#fan in the shape of a peacock

[acrosscenturiesandgenerations]

▪︎ Fan in the shape of a peacock.

Place of origin: Ceylon, Sri Lanka

Date: mid 16th century

Medium: Ivory, horn

[here-there-were-dragons]

judging by the "fixes" they've applied to fern and i'm fairly sure also to a few other genes, they likely intend to flatten and generic-ify EVERY gene that does anything interesting with especially the top feathers portion of the wings. :/

[exuvianen]

dating hc's with dr. ratio, aventurine + blade!

headcanons about what these hsr men do in a relationship witth you <3

cw: x reader, gn! reader (no physical descriptions), mostly fluff, sfw, headcanon style

notes: hsr brainrot… ahahaha... i hope i have a fairly good grasp on these characters and wrote them well. 

wc: ~1050 words, around 350 words per character. all under the cut!

feel free to drop an ask or to add on to my thoughts! likes + rbs are appreciated  <3

✎ Dr. Ratio:

He likes parallel play, or being alone together with you. He works on his own projects, like grading papers or writing a new thesis while you’re doing your own thing, like playing video games or reading. Occasionally, he might ask you for your input, such as ideas about his next thesis or what pose he should sculpt himself into next. 

He has a spare desk and chair for you in his office. You can choose to do work or entertain yourself there when you visit him and he’s still teaching a lecture, but feel free to take a nap on the plush sofa he bought just for you. 

He will nag you about your health but in an annoyingly endearing way. He fusses over you, telling you about appropriate attire for today’s weather, offering you an umbrella, and reminding you to drink water. 

He entertains all your ideas, no matter how silly or illogical. He’ll hear you out on anything you say, though he might have some very strong disagreements or objections to your ideas, especially if they are silly or completely nonsensical. However, he never turns you away when you bound up to him with a mischievous gleam in your eyes - he just sighs and prepares himself mentally to hear whatever goofiness comes out of your mouth. 

He’s your biggest cheerleader, supporter, and advocate. Though he may come off as intimidating, he is always willing to help advance your career or work. He has many connections and vast knowledge of the universe after all - why not utilize them for his beloved? 

He’s very good at dispelling any irrational thoughts in your head. If you’re panicking and your mind is disoriented, he’ll sit next to you and hold your hand gently, but firmly to ground you. He doesn’t speak at all when you vent out all your frustration, confusion, or anger - rather, he’s silently contemplative and then asks questions when you finish talking. He’ll indirectly guide you to a solution while gently calming you down as he dispels those pesky thoughts from your head.

He makes a custom alabaster head for you. 

♤ Aventurine:

A big fan of matching accessories and clothing. You don’t need to wear the exact same outfit, but he likes wearing complementary colors and jewelry to yours.

If you’d like, he’d be more than happy to bring you to casinos and public events with him. He wants to show off to you and let you witness his wit, talent, and skill like a peacock presenting its colorful feathers. 

He likes it a lot when you trace his skin through the spade-shaped hole in his outfit.

He hates the feeling of being vulnerable, but he likes being around you. This creates conflicting emotions inside of him. Oftentimes, he doesn’t know how to deal with it and just lurks by you. Pull him into a hug to quiet the voices in his head. 

He will send you packages or luxury items from the planets he’s visiting. You’ll be greeting a disgruntled Topaz or IPC soldiers at your door as they hand you various gifts ranging from limited-edition jewelry to flowers that bloom only once every 200 amber eras. He gifts extremely grand things, but he always knows how to find things that suit your tastes.

He’s a big spender on you. If you’re unused to the amount of money he’s willing to throw at you, he’s going to give you a lot of “exposure therapy” with his generosity. He’ll invite you to private auctions, lavish galas, luxury boutiques, and high-end jewelry stores. He’ll start filling your wardrobe with tailor-made clothes with the excuse that you should match his outfits when you attend formal events together, but his clothing contributions eventually infiltrate your closet pretty deeply. 

He enjoys being pampered and pampering you. Self-care nights are a must - as a representative of the IPC and one of the ten Stonehearts, he has to keep himself presentable and looking sharp, and that goes for his partner too! He’s more than happy to spend money to fund your trips to the salon or buy you any beauty products to use at home. He’d love to put on face masks together and share a drink or two with you. 

☠︎︎ Blade:

If you want to, and Elio’s script permits, he will bring you along on missions to safer planets. He’ll drop you off at a commercial district - feel free to go shopping or try out some novelty food while he wraps up his Stellaron Hunter business.

He likes getting his hair brushed. One of his favorite activities is sitting down and letting you comb through his hair after he cleans up from a mission. It’s an activity that leaves him vulnerable, but he doesn’t mind if it’s with you.

He’s an acts of service kind of guy. He moves to take your bags before you even say anything, holds open doors, and pulls out chairs for you. Brings you a cup of water and some fruit when you’ve been working for too long, and silently drapes his jacket over you when you shiver.

Tell him you like a certain pastry and he’ll show up every day and bring some. Show him a picture of a pretty flower and he’s boarding a spaceship to bring the flower to you personally. If you want something, he’ll do his best to get it.

He’s pretty quiet, but he’ll remember everything you say, what your preferences are, and what you like. He secretly writes it down in case his memory gets murky, and he’ll often reread his notes to remind himself.

He gives simple but traditional gifts to you, such as jade bracelets and pendants, and combs and hairpins if you have longer hair to wear or use them.*

He’ll treasure anything you gift to him. If you make an accessory for him, he wears it at all times. If your gift is small enough, he’ll stow it safely in his pockets and take it everywhere with him.

If family is important to you, he’ll send funds their way and ensure that they’re taken care of. 

As someone who’s often dead and then undead, his body can get stiff. He’ll enjoy it immensely if you massage him, and accompany him for his daily stretches and calisthenics. Even if you just hold him for a while, he finds that his muscles will relax from the warmth emitting from your body. Therefore, he quite appreciates having you physically near him.

* Combs, hairpins, Jade bracelets, and pendants were given as tokens of love and affection in Ancient China. These gifts have a deeper meaning/symbolism, but for the sake of post length, I did not write them all out. 

[spookygibberish]

I really enjoy the elaborate throne designs. One thing I'm curious about is what are the fan-like parts of the headless and how do they move? Are they like feathers on a peacock and are they responsive to emotion? Are they like hard plates/ a crest? Are they fleshy?

I tend to call them petals, and they’re soft, but not squishy.The ones I draw that look like this tend to have smooth, silky skin on the front and slightly coarse fur on the back. The ones with eyes are essentially glorified eyestalks, with the ornate shape supported by mostly hollow bladders and cushioned with a layer of fat, the central stalk is further reinforced by a cartilaginous sheath. Petals mostly move by adjusting the bladder shapes via flexing or contracting a muscular outer layer, they can bend to the sides, backwards and forwards, and flatten/spread. If you smacked one it would sound a bit like hitting a melon. Some Thrones are designed to be able to use them as resonant vocal organs, and considering how big they are and how they usually have 5-6 of them at least, they would sound, in my professional opinion, really crazy.

And yes, they are expressive

[bump-inthe-night]

Vivziepop cares so little about Stella that she still hasn't confirmed what kind of bird she is. Fans have spent years trying to figure out what she is because her ambiguous design makes it impossible to tell. There have been different claims about Stella being a swan, secretary bird, owl, or peacock.

If she were designed better, we would be able to tell from that alone, but she shares the same head and beak shape as Andrealphus, a peacock, and Stolas, an owl. They all look like different variations of the same bird, despite being separate species.

What's the point of making all three of these characters different birds only to make them all look the same 🤦🏾‍♀️?

[atamascolily]

Walpurgis no Kaiten Trailer #2 Breakdown

Aniplex dropped a 35-second trailer with new footage from Walpurgis no Kaiten, so let's take a look and see what we got!

Homura falls backwards in a stained glass cylinder that contains a spiraling staircase (we'll see the whole thing in a later shot). Note that this is the doppelganger because of her headband, and that the glass has Homura's distinctive diamond sigil on it, among other things.

We finally get our dance scene--not a pas de deux, but a waltz! Headband!Homura spins Madoka around, leading the action, and she appears to have taken Madoka by surprise. Note that waltzes also involve going in a circle.

I've talked before about how the doppelganger appears to be courting Madoka in the first trailer and how I think a Swan Lake-style "choice" might be forthcoming, so add this to the evidence pile. Madoka's voice over, "I will go with hope," also seems to suggest a choice.

I'm not sure where this is located, but I think it might be Madoka's house? A house, anyway. There are photos on the walls and chairs.

Doppelganger Homura is down so bad, y'all. And can you blame her? Also NOTE HER EYE COLOR HERE, HER EYES ARE RED, not brown (key visual) or purple (original Homura). Eyes are the window to the soul...

(Red eyes automatically make me think "Incubator", but I'm withholding judgement on that until we get more info.)

HELLO VISUAL METAPHOR!! Okay, so first off, we have a fan spinning in a circle, a cross-quartered circle with a closed eye at the center (!!!) surrounded by taped cardboard holding together a box marked with the emblems of "fragile, handle with care". I feel like that one speaks for itself.

(What do you want to bet that that eye opens.... EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD IS SPYING ON YOU.)

Continuing the eye focus, here's a close-up on one of the Clara Dolls holding up a magnifying glass to enlarge their own eye. This is Ibari (Pride). Note the yellow flowers around the lower part of the glass and that Ibari's eyelash is similar in size and shape to the one on the box fan in the previous shot.

My guess is that the Clara Doll's role in this story is primarily as a group/decoration/background element rather than full characters in their own right (the chorus witnessing the action in a theater production, as it were), but I love how this shot turned out and would be happy to see more like this.

Doppelganger Homura (?) examines her reflection in a compact mirror. She has the headband, but her eyes are purple here, like the original. I think she's adjusting her appearance here--literally, if she can shapeshift--to match the original, especially since she's also missing the dark collar that characterized the doppelganger in the key visual. Note sure what is going on with her headband when I look more closely--it seems to stick out from one side of her head and doesn't lie flat??

The scallop shape and the "Dummee Venus" inscription are a little too on the nose in my opinion... Venus being the goddess of love and beauty who was born out of seafoam on a scallop shell. [Is there a Botticelli reference in the house? TBD!!]

I suppose this could be the original Homura here, but the context makes more sense for the doppelganger. Again, note the round/circle, and mirror imagery and focus on the eyes.

EDIT: I was wrong, "Dumme" is German for "fool", not a misspelling of the English "dummy", so this could be the original Homura after all. Although Walpurgisnacht is also a fool, so... I guess we'll see with more context, but I'm leaning towards Original Flavor Homura for now.

View of the spiral staircase from above... a circle combined with a straight line makes a spiral. Note that the surrounding glass has Walpurgisnacht's signature motif of "peacock tails", suggesting a connection between the doppelganger Homura and Walpurgisnacht, and that Walpurgisnacht herself appears as a circle on radar.

The staircase abruptly cutting off and going nowhere also seems like a metaphor, huh.

Balloons going free, compare to a similar shot in Rebellion where they are trapped in a glass dome where Kyouko and Homura have lunch (more on this in a bit). Boundaries and prisons are breaking down, magical girls/witches cannot be contained any longer.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" Devil Homura is torn down and overthrown. Interesting that one stocking is red-striped (or is that a ribbon wrapped around her from someone else) and the other is pure white--but with a black bow around the ankle.

Madoka enjoys a nice date with...??

(Note: this shot is in a different place from the one that immediately follows; I believe the two are deliberately juxtaposed to be misleading. More on this in a bit.)

God, I love this shot. Half a glass (glass half full, even) with their surroundings in miniature, and the glass is cracked and held together by threads of gold (kintsugi). The ring makes her a magical girl, the outfit is a Mitakihara middle school uniform, and her hair is green, so this is someone new.

also the diamond-shaped placemats juxtaposed with the circular saucer.

Hi, new character!! I have so many questions, but it looks like they really are in a teacup, or at least a different teacup--the old glass dome from Rebellion (or someplace similar) is full of trees and also flooded and now home to water lilies and lily pads.

Nagisa is spending quality time in the ball pit (insert DashCon meme here). And so is this new girl... my guess is human!Charlotte, but I don't have any evidence about that besides vibes and the way these two shots mirror each other.

I love this shot so much! Not sure what's going on, but there's Sayaka in her magical girl costume at the bottom.

Based on the similar backgrounds in these two shots, Madoka is either having tea with Mami or tea with someone else in the same space. Cake and dessert and birthday themes, a la Charlotte's labyrinth.

Feather pillows exploding on a modernist couch.

Kyouko on a pillar/table eating a piece of cake. Cranes and cityscape in the background at night.

Runes and the pages of a book. Witches coming out of a book? Or... something else? (see below)

Flash shot of Sayaka bandaged in a theater.

And here's Kyubey! On the shoulder of the pigtailed girl last seen with Nagisa, wearing the dark collar of the evil!/mirrorverse Mitakihara Middle School like the doppelganger in the key visual. Her eyes are hidden by her bangs and she's smiling. Piloe of books/records (alternate universes, if Magia Record imagery is anything to go by).

Whatever's happening, Kyubey is so in on it, lol.

The salamander representing Homura's dark orb (powers) is stabbed with some kind of metal, near a tea cup, causing it to disappear and explode. It then transforms into a shackle. That's probably not good.

(Whose arm, though? Homura is the most likely suspect, but we'll see.)

White feathers ascending to heaven, a circular vortex made of clouds and shining light, spinning, spiraling...

One of which is a mixture of black and white. This feels very significant, given my earlier predictions about "confronting one's opposite" and "people are neither nor good nor bad but a mix a both" being major themes.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have more thoughts later, but that's my quick off-the-cuff reactions for now!

[aspiringtrashpanda]

HI TUMBLR USER ASPIRINGTRASHPANDA im a big fan of your work please keep it up!!!!!!!!

would it be too oddly specific to request raph introducing mc to hella britney spears obey me? :D

HI TUMBLR USER SHOOTINGSTARRFISH IT WOULD BE AN HONOR TO WRITE ABOUT HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME. 💕

Characters: Raphael, MC, appearances by Solomon and Simeon Raph shows MC his pet. pure fluff! No warnings apply

“Ah, welcome,” Simeon smiled from the doorway of Purgatory Hall. “I heard from Luke that you were coming by. Are you seeking refuge?”

You shuffled your feet, ducking your head as shame prickled the nape of your neck. “How did you know?”

His eyes squinted, that pretty jingle of his laugh filling the air between you. “I think I can see smoke coming in the direction of the House of Lamentation.” 

“Oh. Yeah, you see…” Where did you even begin to explain the domino effect that had happened this time?

“No need,” Simeon came to your rescue, gentle gaze oozing sympathy. “I know those brothers well enough to surmise what happened.”

When you winced something akin to an agreement, he ushered you inside, sheltering you from the occasionally overwhelming presence of your favorite brothers. As you toed your shoes off in the entrance, the scent of Simeon’s cooking washed over you. You may as well have turned into a cartoon caricature of yourself, floating towards the delightful smell in the kitchen. 

“Luke and I are making lunch.” As if he even had to clarify. He did, however, add, “but you’ll find Solomon and Raphael in the living room,” which was basically Simeon for don’t bother trying to help.

Making the familiar turns throughout the first floor, you lifted a hand to wave at Solomon and Raphael, only to drop it to your side when you found them. The two men stood side by side, folding laundry. Or, more like Solomon was hauling clothes out of a basket, molding them into a roughly square shape, and placing them on the coffee table… Just to have Raphael re-fold them right beneath his nose, with piercing eye contact. 

You watched for a few seconds before making your presence known. There was a twinkle in Solomon’s eyes, a twitch to his neutral lips that had you wondering if he was intentionally ruffling the angel’s - currently withdrawn - feathers. 

Solomon’s amusement was lost on Raphael. You were certain you could see the cogs whirring in his brain beneath his ashy hair. The crease of his brow told you he had absolutely no idea how Solomon could be so bad at laundry. 

“Hi,” You broke through the silence, putting on your cheeriest smile, “How is my favorite Purgatory Hall resident today?”

As you saw the confusion give way to suspicion in their twin looks of surprise, you considered that perhaps you, like Solomon, also liked to stir the pot. It was funny, how they both straightened their spines, puffed out their chests, sized the other up while simultaneously pretending to be unbothered. Subtle peacocking, in a way. 

You would do the same to the brothers, but… Well, then you would just end up at Purgatory Hall once more, wouldn’t you? Such a taunt was sure to start another fire of some sort between the Rulers of the Underworld. 

“Well, if it isn’t my adorable apprentice,” Solomon beamed, reaching behind the laundry basket to procure a bowl of pastries. “Can I interest you in a macaroon?”

“Did you make them?” You eyed the fluffy cookies. They did look good…

“Of course!”

Never mind.

“Ah, sorry Sol, I ate before coming here and I’m stuffed.” You lied. Thankfully, Raphael’s malfunctioning tastebuds saved you from further scrutiny. He lit up like the heavens above, blue gaze sparkling like sapphires as he snagged one of the sweets.

“Truly delicious, Solomon.” Despite his praise, Raphael remained as stoic as ever. Only the slightest glimmer of joy dancing in his eyes gave away his genuine gratitude. “I must get your recipe. Michael is so fond of sweets.” 

“I’ll make sure to bake him a special batch at the end of the semester,” Solomon preened beneath the compliment, “You could send him my regards.”

And just like that, the angel’s guard flew back up, an expression edging confusion finding solace in your hum of surprise. What on earth - er, the three realms? - did Solomon want to send regards to archangel Michael for? 

As Solomon turned back to the laundry, excusing himself by claiming he had to retrieve another load from the dryer, Raphael eyed you with unveiled curiosity. You shrunk under the intensity of his stare. It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with the latest exchange student from the Celestial Realm, and you weren’t sure you would ever get used to the way he watched you so carefully. Though he rarely voiced his thoughts, his stare had a certain weight to it. One that told you that he was questioning every flex of your fingers, every slope of your lips, every shift of your limbs. Why he found you so interesting, you weren’t sure. 

As for you… Of course you found him interesting! Luke had said it himself - Raphael was the youngest angel to ever be given the rank of seraph! He was quiet and mysterious and so very guarded. You never knew just what he was thinking at any time. You could examine him for hours and you were certain boredom would elude you.

In fact, you were about to find out who would win a casual staring contest between the two of you. Almost taken aback by your confidence, there was a split second where you thought he was going to cave, his jaw clenching and his lips pursing in a pout you almost considered petulant. But then, he steeled his resolve, doubled back with a burning question in his gaze.

You had no answer for his silent inquisition, but you felt scorched regardless. 

“Hey,” He blinked slowly, forfeiting. “Do you want to see my spears?”

“Actually…” You were answering before you even knew what you were going to say. “Yeah, I do.”

“Come with me,” He nodded curtly, exiting the living room with little warning. 

Nearly tripping over your feet in your haste, you raced after him, the flutter of his Celestial Realm clothes a flash of ivory turning a corner. Your heart thudding in your chest, you felt your anticipation growing with each step. You had heard so much about his rain of spears! The terrifying display of violence that struck fear into even Belphegor’s heart!

And so, you were completely flabbergasted when Raphael spun around from the corner of his temporary bedroom, brandishing… not a weapon. 

You almost considered it anticlimactic, but the disappointment lingered for less than a second. Your brain’s buffering complete, it reached a very reasonably enthusiastic conclusion: Raphael was cradling a hedgehog. Not just any hedgehog, but a shadow hedgehog native to the Devildom. Its charcoal quills quivering under your awestruck gaze, you hit the brakes on your excitement, your index finger hovering an inch away from its curious nose.

“Can I pet it?” You whispered, even though no one had told you to keep quiet.

“He likes when you rub his forehead,” Raphael matched your volume, lifting the little mammal closer to your face.

Sure enough, the shadow hedgehog squeaked in delight as you carefully ran the pad of your finger up his nose to the patch of fur between his ears. “Is… Is his name Spears?”

Raphael looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. “His back is made of a thousand spears.”

To accentuate his point, he gently stroked the needles laid flat over Spears’s back. You smiled, “Shadow hedgehogs are known to inflate like pufferfish when they feel threatened.”

Raphael regarded you with a stern frown, “I would never harm Spears.” 

“No!” You squawked, startling the hedgehog. He hissed softly, nuzzling into Raphael’s thumb for reassurance. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

A pensive hesitance fogged those sapphire eyes. Cradling his pet close to his chest, he seemed to calculate the potential risks in his head before offering, “Would you like to hold him?”

Did you ever! Your hands shaking, you extended them towards Spears, your palms pressed together in a makeshift platform. “Okay…”

It tickled, the way his little paws scurried across your skin. His nose - wet and cold - nudged against the base of your thumb, his miniature spears raising in apprehension until he deemed your hands safe. Then, he sat still and allowed you to marvel at his pristine quills and beady onyx eyes. He was an awfully cute hedgehog. 

“You know, in the human world, there’s a musician named Britney Spears.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were bringing up the pop star. You were positive she was not to Raphael’s liking. 

“Are they any good?”

You sidestepped. “They’re iconic.”

His silence seemed louder this time, his lips twisted into the smallest frown as he watched his pet tentatively lick at your palms. With a resolute jerk of his head, he decided, “I will allow Britney to be his middle name.”

“Middle name? Like, Spears Britney… Last name?” 

“His first name is Hella.” 

“What?” You blinked. Listen, you led quite a bizarre life. From being yoinked into the Devildom, to nearly dying at the hands of Levi because you lowkey cheated at a quiz show, to actually dying in a different timeline for wanting to hug Belphie, and then to somehow becoming the apprentice of the world’s strongest sorcerer. And yet, this hedgehog’s name managed to be the oddest thing you had heard yet.

Raphael shrugged, “Solomon assures me it is a name for only the most honorable warriors in the human world.”

Your lips curled inwards, sucked by the force of your inhale. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

Still, your voice wavered with amusement. “Hella…Britney Spears, the shadow hedgehog.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, pride overwhelming his gaze as he gently took the little mammal from your hands. “The best around.”

The glint in his eye told you that arguing would only end in a rain of actual spears. All you could do was nod, thank him for sharing a piece of his life with you, and echo, “The best around.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

My requests are open! Find out more HERE. Banner by the incredible @4laurus, Beel fan extraordinaire.

ALSO HERE IS HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Seven on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town.

CW: alcohol consumption, heavy petting but no sex

The place John chooses is understated and casual, for which you're relieved. You don't mind being wined and dined but you'd dressed comfortably, with only skating in mind, so you're glad he hasn't brought you to some fancy touristy place downtown. He holds doors open for you and walks around like a peacock when his hand settles low on your back. He asks for a booth and at this point, you're not even surprised when he tucks in next to you instead of opposite, his big thigh resting warm and sturdy against your own; his elbow placed firmly on the table in front of you so you have to lean against his tricep to read the one menu he's apparently decided you'll share.

It's… nice.

You ask to see the salad section when he settles on some sloppy pile of meats, caramelized veggies, and eggs. He pulls a face at that but obliges and you decide to believe that's not somehow weight related.

"This one looks good," John comments a little too-blandly, pointing at a trough consisting of ninety percent steak and maybe a handful of arugula.

"Are you anemic? Should I be worried?"

John laughs, his arm shaking slightly against your chest. "It's actually your iron levels I'm worried about."

Ah. That's… maybe a little weird, but cute.

"I'm fine, John. Don't have much of an appetite, to be honest."

John looks a little miffed by this but doesn't comment when you ask the waitress for a simple Caesar. He gets his meat monstrosity and asks for it bloody in a voice that could charm the skin of a snake. He knows what he's doing, too, based on the entirely too innocent smile he gives the waitress as he moves onto his drink order, a strawberry shake. You can't help but laugh a little at him.

"I didn't expect you to have such a sweet tooth considering how skinny you are," you confide, a teasing smirk on your face which is immediately wiped straight off when John gives you a hurt, borderline panicked look.

"You think I'm skinny!?"

"Uh… no, like -. I mean, in shape. Fit. Sorry, no, you're definitely not skinny. That was poorly worded." You're floundering, trying desperately to fix whatever it is you'd fucked up. It had never occurred to you that someone wouldn't want to be called skinny, though it makes sense now that someone who clearly put as much work into maintaining his body would never want to be called scrawny. Christ, you'd fucked up. That's twice now. Oh god, he's never going to want to see you again. "I'm so sorry, I only meant -."

But John's peering back at you suspiciously now and it has your hands wringing. "It's okay, honey," he says after a moment, clears his throat. "I uh… lost a lot of weight over the winter. Suppose I'm a little sensitive about it, is all."

You're still a nervous wreck, doubly afraid now that you've upset him. Fucking hell, man's probably got some health issues he's getting over and you had to go and comment on his fucking body. "I'm so, so sorry, I should've thought -."

"Sweetheart, look at me. You're fine. I'm not mad."

Holy shit, he's not. He's -.

Right. This is John.

"Besides, you're right," he continues brightly, beaming at the waitress when she places the shake in front of him. "I am a little twiggy. Let's see if we can't fix that, eh?"

You're still mortified that you even commented on his body. After all the bullshit you've put up with in your life, you know better than to pull this shit. You hadn't meant it negatively, of course, but you know from first hand experience how little that matters. John looks happy enough now, but you won't soon forget how hurt he'd looked after your comment. You're still mulling over the best way to move on when he offers you a sip off his pink treat, dopey smile in place. You can't say no to that and he somehow manages to look even more pleased when you take a sip from his straw.

"So… weight loss… did you have any health scares?"

"Hm?" He jolts, eyes focused entirely on your lips. "Oh, no. Strong as a bear," he winks - weird. "Just lose my appetite under the Arizona sun. Always spend all summer trying to gain the weight back," he laughs, a little sad. "Good excuse to indulge, though."

"Well, indulge away. I do think you look good, by the way. Bet you'll look even better when you're comfortable and confident."

John smiles and kisses your forehead with slightly sticky lips. "Thanks, bunny. I think you look very good too, by the way."

He says it the same way he'd appraised the menu. "Thank you," you mutter, grateful that the waitress chooses that moment to return so he doesn't notice how much you blush from his attentions. It's still odd to you, someone as absurdly handsome as John Price being this sweet on you.

John eats like someone's coming to steal it off his plate. He remembers himself maybe midway through his burger and offers you a bite, but when you shake your head he shrugs and goes back to scarfing it like a stray dog. It's kind of impressive, honestly. More out of curiosity than any genuine hunger, you slowly and obviously grab a French fry from his plate which prompts him to grin goofily around a mouthful and spin the plate so the fries are closer to you. You'd been worried for a moment there that he may have some kind of feeder kink, but the voracity with which he's shoveling food into his own mouth combined with how he picks a singular cherry tomato off your dish has you thinking food might be more of a love language to him. That's okay. Cute. You can handle that.

John doesn't throw in the towel until his plate is completely cleared and when you see him eyeing your half full bowl you laugh and slide it his way. He laughs too, and says he'll make you something at the bar later to make up for it. You're not sure you'll take him up on that, but you won't lie that the ease with which he guarantees your next meal means a lot to you, considering how often a spoonful of peanut butter counts as dinner for you these days.

The waitress asks if you want dessert and John eyes you hopefully.

"You go right ahead, big guy, but I'm out."

With a sigh, he admits he should probably go relieve Simon and the two of you pack up without any sweets.

You follow him to the bar and he guides your Jeep back past a little awning and behind the building. He opens your door for you once you put it in park and gives you a hand down. "You can park right here anytime you need, honey," he says and you can't deny that the privacy afforded by the two surrounding walls is pretty tempting.

John takes you in through the kitchen where you find the most intimidating man you've ever seen in your life. He's muscled like a bull and taller even than John. A shock of pale blond hair; scarred, furrowed brows over dark, blank eyes; a black surgical mask and a matching baby gap t-shirt pulled taut over biceps bigger than your head. Here is a man that could make even Phil flinch just by yawning a little too hard, surely, and when he greets John, his voice is low like an oncoming bulldozer and just as deadly.

"Where the fuck 'ave you been?"

John doesn't even flinch. "Got lunch."

The blond man turns his gaze upon you for exactly forty-three seconds. Technically, his expression is completely neutral, but you can't help feeling like he's brought a pumpkin gutter to your eye socket, taken your measure by literally weighing whatever he finds in there. (Metric, of course, for accuracy's sake.)

"'Hope you 'ad fun. I fuckin' quit."

"Sure, sure," John rolls his eyes. He nods toward the front of the shop, "How's he doing?"

"Can't speak English."

"You can barely speak English, you filthy manc. How'd he do with customers?"

"Gave out 'is number three times, if that's what you're looking for in a keep."

John shrugs, "If it keeps 'em coming back."

"Gaz would've never."

"No, Gaz would've gotten theirs. He good with the till?"

"'Ardly trusted him with it, did I?"

"Christ, Simon, did you train him on anything?"

"Too busy house breaking 'im."

John snorts. "How'd he do, honest?"

"Hmph," Simon grunts.

"Hmph?" John repeats, valley girl inflection.

"Mm."

John gives you a 'holy shit, you seeing this?' look. "That good?"

"Said what I said. This the bird?" Simon nods at you, but John is hardly deterred.

"Yes. Should I extend him a year round offer, then?"

The other man's turn to ignore John: "Hi, pet. Nice to meet you."

"You're Simon, I gather?" You grit down on your resolve and extend him a hand which he gracefully doesn't crush in his calloused palm. "I believe I have you to thank for a great coffee date?"

"That's right, so if you ever want to trade up, I know plenty of things -."

But whatever he knows, you never will because John chooses that moment to get adorably jealous. "Awrigh', 'nough of tha'." His accent is thick when his hand finds your shoulder and guides you through the swing door into the front area. You pop out behind the bar, where a roguishly handsome man with a short cropped mohawk and upsettingly blue eyes is already grinning at you, probably having heard every word from the kitchen.

Sure enough, you have enough time to hear Simon warn John he was going to regret that before the mohawked man is inching closer. "Hi, bonnie," he greets you in a thick Scottish accent and you don't even have a chance to respond before John is right there, crowding you just enough to put the Scot on his back foot.

"Soap," John greets the other man, and mohawk smiles warmly at his boss, devilish eyes glinting with easy charm and just a touch of mischief.

"Price. Who's the lass?"

"Your test subject tonight. Pretend she's just a regular customer who doesn't know what she wants -." John guides you around the end of the bar to the very last stool as he speaks. "What would you start her off with?"

"Tha's easy, bonnie lass like her. Sit tight, hen." Soap (Soap?) gets to work behind the bar as John ducks back into the kitchen area for a moment. Whatever Soap's making looks simple enough, maybe four ingredients, but he makes it into an art form, coating the glass with whatever sticky syrup he's using for flavor before pouring his mix in and adding garnish. John returns wielding a laptop just in time to see Soap putting back the ingredients he'd used. Soap misses the small, pleasantly surprised look that crosses John's face, but you don't, and you understand when you take a sip; the light, citrusy flavor not at all what you'd expected when you saw him break out the thick syrup. You can't help your hum of satisfaction and Soap beams. "Good, right? Not too heavy?"

"Nope, just right. Thank you."

"Good, means you'll be able to drink all night," he winks. He turns to John, motioning to the register. "Am I…?"

"No, but you know how much that would cost?" John asks as he settles next to you and powers on his laptop.

"Sixteen ninety nine," Soap answers confidently and you nearly spit the drink back out.

But John is unaffected, sliding you the remote as he pulls up some scheduling app. "Good lad," he tells Soap and the man nods once, before getting lost on the other side of the bar, cleaning glasses.

John waits until the audience has left to sneak a sip from your drink. You raise a brow at him and he nods his approval before returning it to you. You settle on some old Quantum Leap reruns and John conveniently makes it clear exactly then that you need only say if you get bored.

You can't help but grin at him. "Unlikely. My buddy made up a hell of a drinking game for this show. Been a while since I've played it so I'll have to check the rules, but I think I can keep myself entertained for as long as this block goes."

"Drinking game for a show?" John asks, apprehensive.

"'Course, boss," Soap calls from the other end, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. "When they, then you…" To you he adds, "Drink whenever Scott Bakula looks in a mirror?"

"That's what? One to start? We can do better." And just like that, you text a friend you hadn't been allowed to speak to in years.

You don't, so you send him the new one and within moments you're settling in to intentionally get tipsy, something you haven't done since the first time Phil laid a hand on you. There's a part of you that can't help feeling this is a bad idea, but another, much larger part of you is determined to put these fears in the past. So you share the rules with Soap and John nods approvingly when he pours himself a water to drink along with you. It's silly, and you feel a little weird drinking by yourself, but John's left hand stays rooted to your thigh, and Soap is eager to make sure you drink every time you're queued. He keeps your glass full, each drink slightly different. You comment exactly once that you don't want to mix your liquors and after that, Soap keeps you plied with the same honeyed whiskey he'd started you off with. They're all delicious, and John seems to agree if his tiny nods after each sample is any indication.

Eventually, real customers start bellying up and John sneaks back behind the bar with a kiss to your temple. By now you've switched the entertainment to the game seven you've been dreading, and the quiet old man next to you seems invested so you shoot the shit with him for a bit. Soap does well, from what you can tell. At least well enough that John feels comfortable spending much of the night in the kitchen. He pops out occasionally to offer you scraps, and check the score, says he's 'starting to get invested in these muppets.' John gloms on pretty quickly to the fact that melty cheese is your weak point, and you end up eating nearly a full dinner despite your general queasiness. The small crowd that gathers around the bar is mostly older, but they're all friendly, and the atmosphere is quiet enough that personal conversations eventually grow to include the whole group and you can't help the smile that slowly grows to overtake your face. The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town. It's exactly what you said you wouldn't do, but when John subtly shakes a bottle of Advil at you from behind the kitchen saloon door, you can't bring yourself to regret it. You nod and he brings you out two along with a bottle of water. Soap switches you to ciders after that without being prompted. You're wary at first because of the sweetness, but he assures you the cider is light and crisp - that it comes from New York so you know it's good. You laugh, wondering if he knows, and take your first sip of home in years.

***

The good thing about living out of your car is you're never unprepared for anything. Before ascending to John's apartment, you stop by the Jeep to grab toiletries and pajamas. John grumbles about putting you in his clothes but you'd be mortified if you leaked on them so you make up some (not wholly untruthful) excuse about sensory issues and clothes needing to fit just right which you can see John filing away with the same seriousness he'd been using to prepare his schedule earlier. There's a nondescript door just in front of John's Suburban which he holds open for you. You lead the way up the stairs and laugh when you hear him hum appreciatively at the view it leaves him with. It turns to a squeak when he pinches just below the crease where your ass meets your thigh and then it's John's turn to laugh when the hand you reach back to stop him doesn't shove him away, simply keeps him in place. By now you've reached the landing and as John draws level with you, his heavy palm slides out and over your hip, coming to rest just a hair too low on your waistline to be decent. The landing is narrow, barely enough to fit a man as big as John, let alone your wide frame, but John doesn't seem in a hurry to open the door into his place. The only light source in the stairway is a small night light back behind John's calves and the ambient light coming through his curtained door panel. Backlit and bowed forward, John's presence is overwhelming. His scent - pine, petrichor, something personal - is inescapable and you almost wish he'd get the kiss you know is coming done and over with so you can get to finally (finally) sticking your face in his chest and just breathing.

Of course, then he does kiss you and you don't want it to end.

John's movements as he bridges the gap between you are slow and impending when he steps closer, boots heavy as one wedges its way in between your shoes. You're already impossibly close when he reels you that final inch by the grip he still has on your waist, meeting your lips with a measured duck of his head that leaves your own tilted back, neck exposed to the wide breadth of his hand which he places on the side there, cradling your jaw in such a way it keeps your head tilted exactly the way he wants you.

It's slow, sweet. Hot. John's mustache tickles but not unpleasantly - too neat and well groomed to be prickly. His lips are soft, addictive, and when he deepens the kiss, his tongue scorches across your own. He groans contentedly and somehow you know this ridiculous man is pleased with the taste of you: honeyed whiskey and sweet cider, the bits of greasy cheese he himself made for you.

He breaks off but doesn't go far, burrows his nose right under your ear and takes a deep, steadying breath. "You drive me fucking crazy, bunny. 'S this alrigh'? I can kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathe and he's immediately back on you, both hands framing your jaw now. At some point your own have found the unzipped edges of his Carhart and you try pulling him closer. You only succeed in moving yourself, however, because you'd forgotten John is built like a brick shithouse, even if he thinks he's scrawny.

He obliges you anyway, backs you up enough that you gently bump into the wall, and then your skull is cupped in a protective hand as you're pushed more insistently against it. John is a solid, burning wall at your front. Even through the layers of thermals and jackets you can feel the heat of his skin and you're torn between the desire to be naked under him, sweaty, slick, panting; and to simply see if he'd humor you by holding still long enough to be used like a heating pad.

You pant when John moves to your neck, nipping at the soft skin there until he draws a breath from you that sounds suspiciously like his name. Like this, you can see where his beanie has ridden up just slightly, exposing a bit of hair above his temple and you feel like some repressed Victorian man catching a glimpse of ankle. You're on him in a moment, sniffing his scalp like a fucking dog and you'd maybe feel a little bad about it if not for the way he groans - if not for the way his overwhelming presence makes you feel a little crazy.

"Want you," John tells the bit of décolletage he's uncovered, 'T' enunciated with teeth framing collar bone. Some harefooted intrusive thought has you wishing he'd bite down, wanting to hear it crunch under his jaw. You can feel him now, hard against your hip. He doesn't do anything with it - doesn't grind it into your flesh or bully your hands down to feel the weight of it - but it's enough to know it's there, has your grip moving under his jacket, spanning his ribs.

"John," you gasp again - pleading maybe. Perhaps a warning.

"I know, honey. I know." He sounds miserable. "Won't touch, I promise. But this is okay, right? I can -. We can -."

"Yes."

You're not sure how or when John gets the door open. There's a clatter and a lighting change you barely register from behind your closed eyes and your lifted onto a counter and that's about the hottest thing anyone's ever been able to do for you so you spread your thighs wide on instinct and John takes his reward by slotting himself in as if he bought the fucking deed. "Won't touch, sweetheart, I promise," he repeats as he shoves your coat off your shoulders and admires his handiwork. "Just want to feel you. I want -. Want to…"

Instead of running his intentions by you verbally, John drops to his knees and buries his face in the crotch of your leggings. You yip in embarrassment and try to scramble further onto the counter to get away from him but his grip on your thighs may as well be made of iron. "John, that's… I'm -."

You're interrupted by the heavy sound of his breathing as he takes a fucking whiff of your cunt.

"John!"

"Christ, bunny, I could eat your right up," John murmurs, lips still pressed against your pussy. You gape at him but the look he gives you from under his heavy brow isn't chastised at all.

He looks rabid.

You gulp and John chuckles, deep and dark. "Not gonna," he assures you yet again, but the hot streak he licks up the seam of your leggings almost has you wishing he would. "Not gonna," he says again, and you realize he's saying it for his own benefit when he stands and places a quick peck on your mons. You're briefly embarrassed by the hair he can probably feel through your thin layers, but you catch him taking another quick sniff which -.

Well, it's odd but at least it completely eliminates every ounce of self-consciousness you've ever felt about your pussy.

John groans, works his teeth against the texture he's found.

"Not gonna?" you tease him, not really at all surprised by how breathless you sound.

John huffs, hot and humid where it gets trapped in the fabric beneath his mouth. "Not tonight," he agrees.

"C'mere." You try to help his weak morals by hauling him up by the shoulder. It's a laughable attempt at best, but John doesn't laugh as he obliges.

"Shouldn't have gotten you drunk," he pouts against your lips.

"Still would've been on my period," you remind him, embarrassed as if the word shouldn't even be spoken at a time like this.

"Always did like my lamb bloody."

"John!" he laughs and you tap him lightly on the pec, which only seems to please him more.

"You won't let me play with my food, bunny?" He's looming over you now, hand resting on the counter behind you. You try to imagine him with blood - your blood - all over his face and find -,

"It's not gross?"

John's smile is wolfish and you're caught in his jaws. "No, sweetheart. One of my favorite treats."

"Oh." That's -.

Why doesn't that gross you out?

"We'll talk about it in the morning, yeah? For now, let's get you comfy and ready for bed."

He gives you one final, lingering kiss. You're not sure when he managed to pry your bag off you, but he retrieves it from the kitchen floor and guides you to his en suite. When he runs the shower, you ask if he plans on joining and the look he gives you is that of an owl spotting a field mouse.

A stupid, drunken voice in your head is starting to believe this man actually wants to eat you.

"Won't touch."

When he leaves, he doesn't close the door so neither do you.

John's body wash doesn't smell like him. It's some citrusy bergamot number, at which you are entirely pissed. Still, the water is hot and the pressure is good so you luxuriate a bit, trying to angle yourself right so that the stream can massage some of your back ache away. You had a blast today, but you'll definitely be happy just to lay down soon. You hope John's not too proper to share a bed with you as you kinda really want to be snuggled. When you exit the shower to find him sitting on his bed, staring at you unabashedly as you towel off, you're pretty sure you have your answer. You give him a little show, giggling when he grunts at the way you bend to reach your bag. Eventually you do have to shut the door on him so you can take care of some more private concerns. He's in flannel trousers and not much else when you finally emerge from the bathroom, still just sitting on the edge of the bed. You stare at him for a moment, a little timid after your show. John is solid: thick muscles cording under a thin layer of fat. You think maybe his skin looks slightly baggy on him, but it's hard to tell through the thick hair that coats him. He lets you look your fill for a moment before motioning you closer with a quick curl of his fingers. You stand between his legs and his big palm skates up over your thigh, hooking his fingers into the band of the men's boxer briefs you wear to bed from where it's visible above your sweats and snapping it lightly.

"Whose are these?"

"Mine?"

"Mm. Coulda given you a pair of mine, if you wanted."

"I can wear my own underwear, thank you," you laugh. "Wait, are you jealous?"

"Yes," John admits easily, fingers pulling at the band as if threatening to take them off.

"Of what? I bought these myself," you laugh again.

"Ah." John has the decency to look sheepish as he gently lays the band back where he found it, double rolled to keep from indenting your skin.

"You're ridiculous, you know?" His jealousy rings a tiny little alarm in the back of your mind but you choose to ignore it until you're sober and can be more reasonable.

"No argument there. Are you ready for bed now or do you want to watch something?" He looks so sweet again, big puppy dog eyes as he looks up at you. This is the man who takes you on dates and kisses your temple in public. It's hard to reconcile him with the starved animal he'd been when he'd had you laid out on his counter, but you find you definitely don't mind the duality.

"Are you up for a movie?"

He nods, "Whatever you want, honey."

"Well, what I want is a stupid kids movie, but that'll probably ruin the mood so, like… you pick."

John just smiles up at you dopily. "That sounds perfect. Anything to help me keep it PG," he winks. It's not a good joke, but he's so proud of it it's hard not to laugh. You decide on Who Framed Roger Rabbit because it's a good goddamn movie and because you don't want to subject him to anything egregiously childish. John laughs at the title and too late you realize your mistake.

"Oh, bunny, you don't think this one will be too scary for you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, fluffing a pillow a little too aggressively in his direction. He pulls it from you easily and uses it to prop himself up against the headboard a bit. The position turns his belly into a perfect pillow of your own and you dive in, kissing the ticklish hairs under your cheek just to watch his abs twitch.

"Brave rabbit. Keep testing me and Judge Doom won't be the scariest thing you see tonight."

"Why do you call me a rabbit, anyway? That a Britishism?"

"Sure."

With John's fingers in your hair and the low buzz of whiskey still in your veins, you only make it to the patty cake bit before you're dozing off.

John notices. "Am I sleeping in here tonight, bunny?" His voice is low, an earthquake at the edge of your hearing.

"God I hope so," you mumble into his belly, mortified to find a bit of drool sticking to his hair. If he notices, he doesn't say anything and you fall back asleep for a while. When the movie ends, his shifting wakes you again. You wouldn't mind except it seems the Advil from earlier has finally worn off and you're starting to get crampy. You shift, restless, but John slots himself against your back, his skin like a furnace on your achy back.

"Shh, I got you sweetheart. Go back to bed." You do, right after pulling at his arm until his broad, warm palm places a good amount of pressure right over your sensitive belly, too content to feel self conscious.

Next>>

[rabbit-rays]

image 1: designs for sayer, from the podcast sayer. it is shown as a large figure wearing a blue and teal cloak with a pattern of stars and a map of typhon on the back. two drawings show it from slightly different angles, showing that the cloak appears to be empty, and a third shows it seen from behind, so the pattern on the cloak is more clearly visible. another drawing shows it from the waist up, with four segmented hands emerging from inside the shadowy darkness of the cloak, gesturing vaugely. a written note pointing to this drawing says 'tends to keep hands (and face!) hidden'. a final drawing shows it looming over a resident, showing that it's much taller than the average person.

image 2: designs for future. it is shown as a long, worm-like creature with a transparent body. inside its body a bright red nervous system can be seen. it has two arms that end in scythe-like claws and a large fan like structure with false eyes that covers its head. it is seen handing from inside of a ceiling, with most of its body concealed. smaller drawings show it with the fan on its face closed, so that it appears to have two long red antenna, sitting back with its claws held in front of it, and lunging forward with its body stretching behind it. a final drawing shows a detail of the fan on its face, showing a side view of how it opens and closes.

image 3: designs for ocean. it is a large, bipedal creature with no arms and a long neck, with a long mane of blue tentacles descending from the bottom of its neck to the ground. its back slopes down to a wave like shape. a drawing shows it walking forward, with a vaugely raptorial stance and its neck held low and parallel to the ground, and another drawing shows it perched on an unseen surface, with its head held below it. a lose sketch shows it towering over a person to show it's size, and a final drawing shows it crouched with its tail fanned out behind it like a peacock.

end id.

taking a stab at designs for the main ai!!! speaker is in the works but i havent figured it out entirely so it'll get it's own post :)

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

How do you feel about Felix?

Canon hasn't given Felix enough consistency or core elements for me to have feelings about him. Every time he shows up, he's basically a new character, meaning that I have no idea who he's supposed to be which makes it pretty hard to summon any feelings beyond confusion and occasionally annoyance.

I'm not the sort of person who delights in taking a drop of potential and shaping it into a full character in the context of fandom. I save that stuff for my original fiction. While I do a lot of fix it content, my main draw to fandom is still playing with the established characters/lore/world and so on. I want to create stories and takes on these characters that feel genuine to other fans. That's the fun and the writing challenge. I can't really do that with Felix. Canon has given me nothing solid to work with.

Let's quickly contrast him to Nino since I recently discussed how badly canon has handled Nino and how I had to do a lot of redesigning to make Nino work in my stuff. The core of my Nino redesign comes from canon because it's all firmly rooted in the fact that this guy is supposed to be Carapace, The Protector. Add in the fact that he's Adrien's best friend and Alya's boyfriend - two characters with pretty strong core characterizations - and I'm good to go. Those are strong anchors to work with!

If you removed those elements and Nino was just Adrien's best friend, then I'd probably have no idea what to do with Nino because that's a pretty nebulous role. This is Felix's problem. You can go almost anywhere with his character because nothing about him gives him a clear role in the narrative!

Does Felix care about Adrien? No idea! He's done nothing to help Adrien or make his life better, so my guess is no, but Felix is a good guy now so maybe???

Does Felix actually love Kagami? No clue, their romance is based on nothing of substance. As best I can tell, he just decided that all humans save for his mom were worthless and the show is heavily heteronormative, so he obviously wants a girlfriend and Kagami is kind of his only option unless he makes himself a sentigirlfriend. It's a very weird way to write their relationship. If I were writing this, he'd contact Kagami for some greater plan and fall in love as they worked together, but nope! We get deeply confusing insta love that starts with stalking leading to a kidnapping and ending with them together because this show is incapable of showing healthy romance!

Side note, but with how poorly they've handled Marinette and Adrien's crushes, can you imagine theses writers trying to write a setup where the male lead was actively trying to trick the female lead into loving him (which was the set-up when Felix was the lead)? I think that PV Felix would come across even worse than our current heroes do!

Is Felix okay with people using the peacock? I thought that the answer was "no," but he's happy to use the peacock for pretty mundane things, so who knows? I seriously can't tell you what Felix's attitude towards sentimonsters is. I thought that he was a freedom fighter after that moment in Strikeback where he apologized because I thought that he was apologizing to Strikeback, but now I'm thinking that he may have been apologizing to Ladybug because he was about to betray her??? I don't know, my new best guess is that he only wanted the peacock for protection and that he cares about no one outside himself and those he's deemed worthy. Most sentimonsters are just tools to him. He's basically lost all depth in this area because that would mean treating the sentimonster thing seriously and the show isn't going to do that.

Did Felix care if Gabriel destroyed the world? I don't think so. He didn't really help with Gabriel's "defeat". Felix spent the entire season knowing everything, but didn't tell anyone until it would personally benefit him. That benefit had nothing to do with a fear of Gabriel or even a desire to be a hero like one might expect since he's apparently part of the team now. We didn't even get Kagami making Felix want to be a hero who defends the world or even just a hero who helps his cousin. It was Kagami and Felix wanting to be together more openly and nothing else. Who cares about protecting the world or helping friends? We just wanna be able to go on dates and make out a bit, so can you fix that for us, LB? It's not like you've got anything else on your plate right now!

What a deeply selfish and unheroic motivation for both of our supposed heroes. Remind me, what has Kagami done to earn her miraculous? Because - as far as I can tell - she's really not suited to being a hero anymore. Season five made her look like a selfish, gullible fool.

While we're on the topic of how "heroic" Felix is, I'll also point out that, after this big reveal, Felix disappears. He doesn't help with the final fight or anything like that even though he has all the information on what was going on and a god-tier power set that could be used to free the people being controlled by the rings. Not sure if this is supposed to read as him not caring or just the writers pretending that Felix doesn't exist because letting him fight would undermine Marinette's role since Felix's powers are so much stronger than hers.

Is Felix some sort of genius mastermind? The show seems to want me to say, "yes" to this, but they've never actually written him as all that clever. Much like Lila, his plans really only work because the plot makes them work. For example, he didn't get the miraculous due to clever plotting. He got them because of shear dumb luck. Ladybug could have wielded the dog herself and he'd have been screwed. Same goes for her taking the dog back after he was done using it since he was by no means needed after they took down Risk. I still don't understand how Gabriel was able to open her summoned yo-yo or why Felix waited until the train to check if he had the real miraculous. Basically, the writers really had to warp the show's logic to make Felix's win work.

So who is Felix? No idea! The only thing I can say for certain is that he loves his mom and that's really not enough for me to work with if I want to write a Felix that feels true to canon. Almost any take on him feels true to canon at this point because he's a nothing burger. He has all of the substance of unset jello.

I was briefly excited about his character when I thought that his season four role was setting him up for something big in season five, but then he showed up in Emotion and my excitement died. What even was that episode? It's written like a mental breakdown, but it was foreshadowed in Destruction, so was it a mental breakdown or was this seriously the best plan that Felix could come up with after several weeks of plotting?

To put this in perspective, Gabriel came up with and created the Alliance rings faster than Felix came up with and created with Red Moon, a sentimonster that took him all of two seconds to create. I am unimpressed.

[death-limes]

tbh i don't think i would even be suprised if it turned out the playbills were never even produced in the first place and were just part of a scam by spindlehorse and viv to make fans spend even more money on the merch package then they already would've w/o it by making it look like the merch bundle would have more than it really has.

yeah thats partly what i meant; i was also thinking maybe they WERE gonna make it but stuff went pear-shaped in the process and they realized too late that it just aint gonna happen, but they cant refund everyone cuz tbh they probably already spent the money

but yeah i also would NOT put it past them to have just planned this from the start, like youre saying. the super-dedicated fans have shown how easy it is to treat them like garbage & then placate them with cutesy bullshit; someone as greedy and unprofessional as v*vz*epop probably sees dollar signs at the mere thought. time for a fourth cruise this year, or a third taxidermied peacock to match the first two she bragged about buying at over $6000 a pop

[lordansketil]

do you have a favorite prinny caricature? some of those are truly wild

H-how can you do this to me, Nonny? Do you know how many crazy caricatures of George IV there are? How do I even begin to chose?? I don't really think anyone can improve on 'A Voluptuary Under the Horrors of Digestion', 'Saluting the Regent's Bomb Uncovered on his Birthday', or 'Triumph of the Whale', but they're super famous, so...

'Enchantments lately seen upon the Mountains of Wales or Shon-ap-Morgan's Reconcilement to the Fairy Princess' by Gillray is fun. Princess Caroline embracing her massive furry prince while the prince’s mistress, Lady Jersey, and her husband are blasted into the sea by magic "what, what, whats?" from George III God . The shawl shaped like giant goat dick. Pretty strong contender.

'His Highness in Fitz', ultra sexy, regarded as being pornographic at the time. More massive green dick drapery. Attributed to George Townley Stubbs because ain't nobody putting their name to that and not ending up in court. Mrs Fitzherbert was extremely upset over this one.

'K__g Cupid in the Corner__ Playing Bopeep', which I can't presently find an artist for. Lady Conyngham has her tits out, while fanning herself with a fan upon which an old mandarin is shown, implying that Prinny (now Kingy) has been giving her cunnilingus, as she says he is a "cunning" fellow. Also a play on her name. In the mirror, her cuckolded husband, Lord Conyngham, watches them. The peacock f... oh, okay, pea... COCK feathers, yup. They went there.

[helluvapurf]

So uh, I kiiiinda forgot I had a HB-themed blog in the midst of me feeling the itch for HB redesigns... figured I'd might as well fix that with this recent Stolas family piece I did not too long ago-

(Now, as mentioned before on my DA post, I honestly have nothing against either Stolas, Octavia, nor Stella's canon designs.... Iiii just feel like as high-ranking demon birds, a lil "variety" tweaked in could lowkey go a long way the more I thought about it?)

Aaaand here, here's a quick lil rundown of what I had in mind for my own personal interpretations (AU, HC? Idk what exact term fits best but... *shrugs*):

DA Link~

For Stolas, I tried to tone down all the black & red from his previous design to a more "autumn sunset sky"-aesthetic (+ditched the big top hat 'cause like... you're a royal my dude, don't you just need a crown? lol), gave him a gradient starry cape instead of that old ripped one 'cause I always loved how the star cape looked on him from the "Ozzie's" episode, popped in some grey streaks in his hair, and then finally unified his outfit to a purple & black theme like a classic Disney villain~

For Octavia, I went with a classy "indigo night sky" vibe with lil gold accents, then shortened her hair to a fanned bob (kiiinda looking like bird wings, in a way?) along with adding some more "blended" features from her mom and dad just 'cause .3.

As for Stella... honestly I've fallen *way* too in love with the "Stella is a Swan" fan-theory ('cause yknow... she's all-white, black & pink beaked, elegant-looking but bitchy af in-person, etc.) that I couldn't resist incorporating more swan-y vibes to her design. Then I relaxed her big choppy hair to a more "refined" half-up/half-down style (+some extra feather tufts to still fit with her peacock bro Andrealphus), gave her more of a mermaid-shaped dress to fit her regal noble-lady vibe, then I simply left it a gradient pink/black in terms of colors 'cause... idk, it just reminded me alot of fancy Chanel-aesthetics~

[heytherecentaurs]

Aelwyn Abernant: New Life, Old Habits (1343 words)

Aelwyn reheated half a cup of tea from the previous morning in the microwave. It spun around in the yellow light as the arcanotech whirred, casting her in a dim glow exaggerating the undertone of her skin into a sickly jaundiced complexion. Morning moonlight pierced the drawn curtains, permeating her messy apartment with a dusty grey haze falling over her scant belongings and furniture.

When the microwave chimed, Aelwyn removed her cup of tea and sipped it—disgusting—its over-steeped bitterness clinging to her tired tongue. Her nightshirt, an oversized Fig & the Cig Figs band tee, fluttered around her thighs as she wandered her bare new apartment. Cardboard moving boxes formed a Stonehenge around her living room, flaps opened, half unpacked, their contents hanging from them.

She stared at the landlord white walls imagining future decor. She never had to decorate a home before. Following a trail of strewn clothing and a pair of glittery high heels down the hallway, Aelwyn reached her bedroom, the only fully furnished room in the apartment, complete with her sleeping houseguest.

Beneath a thin cotton sheet, a half-elven woman slept, the white sheet draped over her contours suggesting her feminine figure like an unfinished marble statue. Her long dark brunette tressed escaped the messy bun she’d hastily tied them in the night before and fanned out around her head. She exhaled a somnolent breath through her parted lips, still wearing a hint of pink from last night’s makeup.

Pushing the laundry onto her floor, Aelwyn settled on an impressive wicker peacock chair in the corner of the room, its back fanning behind her. She peered at her beautiful bedfellow, trying to remember her name—Tambourine? No. Tamagotchi? Absolutely not. Tamara? That could be it. So she couldn’t remember her name. Old habits died hard. She recalled how her skin tasted after a long night of dancing; she could draw the shape of her from memory, remember how she gambolled headlong into ecstasy with gasping trills, a melody Aelwyn composed with nimble fingers and an attentive mouth. Was forgetting Tamale's name so bad?

Her guest woke in a moonbeam crossing her body, figuring her in sensuous terrains of light and shadow. Upon waking, she sat up in bed with a quiet moan, the sheet cascading off her moonlit breasts, and as she stretched and yawned, she pushed her hair from her face, her green eyes settling on Aelwyn.

“Oh, hey, good morning, Aelwyn,” said Tumeric (that wasn’t it either), her voice possessing a seductive raspiness. Aelwyn remembered that too.

“Good morning,” she said, cradling her teacup in both hands. “I apologize, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Tameryn.” She slipped from the bed in search of her underwear, her lithe and graceful body enticing Aelwyn as she strode through the columns of darkness. In their amorous frenzy, Aelwyn had discarded Tameryn’s panties to the corner of the room, and her guest slid her legs into them within the shadow lingering there, the unnatural endless night plunging Spyre into darkness. “That’s all right,” Tameryn said. “We both had a few drinks.”

Aelwyn drummed her fingers on the side of her teacup, her ring clinking against the porcelain. “No, that’s not it.”

“So,” Tameryn said, pulling on her sequinned minidress, “do you wanna grab breakfast?”

“Let’s not ruin a good night with an awkward morning.”

“All right.”

“You should probably go. Your shoes are in the hallway.”

“Busy day?”

“Not particularly, no. That’s not it at all.” Aelwyn left her chair. She cradled Tameryn’s jaw as though to kiss her before letting go and retreating. “I think we should put a bow on this. Accept it for what it is.”

“What’s that?” Tameryn found her purse on the bedside table.

“A good time had by all. Let’s not waste our energy on what could be or spoil our fantastical evening with the reality of the morning after.” She guided Tameryn from the room, and picked up her guest’s sparkly high heels from the hallway floor where they sat among the clothes Aelwyn had worn the night before.

“Right. Yeah. Sure. Let me give you my crystal number,” Tameryn said as they reached the door.

“Let’s leave it up to fate,” Aelwyn replied, guiding Tameryn out the door and handing over her high heels in the hallway. “Goodbye.”

Tameryn cast a glance at a werewolf man leaning against the hallway wall with two coffees, checking his watch. He crooked an eyebrow at Tameryn before his gaze slid to Aelwyn.

When Tameryn had walked out of sight, Jawbone pushed off the wall. “That was rough,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“If you don’t mind the smell of stale sweat and pussy. Jawbone, you’re always welcome here most of the time.” Aelwyn stepped away from the door and let him in.

“I appreciate that,” he said, handing her a coffee. “If you’re being crude in an attempt to shock me just remember who I am and who I used to be. Spare me the details but you’re aren’t going to rattle me with a messy one-night stand. I remember once in Bastion City, I woke up naked on a bad air mattress with strangers on either side of me and using another stranger’s stomach as a pillow. Do you know how hard it is to sneak out at dawn when you’re sandwiched on a partially deflated air mattress? You don’t exactly make the most graceful exit.” Jawbone’s lupine nose twitched. “You weren’t kidding about the smell.”

“Let’s not talk about it.” Aelwyn sipped the latte Jawbone had brought her, its sweetness welcomed after a few bitter sips of yesterday’s tea. “Ever.”

“Fine by me. She seemed nice.”

“Tamerson? Very nice.”

“You didn’t want to see her again?” He leaned against a tower of boxes.

“I can’t really do nice long term. If we run into each other, I’d be happy to rock her world again.”

“Given how that goodbye went, that seems presumptuous.”

“I may not be the Elven Oracle but it doesn’t take divination to know she’d come back for more.” Aelwyn climbed onto a cluttered sideboard and crossed her legs, almost flashing Jawbone unintentionally. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking in. Came to help with the move. First time living on your own can be daunting. Figured you could use a hand.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know that, Aelwyn. I’m not here because I think you can’t handle it alone; I’m here because you don’t have to. I understand Mordred wasn’t your jam, but you’re a member of our little community whether you live at the manor or not. We know you haven’t got much of a support system left and Adaine’s off with the other Bad Kids saving the world, but you’ve got people who care. And if you need help… well, I know it’s not easy for you to ask for it, but I’ll tell ya, it’s ease for us to give.

“Shut up, Jawbone.” She smiled and sipped her latte to hide it.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s just how it is, kid. Why don’t you get dressed, probably shower first because it’s not just the room that smells okay, and I’ll take you out to find some furniture. Looking a little sparse in here. There are a couple good secondhand stores across town. They typically deliver, but if need be, we can borrow Wilma and Digby’s cube van.”

“Fine, I’ll go, but you have to buy breakfast,” Aelwyn said, hopping off the sideboard.

“Breakfast with the legendary Aelwyn Abernant? Hell yeah, I’ll pay for that,” Jawbone said, averting his eyes when Aelwyn bent to pick up her dirty laundry from the hallway. He cleared his throat.

She straightened up. “Right. Sorry for showing you my ass,” she said. “Though, I suppose that’s been the entire rehabilitation process, metaphorically speaking.” She continued down the hallway towards the bathroom. “Oh, and please control your impulse to help and don’t bother unpacking. Turns out I mostly own cursed objects. They’re all that survived the fire.”

[badpanduhmemes]

Absurd Hypothetical Situation (Fanfic)

I started this back in February, as a wishful/ hopeful hypothetical scenario. Since they were bringing a lot of characters back, one that I really wanted to see was Soothsayer. I would have loved Soothsayer having a cameo, of some kind. Any kind. So, I wrote a Soothsayer reunites with dead-Shen fic, because I am a monster. And then due to life, I never finished it. So, I decided to wrap this thing up this weekend.

The bowl cracked with a snap, and smoke was buffeted upward, in a shape unsettlingly familiar, as a cold leaden weight of dread settled heavily in the pit of the Soothsayer’s stomach. Smoke had spread like a fan… her own words from a lifetime before echoing in her head.

‘A peacock is defeated by a warrior of black and white…’ Loud her voice rang in her ears. Reverberated in her mind. Suddenly mocking and cruel, when she knew she’d been sorrowing and resigned when she’d spoken those words to that very peacock for the last time. And unlike last time, something had changed.

Something unnatural. Something horrible. Something that should not have been possible let alone feasible had been done. Something, something, something, and the universe was screaming in her ears that Shen was involved. That this thing, this dreadful and terrible thing, be undone.               

At the very least her macabre sense of curiosity was screaming at her to discover the truth. Quietly panicking in the safety of her own the mind, maternal instinct suddenly woken from its long dead stupor leant strength to her urgency. She was packed and locking up her house in under an hour, driven forward by the push and pull of the universe, leading her to places far away.

The Old Goat was feeling her age when she arrived. She knew she was almost there, with the universe practically shrieking in her mind, and sparking like firecrackers in her veins. This was the domain of a powerful sorceress. She should have known. She wasn’t entirely surprised, so maybe on some level she had suspected as much. But why? Why necromancy? Why Shen?

A myriad of horrifying possibilities flitted across her mind, each more alarming than the last. But she hastily stamped down her emotions, shaking her head to clear her mind. She was a little old lady, in a dangerous place, and she was having enough trouble keeping her wits about her without entertaining a hundred different nightmares.

She would have her answers when she made it there. Watching a streetside brawl turn deadly, between two enraged oxen was enough to make her tack the word ‘if’ onto the end of that thought.

The universe was getting louder, and the mind she had worked so hard to train against the unyielding burdens of fate, destiny, future, and history, was not able to blot out the phantasmal shreds of vision rising and falling in her periphery. What had been, what was, and what might never be played themselves out in shadows on the wall, making her exceedingly jumpy as she crept small and frail, through empty corridors, oppressive with the weight of power.

Real power, great and terrible resided in the palace she’d snuck into, but it had not been alerted to her presence, instead preoccupied with its own machinations.

The visions abruptly ceased. The universe fell silent with the tension of a pulled string on the verge of snapping, and power stirred. Some great leviathan, stirring from slumber, uncoiling itself, as it stretched out its will, and in the gloom echoing against the cold stone walls and hard stone floors, was the sound of footsteps.

Her measly disguise was suddenly wrenched from her and she founder herself being stared at and analyzed by the fiery eyes of a chameleon. Power recognized power, and while this sorceress was beyond her in terms of strength, she could clearly see the goat for what she was a kindred spirit of sorts, and the faint curl of her scaled lip which might have been disgust or a general from of unease was unclear.

The universe was still silent, but there was a looming sense of paradigms being shifted, and destiny and history colliding.

This chameleon’s power was great. But it was an aberration, her activities and abhorrence.

“And just what is a little old lady such as yourself doing uninvited in my house?”

Soothsayer stroked her beard. “I got lost looking for a friend.”

The chameleon’s eyes swiveled, or more accurately one of them did, while the other looked her up and down. The frown on the lizard’s lip deepened, sensing some sort of ruse. And then the reptile smiled, far too sweetly to be genuinely, and with enough visible teeth to be unsettling.

“Perhaps we can find your friend together.”

Soothsayer stared into the chameleon’s eyes, sensing the trap for what it was, but unsure how to proceed. This had been a stupid plan, but she’d needed to come here, to this awful city, and this awful palace, to see with her eyes if her visions were true.

“I…”

Somewhere, from some long shadowy hall metal scraped stone with a haunting phantasmal chime. The goat’s heart sputtered as her lungs froze, and her grip on her cane slackened, before she could gather herself.

It had been summer’s day, and the gates of the Tower of Sacred Flame had been forced open and that same sound had filled the air in time with every step… as Shen had emerged from the shadow of the gatehouse….

 …. As Shen emerged from the shadows of a hallway….

Head held high, lordly and regal even in death, his brow furrowed at the sight of her. His eyes darting between her, and the The Chameleon, and back to her. There was a curve to his beak, a glint in his eyes, and he seemed to very deliberately turn his head away.

He was back from the dead.

Her heart broke for him, and she was furious on his behalf.

Back from the dead, and the old goat practically see the restless shifting of his wing feathers hidden in his sleeves as his mind raced. Her visions had once again proven true!

The little goat’s fingers tightened around her cane. Her eyes narrowed, as she dragged her gaze back to the Chameleon. The sorceress was smiling, having seen everything she needed to see, and putting it all together. She stepped to the side offering Soothsayer a fuller view of her ‘friend’ still smiling as she enjoyed watching the old goat’s horror and dismay seeing Shen again.

Soothsayer, glared at the Chameleon. “You have no right denying the dead their rest.”

She had never wanted to swing her cane at somebody more in her entire life. Her heart was racing in fury as the Chameleon’s toothy smile broadened.

“There are lots of powerful people in the spirit realm, and seeing that they’re not making use of that power, I see no reason why I can’t borrow it. Right? Lord Shen?”

The peacock’s eyes narrowed. He had been watching the pair of them again since the Soothsayer started talking.

He hated being back. Hated the all too familiar weight of the living world pushing against him from all sides, suffocating him. He was trapped. Entrammeled, and he’d gone well out of his way to be as belligerent as possible since returning, but now…. The horrid little sorceress stood between him and the Soothsayer, and he hated the current situation more than he’d hated anything since returning.

He leaned down closer to The Chameleon’s eye level capturing her full attention. “One of these days, Lizard.” He ground the word into a hateful hiss, before raising his head and adopting an air of pleasantness. “You’ll find out, when I happily escort you there.”

The Chameleon’s eyes hardened ever so slightly, even her smile never completely faltered.

“Speaking of which… this little old goat seems to have trespassed and gotten lost.” The Chameleon pointed with the staff in the goat’s direction watching Shen’s face for any sign of worry or fear. “Perhaps you’ll do her the honor of escorting her there, in the meantime.”

It wasn’t a question, and silence settled between the three of them, as Shen’s narrowed hateful eyes swung toward the Soothsayer. He was absolutely livid, and while she didn’t believe any of his ire was truly directed at her, it still turned her blood cold to see him so… murderous.

“Shen….” It was a faint little rasp of a whisper. Nothing else could come out of her throat. But it seemed to insight something within him, as he stalked closer, train slowly rising behind him.

“Why did you come here?” It was a pained little hiss trembling with anger and fear, as he put himself squarely between his old nanny and the evil little lizard watching from the background.

“Why?”

He was shaking, trembling, and Soothsayer made to reach out, is if she were going to place a hoof on his wing, but at the last second her arm froze.

“Why?”

She didn’t lower her hoof or pull away. She just couldn’t move.

“Why?!”

He stopped just out of reach, and words rose to her tongue only to wither and die. She could not bring herself to speak to him. She didn’t know what to say-or there was too much to say.

She had stood on the dock after his battle with the Warrior of Black and White. She had smiled then convinced that he may have found peace in the end. Or convinced that with time he would after his death, but to see him again brough back by cruel magic and made a slave of-it was beyond horrific, and her throat tightened around a painful lump.

The peacock exhaled and slumped, red eyes glowering at the floor between them.

“You always were a stubborn old goat.” He wanted to say she was constantly sticking her nose in his business, but he wasn’t ungrateful enough to imply something so cruel, nor was he particularly keen on revealing the nature of their relationship to the watching lizard smirking in the corner.

He gently pushed her outstretched hood down. His last words to her had been that he had no use for her. Something somewhere inside twisted, leaving him breathless, but he pushed the emotion away, cozening up instead the anger that still followed him as a constant companion after his death.

Anger he understood. Anger burned, but it was a raw hot thing, he was used to. He’d sent her away, because it had been dangerous to keep her around- a danger to his plans-to himself, and that had been all he’d been willing to admit to himself at the time. But here and now, he couldn’t deny to himself it had been partially done to keep her safe. She was in danger now. Because of him. Because of some stupid lizard playing god, and there was no panda around to save the day. To save her. He didn’t know how, but the Chameleon was going to pay. She was going to pay for all of it.

He sensed the motion behind him, and whirled. Metal collided with jade, and Shen’s train snapped open.

“Too slow.” The Chameleon’s voice was cold. Her patience had run out, and Shen sneered. He’d been difficult and unruly; unwilling to bow his head and obey from the moment she’d summoned him. She had half a mind to send him back for his constant attempted transgressions, but his brilliant mind was for too useful. She had an army. She had sorcery. She had his kung fu and all the abilities she’d stolen from every other master she’d brought back, but the one thing she didn’t have, that could expedite her plans, were Shen’s weapons.

He could invent something new and exciting for her, and sending him back prematurely would be a waste.

“Too slow?” Shen’s voice was icy, and his eyes had shrunk to pinpricks of incandescent fury. “You’re too sloppy.”

If she decided to use the staff against him, there’d be nothing he could do. Her eyes flashed teal, and for a moment he tensed expecting to feel her skittering around inside his mind, like the world’s most aggressively annoying acupuncture. But her will never overcame his. Instead, he heard footsteps.

He glowered into the corridor he’d come from earlier, while the Chameleon laughed, backing away from him.

“You want continue your foolish crusade of defiance? By all means, be the rebellious little princeling you always were.” The Chameleon leaned against the jade staff. “See how much it costs you.”

From the corridor appeared, Tai Lung. The peacock’s only response was to shift. The Soothsayer was still out of view and if she was smart, she’d start running.

“I have no use for you.” It was all he could say to her, and he had to hope fear hadn’t rooted her to the spot. He wasn’t confident about his odds.

The Chameleon’s eyes flashed. Tai Lung’s eyes flashed teal, and with a low growl, the snow leopard crouched.

Before anyone could move, there was a cacophony of loud noises. A series of ‘ouches’ ‘youches’ ‘yees’ and finally a very loud ‘oof’ followed by something crashing. All eyes were on the noise. Soothsayer, very discreetly began backing up. Shen’s eyes flicked to hers, and he gave her the tiniest of nods.

“Shen…” her voice was still so faint, so clotted with emotion. For the first time in a long time, her façade of cool aloofness had been completely shattered, and he very discreetly reached through his train feathers, to touch her arm as she’d attempted to do to him earlier.

“Goodbye, Nan- Goodbye.”

He withdrew. His wing feathers left a warm unfamiliar weight on her arm. He was once again a stern cold warrior, fully intent on the noises, coming from a side corridor. The voice huffing and puffing, followed by some other voice were both growing louder.

Shen, head raised, very deliberately relaxing, as The Panda appeared.

Po’s green eyes surveyed the dark intersection of passageways and the people he’d just stumbled on. The elderly goat that had saved him from the river, looking heartbroken, and gob smacked at the same time. Lord Shen was standing before her protectively-which seemed odd until he remembered the Soothsayer had mentioned being the tower with him when he was young. Tai Lung of all people ready to attack the peacock, and in the middle of it all stood The Chameleon, quietly watching her hard won control over the afternoon spiraling further into infuriating disarray.

A young fox appeared by the panda’s side. “You really need to sort out your failed relationship with staircases.” Was all she said as she dropped into a fighting stance.

It was probably the weirdest reunion Po had ever experienced, and yet it hardly seemed like the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. Although he was struggling in that moment to think of what might have been weirder.

“Well, if it isn’t the so-called Dragon Warrior.” Tai Lung rose.

“Greetings Panda, we meet agai-” Shen broke the silence, and Po still winded from evidently falling a considerable distance, gave him a small lackadaisical wave.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”               

It wasn’t clear who it was Po was addressing. Maybe Shen. Maybe Tai Lung. Maybe all of them. Anything that might have been said further, was drowned out by Shen suddenly laughing, just before his eyes flashed teal.

[imthepunchlord]

So would your ideal verison of an activated peacock miraculous be it having the shape and look of the season one verison and the color scheme of the season 2+ or would you change Duusu's color scheme to match the season one verison of the peacock miraculous (I always liked your Belle Bleu design for A Declaration of Love)?

Ooh, that's where I'm torn.

I do like Duusu's design, deep blue with lighter pink is nice. It really makes the pink pop.

And if you REALLY like Peafowl Marinette, that color coding is there and it's clever in that coding as those two primary colors are swapped between them (like Marinette having a lot of pink and little blue).

But of the two "activated" designs we have, I prefer what's seen in Volpina.

I like the shape of the "feathers", the placement of the gems, the little peacock body, and the coloration. It best reflects actual peacocks and their spread fantail.

I do get them going with full blue as that big green/turquoise fan is very close to the green turtle.

Now, they could've swapped who's blue and green, while most known to be blue, there is far more green in peacocks than blue, and there are green peacocks.

And a more blue turtle could've worked off Nino better visually. That's probably what they should gave done, but I guess they liked green turtle most.

Either way, I did try a Duusu that better matched that initial design, but didn't like it as much.

For my Miraculous changes, as Duusu is staying blue, I'd keep s1 Miraculous design but have it match her colors. Kinda like so: