” Chat Noir looked down at their entwined hands, locks of blond hair falling in front of his eyes, concealing his giddy smile from her. You sneaky cat, Alix thought.

Marinette followed his gaze, letting out a long sigh as she watched their hands sway lightly. Alix knew her brain was probably trying to find all the flaws in the plan. She crossed her fingers, hoping that it would be enough for her friend to accept. It was perfect, whether they got their act together and figured everything out before the event, or not.

“Fine,” Marinette finally said with resolve, making Alix mentally thank whoever was out there. “I’ll do it on two conditions.”

“Anything, my love.” Chat let out a sigh of relief.

“Firstly, we’re honest with Adrien from the get go. No lying about anything.” Chat nodded along. “Secondly, we get cracking on finding Hawkmoth, and after we do and the divorce is settled, if we even get that far with Adrien because obviously if everything is settled before the wedding we won’t be going through the whole plan…” Chat smiled fondly as she took a deep breath. “After all that, we are getting married.” She gestured between the both of them.

“My Lady, are you proposing to me right meow?” Chat Noir all but purred.

“I guess so.” Marinette shrugged, a smile and a blush spreading on her cheeks.

“Wow, then, I’m definitely putting Adrien in charge of the proposal planning,” he replied with a smirk.

“Chaton!” She stomped her foot, her mildly amused smile cancelling out her frown.

“What?” He teased her.

“Will you? Marry me?” She held his gaze.

“Do you even have to ask?” He chuckled. “You know, my Lady, I’m pretty sure that, in my head, we’ve been married since that speech you gave on the Eiffel Tower during our very first fight. Well, I’ve been married to you; you do whatever you please.”

“You’re such a dork,” Marinette laughed, brushing her nose against his and throwing her arms around his neck.

“And yet you still love me.” He pulled her closer.

“Unfortunately, I do,” she sighed dramatically before pressing a kiss to his lips.

Alix dismissed the screen. She’d seen what she wanted, and it seemed like a good place to stop; a happy, sappy ending. Also, she’d finished all of her popcorn.

Everything was on track, her friends would start their Hawkmoth hunt, and soon everybody in Paris would be able to live without fear of their own negative emotions.

(Of course, that was the theory; she’d soon find out that she’d underestimated Adrien’s will to organise the perfect wedding for Marinette, and that, my friends, was no small oversight.)

[blaindersonkummel]

Klaine Fic - Think of all the Fellas That I Haven’t Kissed (Part 2)

Chapter 2 title: Sign Your ‘X’ On The Line Written for Days 18 + 19 of Klaine Advent 2017 Prompts: “Stir” and “Talk”

Summary: Dragqueen!Blaine AU. Follows on from the end of chapter 1. Kurt takes Blaine on a sort-of date to the diner next door to the drag bar.

Word Count: 2600 (this chapter) - Read on AO3.

Kurt couldn’t quite believe the way his night was going. Earlier that day he was fully expecting to come to a drag show for a couple of hours, support Elliott’s friend, enjoy a few drinks, and head home after a fun, but not overly ambitious, night out.

What he wasn’t expecting was to be sat across from one of the very queens he had been watching perform earlier that night. On a date, nonetheless.

~

Kurt stood at the back door of the club, waiting for Blaine to collect her bags from backstage (“Should I be referring to Blaine as ‘her’ when he’s not in drag?”), ready to go on a late night sort-of date. The thought was already beginning to mess with his brain.

He fidgeted where he stood as he thought about how this… thing with Blaine might go ahead. Kurt suddenly found himself in a strange headspace, mulling over the fact that not only did he find Blaine absolutely gorgeous, charming and so so sweet, he also saw that in Honey Bee. A person who, for all intents and purposes, presented as a woman.

But Kurt was gay. Like, really truly gay. He had never been attracted to women before and he was certain he wasn’t now. But Blaine – well, Honey Bee – was making him question all that.

Sexuality crisis notwithstanding, Blaine came bounding out of the door to where Kurt was waiting, coat and scarf on and wheeling two suitcases of clothes, make-up, and wigs along with a big grin on his face.

“I’m sorry I kept you. So, you still up for splitting those fries?”

Kurt was suddenly torn away from his moment of panic when he looked over at Blaine.

Beautiful, adorable, bubbly Blaine with the most warm eyes and kind smile he’d ever seen. How did an eighteen year old manage to exude both such confidence and innocence at the same time?

“Sounds great,” he responded tightly, holding out one hand to offer to wheel Blaine’s bag, and taking hold of Blaine’s free hand with the other.

~

“…some more ketchup, please? Thank you so much.”

Kurt was yet again pulled out of his daze and back to the present when he realised he had been blanking on Blaine almost since they sat down and ordered. The waitress taking Blaine’s request for more sauce jotted something on her notepad with a bored expression and walked away with a grunt.

Blaine looked down at the bowl of fries on their table then looked up through his lashes at Kurt as he reached forward and took a few in one hand. He then took an individual fry and dipped it into his chocolate milkshake before popping it into his mouth with a satisfied expression at finally being able to eat that night. The move reminded Kurt of the same thing Blaine had done earlier with the cherry from his drink.

“Is there…” Blaine began, an unreadably curious expression on his face. But instead of carrying on his sentence, he seemed to cut himself off and instead moved to dunk another fry to eat. He tried again.

“Is something wrong, Kurt? You’ve been stirring that milkshake for about ten minutes now. In fact, you’ve been acting kind of odd since I left to get my stuff earlier and…” he looked sort of upset now. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to suddenly put you off, or if I’ve been too forward, or not forward enough, or if I’m too young, or if I’m not really your type or-“

“Woah, hey,” Kurt suddenly jumped to action, unwilling to sit and watch Blaine pass out from not taking a breath. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s okay.”

He laughed a little and stopped stirring, but instantly felt guilty at Blaine’s worried expression.

“It’s, well,” Kurt didn’t really know where to begin with this one, “I’m finding myself in a bit of a crisis at the minute and whilst I do want to tell you “it’s not you, it’s me”, I’m afraid I’d be totally lying.”

Blaine looked taken aback by that and instantly it looked as though tears were springing to his bright amber eyes as he tried to look away.

“Oh. Oh, right, yeah, okay I get it.”

Blaine was trying so hard to hold it together, but Kurt was quick to reassure him.

“Oh, no! No! That came out completely wrong. I should have finished.”

He wrung his hands together and thought to himself. “Ugh okay how do I word this?”

“See, I’m having a bit of a crisis because I… I really like you.”

The tears in Blaine’s shining eyes seemed to subside a little at this and he looked up at Kurt with curiosity.

“It’s kind of freaking me out a bit that I like you so much. For a number of reasons. And I’ll be honest – part of that is me dealing with the fact that you are insanely attractive… as both Blaine… and as Honey.”

Blaine’s face seemed to go pink at that and his eyes widened.

“Oh god,” Kurt instantly felt bad, “Was that offensive for me to say? Ugh, I’m really sorry. I don’t really know how to go about this thing with pronouns and genders and everything.”

Blaine was still pink in the face but he was now smiling widely and his eyes were scrunching at the corners as he made a small giggle.

“It wasn’t offensive, Kurt. I just… do you really think that?”

Kurt was caught offguard.

“Think what?”

“That you find me attractive as… as both me and Honey?”

Kurt knew the answer immediately. Hell yes. He really did.

“Yeah. I do.”

Blaine blushed again and brought his hands up to his face to hide his smile. Kurt was instantly struck by how much he suddenly looked like a child.

“I mean, I’ve heard guys find it an appealing quality but I never-”

“Wait,” Kurt cut him off, instantly curious. “You mean I’m not completely left of field here for freaking out about this?”

Blaine looked sort of taken aback at that.

“Errrr no. Of course you’re not. Drag is a very…” he paused here to find his words, “subversive kind of art form. It’s meant to make people question themselves. I mean, I’ve seen the effect first-hand. I’m fairly new to Cooties but even in the month or so I’ve been there, I have seen it all. Gay men, straight men, bisexual, non-binary, heck even straight and lesbian women, find something attractive about the queens I share a stage with.”

“Huh.”

Kurt was kind of stumped at that. All the anxiety he’d been building inside himself seemed to dissipate rather quickly after Blaine had reassured him that no, he wasn’t weird for finding an instant connection with Honey Bee on the stage and Blaine Anderson off the stage. He started to stir his milkshake yet again.

“I guess, for another thing, it’s not just the gender thing I’ve been thinking about. You’re so young. And I know I’m only 22, but you haven’t even been in the city very long and you already seem so confident. I mean, you’re a performing drag queen! And a damn excellent one! I can’t believe you were doing this in Ohio!”

Kurt took a sip from the milkshake but he didn’t miss the way Blaine bit his lip for a second, looking away the next.

“Ummmm. Well…”

Kurt’s expression shifted.

“You weren’t performing before you came here, were you?”

Blaine looked back now and shrugged with a pained look.

“Elliott told me you’re also from Ohio so I know you’ll understand when I say this. I never performed there. In fact, no-one besides my best friend Tina even knew about the drag thing.”

Kurt was kind of stunned.

“But Blaine, you’re so good! You blew half of those seasoned queens off the stage tonight!”

Blaine laughed a little and sipped on his own milkshake to give him something to do.

“Thank you,” he said once he swallowed, “but I’m just getting started really.”

Kurt looked Blaine over thoughtfully now, sure he was missing something about this mysterious young boy.

“So then how did you start?”

It was a simple enough question but one Blaine froze up at.

“It’s… I don’t know if I should tell you. If the gender thing kind of freaked you out before.”

Blaine was biting his lip again and goddammit, if that wasn’t becoming ingrained in Kurt’s brain as one of the cutest things ever…

“Oh. Well, please don’t feel like you have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with. I just want you to know despite how I felt moments ago, I am in no way going to judge you.”

Blaine continued to worry his lip before he took in a breath and straightened himself up in his seat.

“Okay. So, errr, I already knew I was gay from a fairly young age. I came out to my parents when I was fourteen and things were… well, my mom was fine. My dad was, well, not such an easy ride. But they accepted me, at least.”

Kurt was listening with bated breath as Blaine continued, and when it looked like he got kind of stilted at the mention of his father, Kurt didn’t hesitate to slide his hand across the table and wrap it around Blaine’s.

“When I was sixteen I started watching RuPaul’s Drag Race,” he laughed to himself here, “It’s very cliché, I know. But it happened.”

Kurt laughed lightly too but allowed him to continue.

“I thought about it for a while – maybe trying drag. But I started to question myself. At this point, I wasn’t sure what part of drag appealed to me. I became kind of obsessed with…”

Blaine trailed off here and sucked in a breath like he was preparing himself for Kurt’s reaction.

“I became obsessed with the idea of women’s clothing. And one day, when my mom and dad were out, I snuck into my mom’s wardrobe and pulled out the most gorgeous dress she owned, and a pair of heels. I sat on my bed for about thirty minutes before I plucked up the courage to just put on one shoe.

But when I did… I could feel that thing I knew I’d been wanting to feel for a while. So I somehow also managed to get into her dress and the second I had it on, I felt like a different person. You might think that’s kind of the end of it but… well, there’s more.”

Blaine pulled his hand from Kurt’s now and started to bite at one of his nails as he looked down.

“I began to wonder if that feeling was something else. If, maybe, I was suddenly feeling like that was the real me. So, that night, I got online and suddenly I found myself ordering a whole load of stuff which included women’s clothes and…” Blaine trailed off slightly as Kurt leant forward to hear him. “And underwear.”

Kurt was taken aback, not for the first time that night, but he managed to school his expression into something fairly neutral when, in actual fact, something was stirring in him at those words.

“The thing is, when they came, I was nervous. I wondered if putting these clothes on would suddenly spark this thing in me telling me that I was no longer Blaine – but someone else. However, in fact, it actually gets kind of boring here. Long story short, I went all out the next day and… well, I kind of went to school wearing the underwear.”

Kurt’s face must have given a lot away because, if he had been taking a sip of water at this point, the liquid would have probably been sprayed all over Blaine. Blaine laughed at his expression.

“Okay, I admit, so maybe boring isn’t the right word. I just mean, I found out that day that perhaps my gender wasn’t really being called in to question after all. I just happened to be a gay man who felt really sexy and empowered in women’s clothes.”

Blaine stopped here and lifted his milkshake to take a sip like he hadn’t just told Kurt he wears women’s underwear to feel sexy. And Kurt was supposed to act like that wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever heard.

“Woah,” he began, still unsure how to continue.

“It’s okay,” Blaine replied, “I understand it’s a lot to take in.”

Kurt pondered it for a second before he couldn’t hold in the questions any more and he had to ask.

“So if you weren’t performing before, how did you get into becoming a queen? Being in drag is about way more than just the clothes surely?”

Blaine’s smile titled up at that and he looked really quite impressed by how Kurt was reacting.

“You’re right, and it’s a good question. The day I realised I just wanted to wear the clothes, I got online right away and watched hours and hours of YouTube videos of drag performances, make-up tutorials, and hell even the documentaries about drag culture.”

“But you didn’t tell anyone?”

“At first. But when I realised how hard it would be to get more clothes and to even buy and hide make-up, I told Tina. She was amazing. She seriously helped me through a very… errr… confusing time. Plus she did my make-up the first time. I still like to think of her as my drag mother, even if she did an absolutely terrible job.”

Blaine laughed so sweetly again and continued eating his weird milkshake-covered fries. Kurt felt kind of sad for Blaine at first, having to keep this thing hidden that he was so breathtakingly brilliant at. But it led him to here and now – an excellent performer in a great drag bar, doing what he loves.

“So, there’s one more thing I’m wondering about. But, y’know, like I said, don’t feel like you have to answer or anything,” Kurt said as Blaine waited for him to continue. “What have your boyfriends thought about all this?”

Kurt pictured many responses from Blaine to this question. He expected maybe he would get defensive and not answer, or he would walk away, or he would calmly explain. What he didn’t expect was for Blaine to laugh out loud and then cover his mouth and look all shy and unassuming.

But still, he waited for an answer which Blaine didn’t give for a good couple of seconds.

“Oh! You’re… you’re not joking?” Blaine asked, eyes wide.

“Errr, no. I’m not,” Kurt suddenly felt uncomfortable again like he really had said something wrong.

“Well,” Blaine began, suddenly shy again, “the thing is… I’ve never… had one.”

“Oh,” Kurt really didn’t know how to carry on after that so he too picked up his milkshake and took a slurp to allow him the time to process.

“But, y’know,” Blaine continued, waiting for Kurt to put his glass down before he slid his hand across the table, palm up, “I’m certainly open to the idea.”

Kurt looked down at the hand and then back at Blaine’s face as, yet again, he did that absolutely adorable lip bite that Kurt was quickly falling in love with. Kurt was definitely becoming totally powerless to that face.

He slid his hand across the table to meet Blaine’s and he smiled.

“So am I.”

[idjurovic]

On Rewards in 2019, in Games and in Life

This is a tad off-topic for this blog, but a thought that’s followed me into the new year is the idea of rewards and how we expect feedback for everything we do, even outside of games (and perhaps because of games). With the new year rolling in, I’ve been thinking about my goals for 2019. I’ve always been a very results oriented person, for better or for worse. It’s certainly what’s gotten me some of the achievements I’m most proud of; there’s been a lot of opportunities given to me that never would have been possible had I not worked every angle in pursuit of some goal, whether it was fleeting or truly what I wanted. But that kind of thinking has also caused me a great deal of pain and anxiety. It’s a little sad to say, but I’ve never been the type to “stop and smell the roses,” and the saying “it’s the journey not the destination” has always eluded me. However, as I thought of resolutions these past couple of weeks, I found myself feeling so exhausted from the rewards thinking. It’s strange, because this is the only way I’ve ever lived my life, and also because games may have some role in molding the minds of highly engaged players like myself to expect payoff - or response at the very least - for the deeds we do. It got me wondering: is there another way to reward players? Is there a way to reflect experiencing something for pleasure and not for strictly tangible gains that is still satisfying? And underneath it all, past the surface-level fascination I have for rewards systems in games, what can I learn from them to better myself as a human?

There’s a lot of ways to reward players of your games. Feedback like I mentioned above is a great one; visual and aural feedback, balancing intrinsic and extrinsic motivations, variable vs. fixed rewards - and unexpected rewards even! - all for the player to see and understand. Showing task relevance and the value of behaving a certain way in the game is another big one; sometimes even learning itself is a great tool for rewarding the player - giving the player a brand new, interesting area to explore when they go off the beaten path for example, or allowing multiple solutions to a problem so the player feels like they found unique and unexpected ways to interact with the game... the list goes on. Maybe learning as a means for rewards is one of the better ways to fight the dangerous feeling I described above, where we start to only do things for the end results. Heck, simply showing a bunch of juicy particles when the right buttons are inputted feels like such a good reward in a lot of games! We game designers have a great responsibility to our players in how we reward them - if we don’t design these systems in a way that’s satisfying, our players will leave to find something more worth investing their time in. In life, as people without titles like “designer,” it’s not always so clear when you’re doing something to advance yourself. It’s not wrong for games to be different in this way - we do use games to escape the confusion of our daily lives and to amplify our desire to prescribe meaning to events that may otherwise seem unfortunately meaningless, after all. We want to believe there’s an order somewhere. At least, I do. Games really play up this part of my brain that is relying so heavily on the notion that the things I do matter somehow, and that all things that happen in the world are noticed and accounted for. It scares me to think of a life where even a small fraction of the things we do are possibly inconsequential. How can all our planning, all our tears and efforts and endurance, ever fall to the wayside when they matter so much to us? Can that ever really mean nothing? In most games, anything worth doing always matters.

Then something struck me. On New Years Eve I finished Season 2 of a show called The Good Place. The show is genius, if you haven’t seen it already - a great blend of comedy and thought-provoking concepts about morality and the afterlife. An idea relevant to rewards systems that kept appearing in the show was the concept of “moral desserts.” The show describes this as the idea of doing something good for the sake of the anticipated reward, as opposed to doing something good because it’s good. In other words, it’s the idea of doing something almost exclusively for the dessert you’re expecting and feel you’re owed at the end of the meal. This is a huge dilemma in reward systems design; many times you want a reward to feel like icing on the cake, not like the sole reason the player will do that cool quest you spent so much time creating and tuning. There’s the idea that content, if it’s cool enough, will be reward in itself to play, and satisfaction will arise from play itself. Is this a naive thought for designers like us to believe, if so much of what we do in our day-to-day lives is with a specific reward in mind (like recognition, or social or financial gain)? It seems at odds with how we operate, but perhaps it’s another form of idealism we’ve woven into games: deep down, we want to do things for the sake of doing them, NOT for the fleeting reward itself. But boy does the carrot taste sweet once you finally reach it.

The term “moral desserts” is so aptly named and so relatable that I can’t help but find myself recalling these last few months where all I’ve been doing is moping over the dessert I feel I earned but didn’t receive. For me, 2018 was so life-changing and full of newly found joy... but it also felt cruel in a lot of ways, like it was overflowing with moments from start to finish where I did my best, put my heart and soul into a thing, and was left with an empty plate when all I wanted was to dig into some metaphorical cheesecake and call it an experience. (Who doesn’t love cheesecake?) I found myself obsessing over it all - through researching and playing with rewards systems in games, actually! I found myself studying all the different kinds of ways games would make me feel good - or bad - for the actions I took, and reveled in how immediately the world took notice of me. I dissected all the dissatisfying moments of my year that haunted me, and put them up against a chart in my mind of ways it could have felt rewarding and wasn’t, or why exactly my enormous efforts in situations that were so important to me felt so meaningless in the end when I had all the words in the world to explain why it felt good to do simple fetch quests in an RPG. I thought about how a reward can seem like a punishment if it’s not the one the player expects and wants, or how failing to give a reward when the player feels they did something to earn one is demoralizing and threatens their capacity for long-term engagement. I blamed everything around me for threatening my “long-term engagement” with my dreams for game design. I’m not exaggerating when I say I wrung myself out with this line of thinking. Indeed, I’ve been a child crying for dessert.

But as I watched The Good Place and waited for midnight to strike on New Years Eve, I really pondered moral dessert. Had I done any of the things I did in 2018 for the dessert? I felt I didn’t get any, and had nothing to show for all my efforts - I even thought for so many months that I had even less than what I started the year with, and that I may have even regressed. But could that really be true, if time passed and I matured? It’s not tangible, but does that mean it doesn’t exist? What if my mind and expectations was in the wrong place all along, and that’s why it didn’t turn out the way I wanted; in other words, what if I was expecting the kind of reward I might get from a strategy game when all along I was playing a hack-and-slash? Of course I’d be disappointed as a player; I was setting myself up for disaster. In that line of thinking about the “why’s” instead of the “what’s” of the year, it occurred to me that as much as I mourned the endings... the “why” in the things I did was never for the result. Maybe I wanted the dessert in the end, but really I did what I did because I wanted to pursue it at the time. Maybe my growth isn’t tangible, but saying it doesn’t exist would be totally negating those 365 days that I really believed I wasn’t wasting as I lived them. I wanted to know it was noticed, but if I were to go back now, I think I would do the same knowing I wouldn’t get the results I wanted. It really isn’t about the dessert in the end, and growth is not material but it exists and is something to be proud of. Maybe the game of 2018 was trying to show me that.

Some say there are two different kinds of players to identify when you’re conducting a playtest: the kind that blames themselves when an interaction is confusing or unexpected, and the other kind that blames the game itself. Maybe this time it wasn’t a problem with the rewards system itself, if I’m to be so bold to say that there even is one in life, but rather a problem with me, the player, for blaming the game when I could be more balanced and look to myself for how I can improve despite how the game is structured. We don’t really have a choice in life but to adapt, do we? So, reader, I’m going into 2019 now with a new mindset thanks to games, the pain of living, and Kristen Bell. I’m cutting down on moral desserts.

[rivertate-blog]

the broken road // development para

tw: abuse (past) , tw: alcohol(?)

The day the press are given access to the foxhole court, almost the entire team is on edge, and River feels much the same way.  They know by now that journalists aren’t anyone’s friends, at least when it comes to their teammates, and the Foxes who don’t actually hate talking to them could probably be counted on one or two fingers.  While they haven’t been assigned to press duty yet, they’ve heard only bad things, and their inexperience in this department is a big part of what’s causing their anxiety.  

Even with years of experience behind them of walking on eggshells and carefully monitoring every word and action, for fear of consequences, the terror of doing something wrong and making not just themself but the entire team look bad is hard to shake.  Still, there’s nothing to be done, no getting out of it when the cameras are already here, and at the very least they have practice to look forward to before they’re alone with the interviewer.  A weird practice, since they’re being observed, but if there’s one thing they can do right, it’s play exy.  

River brings no less than their best effort to morning practice, willing themselves to ignore the cameras and carry on like they always do.  It works, for the most part.  Focusing on what they’re doing on the court lets them forget about everything else and enjoy themselves.  Playing for a Class I team is intense, sure, it always has been, but River wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t truly enjoy it.  They’ve been putting in as much extra time as they can possibly manage for the past few weeks, ever since the loss against the Ravens, eager to improve their game, and it’s satisfying to see themself get better little by little.  

Ultimately, though, practice only lasts so long, and the reality of what they have to do afterwards rushes up to meet them again.  River finds themself loitering in the shower, entertaining elaborate fantasies of ways to get out of their interview.  Would faking their own death be too extreme?  Dana would definitely be pissed; she’d threatened before that if they ever did die she’d find a way to resurrect them just to kill them again. Not to mention the Foxes would be out a dealer. A freshman, but still. Sighing heavily, they finally turn the water off and start to get ready, steeling themselves for whatever’s going to happen.  Don’t give them anything they can twist, and make the team look good. How hard could that be?

Making their way out of the locker room, River heads over to the room at the back of the court where the journalists have set up, their heartbeat louder in their ears than they’d really like it to be. You don’t have to answer anything invasive if you don’t want to, just breathe, they remind themself, they have to behave or they’re gone. With a deep breath, they open the door, already on the defensive but trying to hope for the best.

Their interviewer is a too-cheerful woman with a smile they don’t trust.  “River Tate, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, offering a hand that River politely shakes, hoping their palms aren’t too sweaty.  “Is it alright if I call you River?” They confirm that yes, that’s fine by them, and settle themselves in the chair set up across from the camera, trying to get comfortable.

“I’ll start off with some questions about you, and then we can move on to talking about the season, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“So, this is your first season with the Foxes.  What lead you choose Palmetto State, rather than a different school?”

Already, the implication that the Foxes weren’t a good option to begin with, combined with something in her tone of voice that implies she’s trying to dig for the personal tragedy every Fox is assumed to have. “Well, Palmetto has a great program,” River says, keeping their expression pleasant.  “They’ve been a force to be reckoned with, as far as Class I teams go.  Back in high school, I was undecided for a while about where I wanted to go, but I’d been following the Foxes for a few years, and when Wymack offered me a spot on the team I decided to take it.”  She didn’t need to know that River had spent 12 hours both ways on a bus just to deliver their tape to Wymack in person.  

“How has the transition to college been for you so far?  Balancing school and playing exy seems like a lot of commitment.”

“It is, but I’d say I’ve adjusted. For me it’s just a matter of managing my time.”

“I see. And what are you studying?”

“Visual art, with a minor in psychology,” River answers honestly, and if the reporter has the usual reaction people have when hearing someone is an art major she hides it well.  

“That’s an interesting pairing. Any reason for those subjects specifically?” “I’ve been drawing my whole life,” River says, shrugging slightly. “My plan right now is to get drafted after I graduate, but I figure if that doesn’t work out I can try and combine my other interests and go for art therapy.”

That answer must be satisfactory enough the next couple questions are mostly innocent ones about their line of study, even if she tries to pry into why River’s interested in therapy specifically.  They think they do a good job of dodging those with vague answers about wanting to help people, but they have a feeling they might have given her something they didn’t intend to give.

“With everything you have on your plate, would you say you have a support system? Any family or friends?”

“All of the Foxes are more or less my friends, in different ways,” River says, and they do honestly feel that way.  Sure, there were some they didn’t know as well as others, but there was a camaraderie that came with coming from similar backgrounds, and they did all spend a ton of time together.  “The whole team has each other’s backs, which has really helped me, personally, get through some of the stress that comes with the championships.  My older sister has always encouraged me, too. She watches every single game.”

“What about your parents? Are they as supportive as she is?”

It’s a perfectly innocent question, really, and maybe someday years from now River will be able to think about their parents without feeling sick, without feeling the ghost of their father’s fists or belt, without feeling broken glass slicing through their skin all over again, will be able to smell cigarette smoke without smelling their own burning flesh too, will be able to stop hearing their mother’s shrill, condemning voice in their dreams. But today isn’t that day, they only escaped from that house two years ago, and that seemingly innocuous question has kickstarted that god-awful psychosomatic itching they’ve been working out with Betsy at every scar.  They don’t realize they’ve been lost in their own head until the reporter calls their name gently and snaps them out of it.

“No comment,” River says flatly, scratching hard enough over the tiny, circular burn scars on their forearms to turn the skin angry red. It isn’t the most graceful evasion, but they hope it gets their point across.  The reporter opens her mouth like she’s going to press the issue, but something about River’s expression must change her mind, and she closes it.

“So, changing gears a bit,” She begins again, and River’s heart sinks even further preemptively.  “From your presence on social media, you’ve been pretty open about the fact that you identify as transgender, specifically that you don’t identify as a man or a woman.”

River can’t stop themself from stiffening, not sure where she’s headed with this. “That’s right,” they answer cautiously, trying to keep their tone level.  

“Has being open about your gender expression impacted your relationships with the rest of the team in any way?”

River frowns.  “I can’t say it has, no.  Every single one of my teammates has been welcoming and accepting towards me from the minute I got here, so there aren’t any problems there.”

“You’ve mentioned wanting to go on and play professionally.  Do you see your status as a transgender athlete impacting your chances at an exy career?”

They’ve about had it with this particular line of questioning after something like that, and they consider how to phrase what they want to say into something that will hopefully segway into talking about the current season.  They scratch absently at their forearms again as they speak.  “The whole LGBT spectrum has been well represented at Court in recent years,” they say carefully. “I know I’m not the only openly trans or nonbinary athlete in college exy right now, and if I do play professionally in the future I won’t be the only one there either. So, no, if anything affects my chances it will be how I play, not anything else.”

“Speaking of, before I let you go, what are your thoughts on how the Foxes are doing this season? The team’s certainly made it farther than they have in recent memory.”

River’s feeling more than a little emotionally wrung out from previous questioning, but tries their hardest to sound confident.  “And we’ve worked hard to make that happen.  I’m proud of everything we’ve accomplished so far, and I’m confident we could even win the championship title this year.”

“Any feelings on facing Ohio State in your next match?”

The conversation they had with Casey after the game in Nevada is still fresh in their mind, enough that even hearing the name Ohio State spurs a fresh surge of anger, but they doubt I want those fuckers to pay is going to go over well in the press.  Instead, they plaster on what they hope is a self-assured smile.  “Ohio State has a great team, for sure, but I’d say we’re equally matched.  It’ll probably be a challenging game, but I’m looking forward to every second.”

“Alright, well, that’s all I have for today,” the reporter nods after they finish speaking, smiling artificially again as River gets up to shake her hand one more time.  “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, River.”

If River practically bolts from the room after a cursory “Not a problem, thank you for your time,” well, that’s no one’s business but their own.