#i like keeping my fan designs close to canon as possible usually

[voidbeau]

Silly Mr. Plant Ramble: His Vines!

I talked about it a little bit on one of my redraws but I wanna yap a little more about them.

Sorry if there's a bit of repeat here im a senile old beetle, but I do talk about some more stuff lmaoo.

Giving Mr. Plant vine designs was always a fun decision for two reasons like, I'll gladly admit that a big part of the idea initially- at least for me, I know there's others who ended up doing this for their Mr. Plant too, but for ME, it was just because I've always liked the tattoo aesthetic. I have many many OCs with tattoos and many more that will continue to have them loool. But ALSO, the idea that Mr. Plant can just grow and manipulate vines to use as extended limbs has always lived rent free in my head- and other people's I'm sure! In fact, I even linked to the post that initially inspired me to consider Mr. Plant vines on one of my redraws.

The post that inspired it is a couple years old at this point i think??? but I'll link it again cause it's worth lookin at. Here.

Our presentation of Mr. Plant vines is different of course but that's the part of the fun, the differences. I love the idea of these vines that Mr. Plant has that can just slither out from underneath his flesh as needed. Like he just has a network of them beneath his skin and- as I mentioned before in my redraw where i talked about it, they just kind of sit near the surface of his skin like blood vessels or something.

Whenever I'm drawing Mr. Plant and I'm coloring in his vines, I think about watching them move or twitch or readjust themselves while they're still nestled comfortably under his flesh.

In fact I think I even mention in the fics that I managed to post that they tend to move the most when he's experiencing high emotion.

How comfortable is it for Mr. Plant??

I always imagine the vine patterns on Mr. Plant tend to change a lot because they shift and also because when Mr. Plant brings them out for use and then tucks them away again, they kind of nestle back into a new position...

And also because I can't be arsed to map out and stick with a consistent pattern when I'm drawing Mr. Plant.

BUT THAT STILL MAKES FOR FUN VINE LORE

Because I imagine it must feel a very particular way to slip those things out and back in again. Maybe it even gets uncomfortable or tender on those spots on his body if he does it too much???

Fun things to think about.

But because of the fascinating or even unsettling nature of watching these slithering, wriggling things underneath someone's flesh, Mr. Plant always kept them covered because- similar to horror stories from people with tattoos, people in the Void tend to forgo things like personal space and "minding one's own business" when they see Mr. Plant's vines.

Not even when the vines are out but even just when they're chilling under his skin.

"Woah, does that hurt??"

"Can I touch your arm?"

"Ew, that's disgusting!"

Que people attempting to grab Mr. Plant's hand or wrist for a better view.

And then all manner of other unnecessary and annoying comments that Mr. Plant had to deal with so he just opted to wear long sleeves all the time when going out in public.

I can't imagine many of those people who had the audacity to grab him are still alive though but, to prevent future mishap!

The sweater.

But I like to think because Argos liked Mr. Plant's vines so much- both because he thought they were pretty and also with the way I tend to imagine the placement of Argos' eyes across his body: in coiling swirling patterns, he was like, "wow, me too!!! See?"

And slowly overtime Argos managed to convince Mr. Plant to show them off more again.

I do like to think that when Mr. Plant is out and about on his own- depending on where he's going though, he may choose to cover up again, just to avoid any potential hassle. But as long as he's with Argos, he'll have his vines out on display for him. <:

Maybe not always but most of the time.

I also like to think Mr. Plant has days where he let's them just kind of splay out across his Void, like he's stretching them out.

Stuff I never talked about before because I was always super self conscious about my very slight design choices for Mr. Plant lmaooo.

But I don't care as much, I'll yap about anything at this point. Sort of. Looool.

The other reason I bring it up- other than just cause I think it would be fun to talk about is because, I was just working on some Mr. Plant art and whenever I come to his vines I'm always thinking, "What did I do last time? Should I try to keep it the same? No... but maybe similar. Nah fuck it, they're all over the place."

Cause sometimes I'm on the fence about whether or not I want to keep a consistent pattern. Tbh tho like i said, I'm lazy and also I think it's a lot more fun to think that they move around and also be able to kinda see that lmao.

Basically it was just on my mind lmaoo and I thought, "you know I never really go into it..."

And I have thoughts.

I always have thoughts.

[hornyfanfictionresearch]

Know Your Audience: Horniness v Fear

Hello, horny readers. Today we're going to talk about audiences for fan fiction smut. As regular readers know, the ultimate answer on audiences is that it's all about the fandom and canon ships. But within that there are a few distinct styles, two of which usually emerge in smut across fandoms/ships.

Before I continue, an important caveat: these are all theories of mine based on writing and reading smut and some very imperfect smut preference surveys. None of this is scientifically rigorous, and the technical terminology is just shorthand for easy reference. Obviously sex and sexuality are complicated and this is by design an oversimplification for the purposes of writing trashy stories about other people's characters. Anyone is free to disagree and/or find these takes as dumb and wrong as they wish. Now, then.

There are basically two kinds of smut fans: sex readers who want graphic description, activity and orgasms, and fear readers, who want insulation from all of the same. The two overlap a bit, but there are important differences you should weigh as you develop your own smut style. It's also possible to write both, though you should obviously write smut you are not getting paid for that you personally want, and most people are here for one or the other.

Sex Readers. It seems fairly obvious that sex readers show up for the sex, but obviously there is a lot of complexity within them. You have to keep in mind that female readers (setting aside the AMAB/AFAB distinction which I am in no way qualified to weigh in on) need fairly extensive scene framing for arousal. A 1:1 word count for buildup versus sex is a pretty decent ratio in this case, and a blocking ratio (the ratio of not-explicit sexual activity to sexual activity) of 2:1 or 3:1 will generally provide the ongoing framing to close the deal. This does not mean female sex readers are uninterested in sex blocking; quite the contrary. They want to be shown why the sex is hot. And because female arousal goes in stages, they usually also want the same in smut with rising pressure imagery into the orgasm.

Male readers (a tiny, tiny fraction of fandom it should be said) will usually be perfectly happy with a 1:2 buildup to sex or even no buildup at all. Men will generally also read 1:1 blocking ratios or even 1:2 or less. Much like with women and sex, this is not to say we want no framing, but that direct visual and tactile fantasy is far more of a priority. Men also have an arousal plateau instead of stages, and thus aren't especially interested in stage-based smut. Again, not to say that escalating stages are of no interest to men, but we're here to get hard and get off.

Finally, this group tends to be much more sexually experienced. You always need to keep in mind that the vast majority of fandom is under 25, and the 30% virginity rate that consistently shows up in my surveys is over twice the rate of the general adult population. Fans with significant sexual experience tend to prefer sexual realism, ie remember the lube if you're writing MM, vaginal orgasms do not exist, precum for blowjobs, and so forth.

Fear Readers. These readers are more complicated, and this gets into a lot of tangential concepts like asexuality that are not really possible to discuss in this kind of take. These readers do often (though certainly not exclusively) identify as asexual, aromatic, aro/ace, and a plethora of other similar terms that are constantly changing. These readers also do not really understand the process I'm describing as committed and experienced kink enthusiasts, who are much rarer in fandom and are always extremely eager to tell you more about themselves than I'm inclined.

Fear Readers have superficially complicated feelings about sex, but in the end it comes down to a desire for insulation around their sexual desires. It can help to think about the process of sexual sensation as a negotiation between the deep feel-y parts of your brain and your prefrontal, think-y parts. The more your PFC is intervening, for example reading and understanding verbalized emotions or fringe fetishes, the more insulation there is around the core feeling of sexual desire and release.

With verbalized emotions, the buildup can be 2:1 buildup to sex or even higher. In fact, similarly to male Sex Readers mostly shrugging at buildup it's not uncommon for E titles to go up in this style that are not actually explicit in any way and only describe the characters interacting in the very vaguest terms (this is all over Kinktober updates as it is easy to knock out 700-800 words 31 times and call it Kink). In the same way, the blocking ratio usually starts at 3 to 1 and basically approaches infinity with the aforementioned "sexless smut." Ironically, the "verbalized emotions" here usually do not refer to what most people would call the identification, verbalization and processing of emotional impulses but essentially verbalized outcries due to unprocessed emotions, tying back to the appeal of fear in this style. The Hurt/Comfort and Angst tags are very common in this style, as both rely on an unresolved state of unprocessed discomfort with essentially infinite ways to verbalize it.

Possibly for this reason (again, not a psychologist, not a sex therapist, my masters degree is not in sex things), Fear Readers are often a lot more intense than Sex Readers, and tend to gush exuberantly about very small/mundane interactions. This is the sexual desire interacting with the insulation, and thus, for example, Taika Watiti's shoulder being touched in Our Flag Means Death can turn into an orgasm's worth of expressed feeling. This is an easy and malleable device: just write out some small thing as if the whole thing is sex to the character, boom, your Fear Readers will be happy.

Most (though again, certainly not all) Fear Readers have very little to zero sexual experience. As such, realism is not only unimportant but sometimes actively disliked; it's not uncommon to see these readers/writers scoffing at, say, lube with anal, saying it distracts from the Feelings of the smut. In this case MM is expected to be basically a direct analog of MF with a self-lubricating asshole and no prep whatsoever, vaginal orgasms reign supreme in MF, and FF tends to fall into "exactly like she liked it" crutches. Fear Readers can be almost or even completely uninterested in female orgasms in particular; one such wrote in a verbatim comment that she did not like any description of women being touched at all in smut.

The anti-realism of the Fear Reader also comes into play with fringe fetishes such as omegaverse and actual non-con. As I mentioned above, these readers don't really intersect with, say, IRL BDSM enthusiasts, because they are not there for feeling things based on the kink, but for distraction. At the point where you are re-filtering your sexual desires down to mini-wolf dicks, your think-y brain is using a staggering amount of bandwidth on symbolic transfer for a process Sex Readers use almost none for. Verbalized fear itself will often come into play via alien/monster fucking and other setups. And of course there are Sex Readers into omega and every other fringe tag; I myself am a committed sex reader/writer and just finished up an alien sex one-shot including fear as part of the hotness. It's a big world with a lot of types and this is in no way a definitive take.

There is absolutely nothing right, wrong, good, or bad about either of these styles. To a large extent AO3 smut is kids trying to figure out sex, and in the end that is going to produce a lot more Fear smut than Sex smut, just because every human is nervous and afraid of sex until they have it and knock all that off. This is just some shorthand that can be helpful to plan out your scene based on the fandom, fans within it, and any other factor you're looking at.

Happy (or fearful, as the case may be) smut writing!

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Ghost Term Guide for Fanfiction (Incomplete)

I’ve been sitting on this for a while but here is a small guide for Ghost fans who are writing fiction :) 

I noticed there are a LOT of very specific terms that might be confusing to new members when it comes to fandom lingo- on top of there being a lot of religious garbs and other terminology! This is something I just made in my spare time with research. 

I will reblog and update this every so often. This is also just from MY personal research, but I will try to keep it as accurate and informed as possible.

Thanks! 

Religious Garb:

(Note: A quick reminder that all of these garments can be subjected to various changes depending on the exact faith they are being used for. I tried to keep this as close to western Catholic and Christianity for the sake of simplicity and to match the exact religious themes used by the band.)

Alb - A typical priest’s robe or tunic, often plain and white. Usually long sleeved and ankle length with minimum decoration to symbolize purity. Sometimes worn plain or with a cincture. Albs are also worn over cassocks but under important vestments like the chasuble. (Papa III’s alb is the garment he wears with the lace gold sleeves under his chasuble.)

Amice - A white, square shaped linen cloth worn over the shoulders and under the alb or other vestments. In the middle ages it also served as a hood or cap. Typically worn during mass or new baptisms. 

Balaclava - Also called a ski mask or a bally. A head fitting cloth mask that usually has the mouth or eyes cut out. Typically worn under helmets of costume masks. (Used by nameless Ghouls under their masks.)

Bauta Mask - a style of Venetian Carnival mask. Marked by having no mouth, a full covering for the face, and a pointed chin and jaw line. (Black ones worn by the Era II Nameless Ghouls.) 

Biretta - A Square cap characterized by having three to four peaks and sometimes decorated with a decorative tuft. A cap’s color can also designate rank within a clergy: Red for Cardinals, Purple for Bishops, and Black for priests. Worn both for and outside of ceremony. (See Cardinal Copia’s pointed hat.)

Cappello Romano - (also called a Saturno) a wide brimmed hat with no ceremonial purpose. Just used as a sun hat when paired with a cassock. Designs change depending on the rank of the wearer. Popes typically wear red with gold detail. Black is the typical color for eveyone. 

Cassock

Chasuble

Cincture 

Clerical Collar 

Crosier

Ferula - or “Papal Ferula” is that staff carried and used only by the Pope, decorated with a knob on the top and a cross. (See Papa II’s staff with the Grucifex on top.) 

Habit - Clothing uniform worn by members of a religious order. In this case, a nun’s dress. 

Mitre - The ceremonial headdresses worn by Bishops and Abbots. Characterized by a pointed, two sided structure that is decorated at the base with lappets. Also worn by Cardinals and the Pope. Three different types exist and are all done for very different occasions. Mitres are typically white with varying degrees of decoration for the occasion. (See all the mitres worn by each Papa.) 

Rochets - a shorter, white linen tunic that is used by Cardinals and Bishops that is worn over the cassock. It has narrower sleeves and is often decorated with white lace or embroidery on the sleeves and ends of the garment. In Catholicism it is only worn by these higher clergymen and prelates as choir dress, as given permission to them by the Pope.  

Stole

Surplice 

Vestments - Term for ceremonial clothing or clothing symbolizing religious office worn during service. Think Chasubles, stoles, etc. 

Wimple - headdress or veil worn by nuns. 

Zucchetto - A silky skullcap that resembles a hemispherical beret. They are colored based on rank. Retired and acting popes wear white, cardinals wear scarlet, Archbishops/bishops/abbots wear amaranth, and priests and deacons wear black. 

Items:

Athame - Ritualistic dagger, often decorative and considered sacred. 

Host/Communion Wafer 

Pew 

Thurible 

Ranks/Titles:

Mother Superior

Nun

Church based Locations:

Abbey

Cathedral 

Cloister

Parish

Pulpit

Sacristy

Catholic/Religious Terms:

Canon/Canon Law

Clergy - All ordained members that perform the duties of a religious organization. 

Conclave

Confession

Congregation 

Doctrine

Delict

Ecclesial Law  

Epicospal 

Eucharist 

Excommunication 

Faculty 

Laicization

Laity - Non-ordained members of a religious organization, also known as laypersons/laymen/laywomen. 

Liturgy 

Liturgical

Mass

Ministry

Ordinance

Ordinary 

Penance 

Prelate - a high ranking clergy member or church dignitary with authority over a jurisdiction. Usually an Ordinary in the church. Typically an abbot, bishop, or cardinal.  

Province 

Rite 

Ritual

Sacrament

Seminary

Superior 

Vespers

Satanic/Luciferian Terms:

Demon

Important Figures/Demons:

Baphomet

Lilith

Lucifer

Mammon

Satan

Ghost Exclusive/Contextual Terms:

Nameless Ghouls - the masked and nameless members of the band that serve under Papa. Always instruments or back up vocals. 

Grucifex - The play on the Ghost Grucifex. The official symbol of the band and the clergy. An upside down cross decorated with a ‘G’ for Ghost. 

Ghuleh

Papa - The head of the Clergy and the Ghost project. Essentially an Anti-pope and unholy leader of the ministry. Also the lead singer of the band. 

Prime Mover - In lyrics, the title given to the nun who will go on to birth the Antichrist. In fandom terms it is often given to the mothers of the Emeritus line. 

Ritual - The name given to the band’s concerts. 

Sisters/Brothers/Siblings/Children of Sin - The members of the congregation of the Church of Ghost. 

Fan Made Accepted Terms or Definitions:

Kit(s) - Juvenile/Infant Ghouls

[sylenth-l]

Hey there! I am a huge fan of your art, especially your designs for lore-only characters (Felwinter and Timur, my beloved)! Do you have a specific way for coming up with a design or do you just go with whatever pops into your head? Also, are you okay with people using your designs for fanart? (with credit of course, sorry if this has been asked already!!)

Hey and thank you, nice anon! 💙

Hmm, by the time I decide to draw somebody w/o canon appearance I usually already have a pretty clear image of them in my head. It may be based entirely on my own impression from reading all available lore about them (like Tallulah and Caliban) or influenced by some fanworks I saw (like Timur, who's a wild mix of all fanarts I saw of him I guess adfgjskd).

I then do some rough sketches of them, to try out different facial features and/or hairstyles if I'm not sure which one will be better, then move on to think about armor and clothes. These can be changed rather easily later, so I focus more on a style in general rather than on some specific gear details, unless these are important/available in the game. If they are, I try to base the character's look on it, if possible. For example, let's take Timur's bond:

There're countless ways to stylize a wolf's head for it to give drastically different impression. This one is so elegant, the head's sculpted in a very delicate way, but at the same time has bared teeth and pretty sharp features, incorporated with small flowy engravings. When trying to to think what kind of armor could go well with such bond, I immediately think of a functional and elegant type, probably less metal and more fabric, since Timur is known more as a spellcaster than a close range fighter. So I try to stick to this, changing individual armor pieces from time to time, but keeping this general guideline I came up with.

And of course I don't mind people using my designs, actually I'll be happy to see that!

[gusu-emilu]

Whumptober 2021 Day 1: “You have to let go”

Fandom: MDZS/CQL Ship: Mo Xuanyu / Nie Huaisang Rating: T, Major Character Death Wordcount: 1166 Tags: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death

He and Mo Xuanyu have always been meant to part ways in the end.

"You have to let go," Huaisang tells the trembling figure in front of him.

The young man hangs his head, disheveled hair draping over his face. He leans forward as if to bury himself in Huaisang's chest, but not close enough for his face to touch Huaisang’s robes.

A lacquered wooden makeup case rattles in the young man’s hands as his fingers abuse its lid. The makeup case is empty, save for a trace of crimson dust. Several other empty cases litter the ground like bodies cut open after an ambush. They surround the name Mo Xuanyu and a collection of obscene words written in stark red and white on the ground. The sneering voices of Jin cultivators, long since gone, still slither through the air around them, as if crawling out of the crude letters they smeared into the ground.

So this is Jin Guangyao’s newly-discovered brother.

Huaisang feels a sharp pang of sympathy for Mo Xuanyu. To have his passions strewn to the floor, to be looked down upon and mocked, to feel alone in his own sect...

"It's alright," Huaisang says gently, not for the first time. "They're gone now."

But despite his coaxing, Mo Xuanyu still refuses to uncurl his fingers from the case in his hands, still refuses to speak or look him in the eye. Maybe Huaisang should leave.

"How about I give you some of my cosmetics?" he tries.

Mo Xuanyu grips the case harder. "Why...why would you do that?"

Well, that's progress.

Huaisang rests the edge of his fan on the makeup case. Mo Xuanyu flinches and looks up. Rage flashes through his eyes before mellowing to puppy-like sadness and confusion.

Even in this state of disarray, the white powder on his face wet, red streaks smearing down over his cheekbones, Mo Xuanyu is beautiful.

But Huaisang doesn't miss the startling forcefulness of that flash of anger, steely and concentrated like the tension of a wrought bow. He wouldn't have expected such rage from someone who seems to want to make himself as small as possible.

Mo Xuanyu is miserable.

Luckily for both of them, misery loves company.

"Consider it a gift of initiation," Huaisang finally answers.

"Initiation of...what?"

Huaisang slips a jade powder case from his sleeve and holds it out. Opening his fan with a spirited snap, he smiles and cocks an eyebrow. "Initiation of our friendship, of course."

Mo Xuanyu stares wide-eyed at the powder case and its intricate design of swirling patterns and twin magpies. He blinks, and the faintest smile appears on his lips.

He reaches for the case.

* * *

"A-Yu!" Huaisang says through laughter. "You have to let go!"

Giggling, Mo Xuanyu hugs the bundle of Huaisang's robes against his bare body and dodges out of Huaisang's reach. His grin becomes sharper when he's mischievous like this, his movements more resolute than his usual delicacy. He is something totally other when he is smiling and cheerful, transforming like a tattered sheet of paper folded into the shape of a crane.

Huaisang can't hold back his grin. "Give me my robes back!"

"Not unless we stay here a little longer."

"You do realize that it must be for something important if it's me, of all people, who wants to get out of bed."

"It's that important?" Mo Xuanyu asks, caught off guard.

Huaisang shrugs. "Maybe not. I don't know." He relents and lies back down, letting Mo Xuanyu happily join him once more.

Breathes in the giddiness that masks the truth of their relationship, lets the comfort drown out his thoughts.

Huaisang knows their joyful moments together are fleeting. Mo Xuanyu will return to his place of scorn in Jinlintai and resume his secret studies of demonic cultivation. Huaisang will return to Qinghe and do his best to keep Da-ge’s mind from splitting along the lines that Baxia has carved into him.

Even without their separateness of their lives, Huaisang’s relationship with Mo Xuanyu will never be appropriate to make public. And, Huaisang tells himself, it is not that significant of a relationship anyway. Just a fling. Just some fun.

He tries not to let himself feel too much, tries not to become too attached. He knows it’s selfish to toy with someone whose life is so precarious, someone so fundamentally alone.

But he and Mo Xuanyu have always been meant to part ways in the end.

* * *

"You have to let it go," Jin Guangyao says, hand on Huaisang's shoulder.

Huaisang wants to cut off that hand. Cut off the fingers that plucked deceit on guqin strings. Cut off his whole arm.

For that, Huaisang would pick up a saber. Would touch one of those cursed blades that poisoned Da-ge.

But he won't.

Not like that.

Huaisang clenches his teeth and swallows the bile, lets Jin Guangyao's palm sink into his shoulder, smiles and nods and plays nice and plays dumb for "San-ge."

For now, he lets it go.

* * *

Huaisang is in bed with Mo Xuanyu, drowning out his grief, when he has the idea to let his lover go.

His mind makes the connections in a flash as his heart sinks, the last piece of his plan fitting into place like a missing bone from a skeleton, like the final word of a curse.

Mo Xuanyu’s kiss seems to burn his lips that night.

Huaisang would call himself a selfish man, but he and Mo Xuanyu have always been meant to part ways in the end.

* * *

You have to let go, he tells himself when he finds Mo Xuanyu slumped over in a shack, clothes in tatters, blood weeping from his wrists.

This time, Mo Xuanyu hangs his head, but not against Huaisang's chest. This time, hideous crimson writing is scrawled on the ground around him, written not in Mo Xuanyu's cosmetic powder, but in his own blood, by his own hand.

This time, Mo Xuanyu offered the gift.

Why did you do it? Huaisang wants to ask, but knows the answer like it's written into his skin with the blood of the soul he helped kill.

* * *

As Huaisang sits alone in his room, he holds Mo Xuanyu’s jade powder case—the same powder case he had gifted to him when they first met—and thinks.

Mo Xuanyu had been consumed by revenge. Had let it take his body like a fire devours through a forest, stripping it dry, leaving only black, brittle remains of what had once been.

Had burned out in a flash and left the ashes for Huaisang to hold onto.

Huaisang can easily take things for granted, can easily throw away a vessel for happiness—he had always been selfish and only grown more callous each time something had slipped through his fingers and left cuts behind—

But they are invisible cuts, of course.

It is with smooth, unblemished skin that Huaisang caresses the carvings of Mo Xuanyu's powder case. Cradles the relic with clean hands.

Yet those hands are shaking.

Shaking, they refuse to let go...

[gamergirlshelby]

Tokiya Villain AU Design

I finally bit the bullet and gave Tokiya a Villain AU Design.

Of course, as per usual, I have a bunch of my ramblings under the read more, so if you are curious about lore and my thought process on some design choices click the read more.

Backstory

Tokiya had become a villain in this AU due to not being able to handle the constant pressure of the possibility of how he might never be able to come close to being the kind of hero his father was. So unlike the "canon" version of Tokiya where he keeps moving forward, the villain Tokiya breaks down, repressing his emotions even more, causing him to have an even harder time connecting to people, and goes down the route of becoming a villain.

Tokiya does have a set of rules that he personally follows. Tokiya will always try his hardest to never kill, only killing when it can be deemed as utmost necessary.

Tokiya also will not steal from anyone who doesn't have much money, since he grew up in a low income house hold, so he knows how much it sucks to have the little you have taken away from you.

Tokiya is also not a big fan of being the cause of needless destruction. Tokiya does not care if he works with a villain who causes needless destruction, but he will try to avoid being the cause of it.

Tokiya's identity had actually been unknown, going by the villain name "Aion" (which is another Greek god associated with time, similar to his Hero name). Tokiya would actually normally head back home after his villainous escapades, since in the villain AU he had just taken a general studies course in an average high school, instead of attending UA like in the normal timeline. Tokiya's identity had only been revealed after a harrowing fight with a pro hero, nearly escaping the whole ordeal, having to go into hiding.

Design Choices

To some of you its probably a little obvious, but Tokiya's villain costume is heavily inspired by the Golden Guard from the Owl House, having a lot of design elements in common, such as them both having a mask and hooded-cloak.

The clip that holds together Tokiya's cloak is supposed to be in the shape of a bird (I did not really get that across in my drawing), since I associate Tokiya a lot with birds since they usually represent freedom, and Tokiya as a character wants to have the freedom to carve his own path in life.

Tokiya wears about three layers of shirts, first having a brown long sleeved shirt, then over that is a grey lightweight chestplate, and then a yellow vest over that, with it all being covered by the yellow hooded cloak.

Tokiya wears a mask over his whole face both because he thinks it looks cool and he wants to cover up the two scars on his face, the larger one being from a blast he took from a hero with an explosive quirk, and the thinner one being from a hero that had been good at handling sharp weapons. Tokiya's mask's two halves is are details I am proud of. The golden-colored half has a wing like slot that Tokiya can look through, referencing the bird motif I brought up earlier. However the silver-colored half has a slot that looks like the hands on a clock, referencing Tokiya's ability to manipulate how things are effected by time.

[amedetoiles]

In another installment of things I should absolutely not be adding to my already large collection of unfinished google docs, I once more have absolutely no self control, so about that post on wedding planner!WWX.....

Set in the same verse as this. Very on brand of me to start writing a sequel for a fic I have yet to finish. Post-canon, post-reconciliation, and WQ is alive because I say so.

---

In retrospect, Jiang Cheng probably should have predicted this.

Jiang Cheng has grown up with Wei Wuxian. He knows exactly the level of ridiculousness his brother can reach. Nearly all of his childhood was dedicated to learning this exact fact. Compounded with that is how fully Wei Wuxian always throws himself into any project that catches his brother’s attention. For a long time, that had been a-jie’s wedding.

All those late nights he and Wei Wuxian had spent planning together, mapping out detailed seating charts, and designing elaborate challenges for the groom. Wei Wuxian, practically delirious with childish excitement, had proposed and demanded in equal measure extravagance after extravagance because their sister only deserved the very best in the world.

Even still, Jiang Cheng can’t say that he had expected exactly... this.

Three days after Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing tell their family about their betrothal, Wei Wuxian bursts into Jiang Cheng’s office mid-morning, his hair still uncombed and sticking out in multiple directions. His arms are full of scrolls, which he proceeds to unceremoniously dump across Jiang Cheng’s desk.

Wei Wuxian ignores Jiang Cheng’s indignant squawking and speaks rapidly, all of his words running together, and practically vibrating on his feet with a frenzy that brings Jiang Cheng abruptly back to their childhood, laying on the floor of their shared room with scrolls strewn all around them and listening while Wei Wuxian raves enthusiastically about his latest idea for a challenge.

Lan Wangji stands at the doorway, alternating between looking worried that Wei Wuxian might asphyxiate with how fast he is speaking and giving Jiang Cheng a look that says this is under no uncertain terms completely Jiang Cheng’s fault as usual.

(In the three years since his brother married Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji have formed an extremely respectful and productive relationship of tolerating each other’s presence for the exact minimum duration it takes to make Wei Wuxian happy. It is still too long for either of them.)

“The Mao and Guo sects are still feuding so they need to be seated as far apart as possible,” Wei Wuxian is saying, barely pausing for breath as he flits from topic to topic with a speed that leaves Jiang Cheng feeling faintly dizzy. “Fan shushu says he will share his recipe for Qing-jie’s xi bing. The head of the lotus harvesters will arrange to have water lilies transported from the southern borders. I have some designs for the invitations that you and Qing-jie can take a look at. And – Oh!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes light up suddenly with an unholy fervor that has never, ever boded well for Jiang Cheng, and then Wei Wuxian turns, calls I have to go! over his shoulder, and leaves as quickly as he came. Lan Wangji makes sure to shoot Jiang Cheng one final accusatory glare before following after his husband because Wei Wuxian couldn’t have married someone that wasn’t a huge petty bitch.

Jiang Cheng sits, shocked still, his desk looking like a storm had blown by, and stares at the empty space where his brother was just standing.

He may have slightly miscalculated.

---

A month later, Jiang Cheng contemplates taking Wen Qing and running away to a deserted mountain. (Who says Wei Wuxian is the only one allowed to do that anyway? At least his mountain won’t be prone to murder.)

He won’t of course. He is the Jiang sect leader, and since his birth, his wedding has always been expected to have the pomp and circumstance befitting that of a leader of a great sect. He would never run out on that responsibility no matter how fucking crazy Wei Wuxian is driving him.

But Jiang Cheng does think about it, very wistfully.

He even brings it up half-seriously with Wen Qing one morning after a disciple comes to inform him that Wei Wuxian had had his schedule completely cleared without Jiang Cheng’s knowledge or permission. Jiang Cheng is now expected to meet his brother at the gate in a quarter shichen’s time for who knows what because his brother is as obnoxiously forthcoming as he has always been.

Wen Qing laughs at him because she is terrible, and he has clearly made a huge mistake.

She also presses a light kiss to his cheek and promises to threaten Wei Wuxian with needles later if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and rest before leaving to have tea with Luo Qingyang because she’s also pretty fantastic, and Jiang Cheng has made the best decision of his life.

Even if it means standing in the middle of the tailor shop while Wei Wuxian darts around him like a deranged bird, dangling various fabric samples in front of Jiang Cheng, frowning for some obscure reason he doesn’t deign to tell Jiang Cheng because who cares what Jiang Cheng thinks about his own wedding, tossing the piece of fabric onto the growing no pile, and then picking up yet another.

On the eleventh turn of this, Jiang Cheng feels a sharp throb against his temple and takes a deep slow breath, then another, and another, so he doesn’t scream, or strangle his brother with the fabrics.

“You do realize that this is my fucking wedding?” Jiang Cheng growls with frustration.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, nodding in a way that feels like he’s actually taking Jiang Cheng seriously even as he picks up yet another fabric sample. Jiang Cheng bites his tongue to keep himself from shouting and glares.

Wei Wuxian continues before Jiang Cheng can speak (yell), moving to hold the fabric against Jiang Cheng’s face, “But you’re my little brother.”

Jiang Cheng blinks, opens his mouth and then closes it. His throat feels suddenly inexplicably tight. An embarrassing warmth expands rapidly beneath his rib cage, and he thinks he might actually choke on it.

He looks at the fabric instead of his brother’s face because he will not cry. The red silk is a shade lighter than Wei Wuxian’s customary color and of exceptionally high quality. (That Wei Wuxian has been choosing from the most expensive of silks has not escaped Jiang Cheng’s attention. He has been trying and failing to not have feelings about this.) The patterning is beautiful, the soft, gentle swirls reminiscent of the lakes surrounding Yunmeng.

It isn’t something Jiang Cheng would have chosen on his first glance through. It is, he realizes with a swoop in his stomach, something a-jie might have picked out.

Jiang Cheng has, until now, avoided thinking too hard about all the empty spaces at his wedding, still riding the steady wonder that fills him every time he looks at the comb tucked neatly against Wen Qing’s hair. And after these last few years of having his brother beside him again, of their misshapen family relearning to fit together with all its new pieces, it is almost, almost, unfamiliar to feel that old aching loss rise within him.

He wonders how much of Wei Wuxian’s frenzied insanity is because he is feeling it too.

After all, Jiang Cheng remembers the months of spreading himself thin between sect obligations and wedding preparations, of tracking down the finest fabrics and jewelry that Jiang and Jin gold could buy in between meetings and conferences, of trying and trying and trying to make up for an absence that creased the edges of a-jie’s eyes in sorrow, even when she stood, radiant in red and gold on her wedding day.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, his voice and gaze softening with concern.

Jiang Cheng swallows several times, his eyes prickling along with his nose, and he stares at the spot above Wei Wuxian’s head. You don’t have to do this, he wants to say. You don’t need to do this. “It isn’t atrocious I guess,” is what comes out.

Even in his periphery, he can see Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle with a familiar fondness. His brother nods and lays the fabric gently down on what Jiang Cheng supposes is now the yes pile.

“As expected of Jiang zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says in a teasing tone that he only uses when he wants to piss off Jiang Cheng.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says swiftly, without any heat. Then, adds, “Yiling Laozu.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and shoves him. “Fuck off,” he says, but he’s smiling as he turns and picks up the next sample, and Jiang Cheng feels his own lips curve in an answering smile.

Okay, he thinks. Okay. He can do this.

He can let his brother have this. Maybe they can both have this.

[bookdork1]

What’s the difference between a ship that is very much “these two men are in love they’re married” and “these two are Bros for Life” broship?

Anon, that’s a very good and complex question and I’ll do my best to answer it, but I will say that this is just my viewpoint on how I approach not-obvious-or-out-from-the-get-go m/m ships. For me, the biggest factor is when the subtext breaks so far into the text that it can no longer be ignored. When a ship stops being played for laughs by the writers and is instead taken seriously. When neither guy has a serious het relationship designated as their “big romance” of the series. And when at least one of the guys in the relationship appears to be heavily bi/queer coded.

Like, a lot of early 2000’s brotps rely on the idea of “haha look at these two guys hugging and being best buds, let’s make a joke about it mirroring a real couple’s actions but make sure to keep it rooted in just friendship because again we’re playing this for laughs with the General Audience and have no intention of ever actually going there.” Think Chandler/Joey from Friends, Shawn/Gus from Psych, or JD/Turk from Scrubs. Like, Joey and Chandler have kissed in the show but it was completely obvious the ship wasn’t anywhere close to romantic canon and never would have been. They would only ever be a bromance. Overall, joke trope can be extremely frustrating not least because it’s rooted in the American cultural idea that men cannot express physical affection for one another without risking being labeled “abnormal” (intricate rituals and all that). 

Additionally, in each of the bromances I mentioned above, at least one of the guys has a big romantic het love interest who’s another main cast member. That het relationship on these types of shows usually takes precedence for any and all romantic considerations, even if people prefer to watch the friendship banter (so, like, Shawn/Juliet being the popularly shipped slowburn and endgame in Psych, despite everyone knowing that Shawn’s most important relationship in the show is with Gus).

As far as queer coding is concerned, this is when enough is left unsaid or left as subtext to make the audience wonder if we’re actually seeing the full extent of a character’s identity and romantic life as it appears on screen. This was extremely prevalent when even having one lgbtq+ character on a show required a knock down drag out fight with the network (Jack from Dawson’s Creek, Willow from Buffy). Despite queer characters appearing more often in television now than in the 90’s, it’s still a fight, especially insofar as main characters (usually straight) versus side characters (more likely to be queer) are concerned. Also, most shows would rather a character simply identify as gay or straight, not bi. The bi part here is very important because while fans of popular m/m ships often see a male character as bi because of his queer coding, it’s rarely ever acknowledged by the show itself, despite authorial and/or acting hints (think Stiles from Teen Wolf, Dean from SPN, Buck from 911). Biphobia is a very real thing and it does affect the treatment of characters in show and by viewers. I’ll also just mention that Matthew Perry originally read and played Chandler as a closeted gay man, at least in the pilot, before changing that reading as the show went on- so an example of queer coding that was intended then written out rather than built upon (so the opposite of what the writers did or are doing with Dean and Buck).

Now, let’s fully consider my two favorite m/m ships that are popularly acknowledged as romantic by the fandom, despite not being canon (or having rocky canonhood) and as they relate to my rule of thumb that illustrates subtext breaking into text: Dean/Cas from Supernatural and Buck/Eddie from 911. Dean and Cas have the “romantic vibe that’s played for laughs” aspect of a bromance in Gamble’s s6, but after that their interactions are a lot less jokey and a lot more just plain romantic. Similarly with Buddie, s2’s “you two have an adorable son” is a lot more “haha” than s4 when a gay guy thinks Buck is hitting on him and turns him down. Buck was surprised but didn’t deny anything or try to bluster his way out of the scene, instead Eddie walks into frame. As far as queer coding, there are literally thousands of posts explaining how Dean is queer coded throughout the entirety of SPN and 911 has been building up something similar with Buck during its initial 4 season run. Honestly, if a show can run long enough, it’s refreshing to have a character who isn’t obviously lgbtq+ from the start get the opportunity to come out. It took 12 years, but Cas came out as gay in 15x18 and the length of having to wait for that reveal doesn’t invalidate the character’s journey in any way, rather it encourages people to understand that you can come out at any time in your life, whenever you’re ready. Love interest wise, Dean had one long term female love interest throughout the entire 15 year run of SPN and she was never a main character. Instead, his relationship with fellow main character Cas was carefully built up and tested, showing that irrefutably romantically coded relationship to be Dean’s priority. Buck was involved with a main female cast member throughout season 1 but since her departure he has had no serious love interest and instead built upon his found family- particularly as it exists with Eddie and Eddie’s son. Both these relationships read as romantic because that’s what they are. However, so long as there is resistance to letting these ships be canon or letting these characters be queer, the GA will only ever see them as bromantic substites and people will forever argue about their authenticity like trying to make a death bed love confession platonic.

Overall, Destiel and Buddie and other similar m/m ships are best described as husbands instead of “bros for life” because they’ve met the criteria of breaking out of subtext and into the show’s main story. Plots often hinge on the ups and downs of their relationship, they’re taken seriously and built up by the writers, and are obvious enough for the GA to notice and possibly ship, even if neither character is out.

[thanatophobia-thoughts]

It’s Thanksgiving in the States, which I’ve always found to be a weird holiday just because it’s never the same day every year, it’s always the 4th Thursday of November. Took a while to figure that out as a kid.

As gratitude practices are a good way to deal with death anxiety (even if they do make us think of all the things we’re going to lose), I’ve decided to include a list of all the things I am grateful for, even if some of the things could be improved.

1.      I’m grateful to have a full time job with benefits like a 401k w/matching, health insurance, and paid time off.

2.      I’m grateful to have an upcoming trip to Disney.

3.      I’m grateful my close family is still alive.

4.      I’m grateful to have two cats to give my love to, and that I was able to after the passing of Mashpotatoes.

5.      I’m grateful I ever had Mashpotatoes in my family.

6.      I’m grateful my brother is thriving in Japan.

7.      I’m grateful to have close relationships with both of my parents.

8.      I’m grateful for fake turkey so I can still feel like a part of Thanksgiving.

9.      I’m grateful my family has enough to feed itself, and have leftovers.

10.  I’m grateful for lattes. Just in general.

11.  I’m also grateful for decaf which lets me continue to enjoy lattes.

12.  Really I’m grateful for a lot of the dietary things and improvements, so everyone can enjoy all kinds of foods, even with modifications.

13.  I’m grateful for peonies.

14.  I’m grateful for scented candles.

15.  I’m grateful for my typing speed.

16.  I’m grateful for flavored things to make water tastier.

17.  I’m grateful for Starbucks holiday drinks.

18.  I’m grateful that this is a holiday from work.

19.  I’m grateful for video games, especially the FromSoftware games, but also Bethesda, and historically, Square games.

20.  I’m grateful for a concept of time.

21.  I’m grateful for books and our language traditions.

22.  I’m grateful for this hellsite, Tumblr.

23.  I’m grateful for music.

24.  I’m grateful for fanworks. Fanart, fanfiction, fan music, all of it. Thank you for keeping the fandom alive long after the “canon” works are done.

25.  I’m grateful for Star Wars.

26.  I’m grateful for film, movies, and really so much media.

27.  I’m also really grateful for improv comedy shows.

28.  Mocktails and other “virgin” drinks! I can feel cool.

29.  Cardigans and other not-quite jacket wear, I love them.

30.  Too large hoodies and pajamas.

31.  Fuzzy socks.

32.  Friends, I’m grateful for them, this shouldn’t be 32.

33.  The internet, and the friendships it has made possible, the connections it has made possible.

34.  “They were roommates” jokes.

35.  Memes in general.

36.  Inside jokes.

37.  Roller skating rinks and finding new communities outside of school and work.

38.  Smiles from friends, and strangers

39.  Random acts of kindness

40.  Random conversations in the store with a stranger over something – not always thankful, but usually.

41.  The past

42.  The future

43.  The weird cycle where the earth makes use of most everything through life and death.

44.  Compilations of information. I have an entire dictionary of Angel lore, and I collection other random lore on mythological and legendary creatures.

45.  Compilations of stories, like Greek Myths or all the Oz stories.

46.  Cruelty-Free products; fuck yeah.

47.  Tofucken Vegan Lady I get to watch make a no-meat version of the Toducken.

48.  Winter mornings where the snow is falling but you have nowhere to go, so you can stay warm and have a hot beverage.

49.  Hot chocolate and whipped cream.

50.  The Red Angry Bird.

51.  Gif Makers. Ya’ll are MVPs.

52.  Doll maker sites – like where you can use them to design characters. Love it.

53.  Therapy.

54.  Anything that makes life easier in a generally non-harmful way. I know pills and medicines have side-effects, same with vaccines, but I’m so grateful to them.

55.  Laptops. Bruh, I have been liberated by laptops over desktop computers.

56.  Smart Phones. I avoided it forever for some stupid reason.

57.  Gaming Consoles

58.  VR Gaming. One day I’ll own Beat Saber, my precious.

59.  Dance Games.

60.  LoTR and Star Wars Prequel Memes, ya’ll deserve a special shout out.

61.  The blue heron that shows up at the pond at my job.

Honestly, I could probably continue, but I think this is good to show many large, small, and in-between things I have to be thankful for. Things I will miss when I die. I’m glad to have things I have loved and enjoyed in this life. Knowing there are more, is also something I’m glad for, even if I’m not listing it all, and certainly couldn’t think of it all.

By making the list, I know more will keep popping into my head through the day – like running, hot water, when I go to take a shower. And all the soaps! Yes, it is a long list.

[beni-draw-ikemen-please]

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold

Kintsugi ~ Repairing with Gold  ◆ Ikemen Vampire Fanfiction ◆

CHAPTER 1 - DON’T TELL ANYONE

Words: 2,063

TW: Angst and Hurt ◆ References to Depression ◆ Mental Instability ◆ Mental Health Issues ◆ Implied/Referenced Suicide ◆ Suicidal Thoughts ◆ Graphic Depictions of Sex/Intercourse ◆ Vaginal Sex/Fingering ◆ Rough Sex ◆ Non-con

Pairings: M/F  Leonardo Da Vinci x Seiya Amanogawa [OC] / Comte de Saint-Germain x Seiya Amanogawa [OC]

Chapter Index [ 1 ]  [ 2 ]  [ 3 ] 

                                 ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

A/N: This is a work of fiction. This is fan fiction for Ikemen Vampire, character designs are owned by Cybird. My story however, features my own OC/MC Seiya Amanogawa who is from Modern Japan/Europe, who travelled to the Louvre for inspiration.

Seiya is female so I will be using she/her as her pronouns. I will also be describing her accordingly. I designed Seiya and she is my Original Character. If you don't like OC+Canon fanfiction, this might not be the fic for you.

                                        KINTSUGI - CHAPTER 1 

                                              Don’t tell anyone

                                  ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

His golden locks fell beautifully in place, like a masterpiece set within the confines of an ornate golden frame. Right there, in the middle of the museum. The spotlight is carefully placed to highlight the gold that accentuated the piece. And there, in front of it all, with just the right amount of distance, is a lone bench. 

That’s how Seiya saw him. A figure to be admired from afar. A treasure, so valuable and so bright, she steps back, almost instinctively, it made her feel smaller and smaller. 

She would open her leather-bound book. And very carefully, she would write short letters. They weren’t really addressed to anyone in particular. Maybe they were addressed to her future self, who knows? But she wrote them, every single day. It wasn’t her journal either - no - it was far more complex than that.

 Seiya knew in her heart, she wouldn’t be able to bear it, if he ever found out. How much she loved sitting just by the balcony of Vincent’s room during afternoon tea time, so she has the perfect view of the his hands as he gracefully pours tea into the day’s chosen china. 

Viridian, with golden leaves and soft speckles of purple, almost white. She knew they were one of his favourites. Wedgewood. She took mental notes every time Sebastian gave her a pointer not to miss, especially when it came to afternoon tea. 

She would duck her head, ever so slightly, and she would catch a glimpse of his lips, almost looking like they were kissing the fine things and smiling, so perfectly, complimenting the blend Sebastian had carefully prepared. 

It was one of her guilty pleasures. And, it was only after she had shown Vincent what she really drew in her sketchbook that the angel allowed her to use his balcony. 

Vincent noticed her when she first arrived. She was this scared, trembling frail little creature, and he wanted to make her feel more at home. Which turned out easier than expected. She spoke modern Dutch, at the very least the sounds were similar to the older variant. Sometimes, Seiya would hear him speak words that made her head tilt in confusion. But she enjoyed his company. And Vincent felt the same. 

They would often draw together. Vincent with his easel and brushes, and his apron that’s stubbornly stained with paint, and her with ink and paper. She told him how she hated it when her hands stained of charcoal, or anything, so she stuck with inks. She would often grumble, how she missed modern pens and this thing called a brush pen. And Vincent wondered about it often. 

They threw the case towards the makers of the mansion, first, Isaac - who felt comfortable around her, enough to actually draw and fiddle with objects around so vulnerably. Isaac asked for more time, maybe even more materials to create different prototypes. Then, the trio approached Leonardo. And they were able to make something similar to the modern brush pen in about a week’s time. 

And so she drew more and more and more with the brush pen. Funny how she thought, she was using another man’s present to draw another man. And those two men happened to be best of friends. For over a century. Maybe, even more. 

Seiya kept her notebook to herself. The red leather stood out, so she would often wrap it with a soft lace handkerchief that was too big to be folded and tucked into her pocket. She would keep it in her tray whenever she assembled the residents’ meals or changed sheets. Her notebook never leaves her sight. 

Vincent grew curiouser and curiouser every time he would catch a glimpse of the red leather peeking through the black lace. For someone who looked like her, her choice of colour would almost be too bold for a maiden in 19th century Paris. Always black, she would say. Or, if black wasn’t an option, wine red. Or the darkest violet possible.

Vincent remembered the first time he accompanied her to shop for a new dress with Leonardo. They picked up a white dress, made from the finest leavers lace, that she wore with a frown on her face. She covered herself with her arms and asked to change immediately. 

“It’s too bright for me,” she said, and Vincent couldn’t make out if she softly cursed in Dutch, or in Japanese, or a mixture of the two. She would, however, hum in satisfaction whenever she saw black velvet chokers, or black leather gloves, and thinking of that contrast made him smile. 

He noticed how intently she would spend on each of her drawings. And Vincent would hear the silent flicks of her brush. It would be a long steady stroke for a while, and then flicks of texture. And then she would stop, and sigh, wait for the ink to dry and she would close her sketchbook ever so quietly. 

“What are you drawing, Seiya?” he wouldn’t be so bold as to peek over her shoulder as she worked, unlike how Arthur had attempted so many times. Seiya didn’t say much and it was rare to hear her raise her voice even just for a bit, but when it came to her sketchbook, she was vocal and protective. Arthur attempted many times to uncover the mystery of that book, but Seiya never let anyone, not even Vincent take a peek inside. 

Maybe it’s her diary? He thought about this many times. 

Maybe it’s some sort of visual diary where she draws her feelings instead of writing them down. 

Thinking about it like that, Vincent stopped asking her and instead, just enjoyed the tranquility and meditative togetherness of their afternoon painting sessions.

 The only person he thought knew about the notebook’s contents would be Leonardo. They spend an awful lot of time together, after all. Comte had assigned the man to be Seiya’s caretaker, and Leonardo took that duty to heart, sometimes too seriously. 

Sometimes, during their drawing afternoons, Leonardo would suddenly just pop out of nowhere, grab her notebook and throw it in the grass. The first time he did that, Vincent was so shocked his hands stopped painting, his paintbrush falling on the grass unnoticed. 

There was only the sound of the wind, and the shifting of fabric as Seiya smoothed her skirt and walked towards her notebook. She would have a pained expression on her face, and she would wipe her book clean with the hem of her skirt. And Leonardo would just stand there, puffing his cigarrillo in, and blowing it all out with a heavy sigh. 

“Fanculo,” she whispered. And Vincent froze. His neck slowly guided his eyes toward Leonardo, who now looked more annoyed than when he first walked in. 

Vincent usually did not know how to respond to situations like these. Their silence made it impossible for him to intervene. Leonardo was not violent, no, and he wasn’t the type to insult women. But Seiya didn’t appreciate it when someone ordered her around. 

Dealing with Theo at first proved to be one of the hurdles she had to overcome before making the mansion her home, too. Vincent would always remember the face she made when Theo called her a ‘hondje’. And the long road it took for them to actually make an effort to sit down, have an actual conversation and eventually get to know each other. 

But with Leonardo, it was something different. 

Seiya was composed, and usually calm - at least Vincent thought so - he always felt relaxed whenever they were together. Seiya would often say something and he would apologise for not listening carefully to what she had to say. In the end though, they both agreed that it was more that she spoke too softly, rather than him spacing out and not listening. 

Vincent knew that feeling too well. And maybe, it was one of the reasons why they enjoyed each other’s company. Soft souls, his little brother called them. 

But with Leonardo, it was different. 

Seiya acted more like a child around him. She would pout, call him names and he would let her. And then they would retreat to his room. Sometimes the library. Sometimes, her room, very late into the night. 

“I told you. You should stop these silly doodles,” When Leonardo finally spoke, it sounded more like a request than actual lecturing. Seiya would look away, and she would hold her dear treasure closer to her chest. 

Vincent, without a word, held out his hands to both of them, as if trying to stop the eruption that was about to happen. Seiya would whisper, that it was none of his business. That made Vincent realise that her notebook was something more valuable than they all deem it to be. And that it was very personal. And, for whatever reason and content it held, Leonardo was against it. 

He hated it. Vincent could see it. Enough for him to go out of his way to get it off her hands and into the dirt. 

This would happen every now and then, and oddly enough, Vincent knew he should get used to it. 

That evening, Vincent brought her a pot of flowers. Hoping she would calm down. Vincent knew his friend did not like cut flowers so whenever he wanted to cheer her up, he would pick a small pot from their growing collection, and walk it to her room. 

That day, he could remember she argued with Leonardo again. She was upset that he did what he did during their good days. Vincent felt great earlier in the day and wanted to paint, and she too, felt inspiration course through her hands. And Leonardo just shattered that moment. 

Vincent frowned a bit as he leaned against the wall a little further away from the door of Seiya’s room. He could now understand why she was so upset and his heart ached for her. But what he didn’t understand was why Leonardo hated her notebook. Did he dislike that she drew? He couldn’t put his mind around it. 

Seiya stormed out, and ran to the opposite direction in tears. After a while, he found her behind the lush greens of the Gazebo. Almost how a little kid would hide themselves after a fight after an afternoon at the sandbox. He remembered how quietly she cried. And how warm her hand was when he helped her out of the grass. 

They sat underneath the stars, a bench near the gate of the mansion. And there, she showed him. He didn’t really say anything, no, Vincent just sat with her. Hoping his presence would alleviate the stress and agitation she felt. Seiya felt like she needed to tell Vincent what was happening. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Her voice was always soft, like a silent prayer you hear inside a church. You should make out the words, but they would always sound like some foreign incantation made to sound familiar.

Vincent would often lean in and apologise. Asking her to repeat herself one more time, for his sake. Seiya would chuckle a bit and she would take a deep breath and would speak a little louder. 

“Do you dislike Leonardo?” He asked her one time. And she looked at him with the strangest expression on her face. It was as if it was obvious that she did, but she also looked like she was shocked to hear him ask this question. It was hard for Vincent to understand her, most of the time. 

Seiya did not say anything, but she gave him her notebook. Vincent’s eyes widened with interest and curiosity. He was excited and Seiya chuckled when she saw the eagerness in his blue eyes. 

“Are you sure?” He asked just to be sure. It was dark, but he could still see the pink on Seiya’s cheeks. Her hair looked like starlight illuminating her from the nipping dark of dusk. 

Vincent never felt like this before. The build up curiosity all stemming from the enigma that was her notebook, made the first look inside the pages of this mysterious book all the more exciting. He felt like a pirate, opening the treasure chest, seeing the valuable contents for the very first time. 

And then, he stopped. 

“You can’t tell anyone. Please?” 

-To be continued-

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 67

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 67: Planning a Wedding

This was the first time in a while that you had woken up completely alone. You were thankful that the sleeping pill put you to sleep because if it didn’t you were pretty sure that falling asleep would have been hard since Kylo wasn’t wrapped around you. The bed felt empty, but you weren’t alone for long. Adlez and Olivia-Rose were there a few minutes after you became conscious.  

You went about your usual morning routine of getting dressed, having breakfast, learning your schedule, and so on. Somehow it all felt rather monotonous. This repeated for the first few days until you were informed that the dressmaker would be arriving to take your measurements and to design your dress.

You were expecting to meet a man but were surprised to see a rather older looking woman greeting you, “Good morning Lady Ren, I am here to design your ceremony gown.” Her voice was that characteristically sweet old lady voice that always comforted you.  

“It is nice to meet you, I trust my lady-in-waiting sent you some of the designs we need to beat. This is a rather important dress and I would like to get it right.” No, you had to get right, and she knew that.

“Of course, the dresses she sent over were some of the best ones worn by Queen Padme Amidala . Are they something you would like to emulate or are they just something to compare to?” You watched as her kind gray eyes watched your face, they were rather comforting.

“Something to compare to, I also believe she sent over some dresses from my planet as well, some dresses that royalty have worn .” You had seen some of the royal wedding dresses splashed across tabloids at the supermarkets. You knew people always loved them, and you had to admit that they were rather pretty.

“Yes, the main theme from those dresses that I could see were white lace gowns that were modest and featured long trains. Is this something you would like to start with?” She seemed to read you very well, in many ways she seemed like another person you could trust.

“Yes, I want a white dress as it is traditional where I come from. But I would like to include something from Naboo if possible.” You had seen the dresses Adlez had sent over, none of them were really your taste, but you knew Kylo’s grandmother was famous for her fashion sense. And he had a deep devotion to his grandfather, so you wanted to honor his wife.

“We could include some specialty embroidery or lace, Naboo is famous for it unless you would like to have a stuffed bodice?” You did not want the horrid puffy sleeves of her dresses, nor did you want the rather elaborate hairstyles she favored.

“No embroidery or lace will be fine. I am not a fan of large puffy sleeves. I sort of want something sleek and timeless. Something that will be spoken about for millennia.” You hoped the galactic fashion trends were similar to Earth’s in that some things were considered timeless.

“May I ask where the ceremony is being held?” She started to take out her sketchbook and jot down some notes.

“The castle on Mustafar,” you stood by your agreement to have it there, even if a small part of you wished you could have it back on Earth.

“Ah, so I must make you stand out from the architecture. It features a lot of harsh lines and symmetry. And you must stand apart but yet together with the Supreme Leader. I trust the Supreme Leader will have something special made by one of the First Order tailors.”

She started sketching design after design, eventually; you settled on one. Something that would make you look feminine and delicate against the architecture, but yet regal and powerful. It would feature lace from Naboo, and a long train and veil combo that would bring in the royalty vibes you were hoping for. She took the final design and informed you she would be back in a few days with the dress.

All the excitement of designing a wedding dress dissipated after a bit. You were then left to your regular routine of learning, going to meetings, and meeting with your staff.

Kylo had been gone five days before you heard from him. He had yet to make any real headway in finding the scavenger.

“I’ve missed you,” you said as you saw his face appear on the holocall.  

“I’ve missed you too, Kitten.” Gods how you missed his voice. You hoped all of this would end soon because you couldn’t take it for much longer.  

“Are you lonely without me?” If he asked you that question back you would beg him to come home. But he didn’t.

“Terribly, the bed is cold, I miss my morning kisses. My nightly showers are even worse, as there is no beautiful woman to climb into bed with afterward.” He gave you a wink that had you blushing all over. You were glad the holocall gave you a blue cast as you were sure he would tease you about it. “As much as my knights are my brothers, they are no replacement for you. I also don’t think Ushar and Cardo would appreciate playing with me like you do, Kitten.” Now you were fully beat red. “Although Cardo does seem lonely himself. Maybe you could talk to that lady-in-waiting of yours to message him, to cheer him up?”

Of course, Adlez was up to shenanigans when you weren’t with her. “I know nothing of their relationship. If he is feeling lonely, then he can message her himself. “You truly didn’t know anything, and you kinda preferred it that way.

You heard a chuckle come from his deep resonating chest, only muffled by the audio of the holocall, “You are lucky you don’t hear their talks about her then. I am afraid your lady-in-waiting might tarnish my knights.”

“Hey now, she is the one you picked for me. I think she’s just whipping them into shape.” He did pick her out for you, a decision he should probably regret.  

“Literally,” he said with a smirk. You could see the playful water swirl in his cauldron eyes. Eyes that you really wanted to drown in.

“I did not need to know that.” Now the image of Adlez with a riding crop popped into your head, an image that would scar you presumably for life.  

“Well, Kitten, it might be something we can experiment with too once I get back.” And for the first time since you’ve met him, he actually winked at you. You had no idea where this truly flirty side was coming from, but you hoped it didn’t leave.

Your face was now completely on fire. In an attempt to change the subject, “How are you advancing on your mission?”

His face turned into a scowl. “She has been difficult to find, It hasn’t been easy. Once Rey is dead, my mother will hand herself over quietly. But for now, I have to go, we will be dropping out of hyperspace in a few minutes and we will be searching the planets in this system.”

“Where are you off to again?” You haven’t heard directly from him in the last few days, but you have been receiving updates. But you had still yet to learn about the galaxy and its many planets.

“Pasaana, we have a lead that she may be headed there. I will call you when I can.” You could hear some of the knights moving around in the back of the call. You hoped he would just finish what he needed to do soon so he could come back to you.

“Return to me in one piece, please.” If he got hurt or killed, you wouldn’t know how to handle yourself.

“I will.” You watched as his image faded from in front of you. The call ended. And you were alone once more. Alone to face the next few days by yourself.

In the rush of being able to talk to him again, to see him. You had completely forgotten about the need to chew him out for not actually proposing to you. To just leave you in the hands of the rest of the First Order to plan a wedding. But you missed him, you were lonely.

The last few days you had just been eating dinner by yourself. You knew Adlez was eating with the knights and that Olivia-Rose and Mitaka were probably together. All in all, you felt rather more alone. Everyone around you seemed to have a life outside your chambers. Not that you didn’t, but you hadn’t the true freedom of being able to walk the halls or to meet new people to just be friends with.

You had been keeping tabs on your friends back home on Earth. Hayden and Carter both seemed to be doing fine. Hayden had applied for the ‘trooper corps that would be stationed on Earth and Carter seemed to be excelling at work. You knew that calling them wouldn’t be the same as before all this happened. All of you had changed. You dreaded knowing what they were like after the education had fully set in. You were different to but in ways you could not describe. For better or worse you were a different woman than when you first met Kylo. You were becoming more like him every day, and it should bother you, but right now it comforted you. He was gone but was still with you at the same time.

You also did not want to call your parents or siblings. Your parents had been disrespectful to you before you left. You wondered if they would attend the ceremony, your wedding. Or if they would just watch the broadcast like every other First Order citizen. Hux would know, but you didn’t really care either way. Kylo was your family now, and maybe one day you would make one with him. In many ways, Olivia-Rose, Adlez, Mitaka, Hux, Phasma, the Knights of Ren, and your staff were your family. But Kylo was home, and no one could take that away from you. Not Rey, not his mother, no one.

You got yourself ready for bed, as you had been for the last few nights. The only person who saw you was the doctor as he administered your sleeping pill. You took less time to get ready as really; you had no one to get ready for. There was no Kylo to warm the bed or to wake you up. It was just you.

Once the doctor left after you received your dose you rolled over to Kylo’s side of the bed. His pillow still smelled like him and it helped ease the loneliness as the blackness of sleep took over. No dreams to disturb you.

The next few days were as monotonous as ever. The same routine day in and day out, until the general informed you that the ship had arrived at Mustafar two days ago but that they were having trouble preparing the castle.

“So this isn’t a First Order controlled planet?” You assumed it was when it was suggested in the first place.

“It technically isn’t but we haven’t had a problem here in the past, but I suppose that might have to do with the Supreme Leader’s presence at the time,” responded Hux. You were joined by all your staff as you were planning more details for the ceremony.

“So they will continue to be hostile, and the place where my wedding is supposed to happen will be in ruin?” Just what you needed. Your match was out trying to kill someone to protect you, but you were sent off to a battlefield where you were supposed to get married and be crowned Empress.

“Well, the castle isn’t necessarily in the best of conditions in the first place,” said Captain Mitaka.  

“Then why was it recommended?” You had yet to receive any information on your wedding venue, really. You had no idea what it looked like, not that you could really change it now.

“Because it was Lord Vader’s personal residence and his influence on the Supreme Leader’s life has been significant. He holds his grandfather and his legacy in high regard,” responded Hux. You knew the answer but were just frustrated at the current situation. Nothing felt like it was going to plan.  

“So who is attacking the ground troops?” No one had told you who, just that they were being attacked.

“Alazmec of Winsit, Sith cultists. They believe Lord Vader to be a deity,” said Hux.  

A lightbulb clicked in your brain. “Do they know that the Supreme Leader is a direct descendant of Darth Vader? And that he would like to have a wedding at his grandfather’s castle?”

“No, they do not,” said Mitaka.

Why is it that you occasionally felt like the smartest person in the room? “Can we reason with them, inform them of this?”

“We have tried, the troops we have sent have been defeated.” Hux was starting to look easily frustrated. You had no idea how many people they had sent down or how many of the cultists there were, but surely this couldn’t keep on going when you had a wedding to plan.

You had made a decision. “I shall go reason with them.”

“I don’t think that is a good idea. I don’t believe the Supreme Leader would approve of you putting yourself in harm’s way,” said Hux.

“Is the Supreme Leader here?” You have had enough.

“No,” said Mitaka. And this is why he was one of your favorites.  

“Exactly and did he give explicit orders to keep me from going to the planet’s surface?” You were determined to get this whole thing over with.

“No, m’lady,” said Hux. You could tell that he knew he was going to regret saying that.  

“Then I am going down to the planet to reason with them. I will have the knights and Captain Phasma with me. The only way I could be safer is if the Supreme Leader was here himself, but then again if he was we wouldn’t have this problem.” You were starting to understand how a Bridezilla was formed but was it really that unreasonable to get your ceremony space in order? You had promised that you would have your wedding on Mustafar and come hell or high water, you were going to have it there. After all, you were going to be the Empress of the entire galaxy one day, so you should have a wedding to remember.

[spooky-mister]

Intervention - Kevin x Ian

Howdy howdy.

H e y - as well as making bad art, I also write the bad writes.

Aka, I wrote a thing.

This is just a personal canon divergence of what I think would have happened if Kevin had intervened with Ian’s death at the end of the movie. 

Apologies if I write them out of character, some of their interactions are based off personal interpretation of the characters and I’ve also just never written any FD3 fan fiction before lmao.

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Intervention

Fandom: Final Destination 3

Paring: Kevin Fischer x Ian McKinley

Word Count: 2,582

Plot: Canon divergence. An imagined scenario where Kevin intervenes with Ian’s death and the resulting aftermath.

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"It's you, Wendy! You're dead!"

Time seemed to sedate to a sticky halt as Kevin registered what was happening. The fresh, uneasy swaying of the McKinley cherry picker. The sudden yet deliberate silence of the fireworks behind. The same realisation edging onto Ian's face at the mechanic strain creaking behind him. Death had skipped Wendy. Ian was going to die.

Maybe he deserved it. The thought sickened him. Ian was just a kid like the rest of them - barely 18. He shouldn't wish death on a kid. A kid who had just lost his girlfriend. Just like him. Shit, Ian was just as scared as the rest of them. He liked to forget that Ian was, in fact, human.

Well, this was it. He was going to die for Ian fucking McKinley.

He felt clumps of grass and mud kick out from under his shoes as he ran, screams from Wendy and Julie falling deaf on his ears as he propelled himself towards Ian. He grasped forward, hands catching on the arms of Ian's red sweater as he pushed him down with his full body weight. He fell down on top of the smaller teen, head hitting hard against Ian's. The momentary sting felt inconsequential as the arm of the cherry picker embedded itself deep into the soft ground inches from their legs.

Kevin's shocked adrenaline didn't take long to morph into anger.

"What the fuck, McKinley!?" Kevin yelled, propping himself up to stare down at Ian's face. He was barely looking at him, blinded in frustration as he moved to try and get up. His head rang softly at the impact of their fall. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to get us killed? You said you believed us now - are you psychotic or just a moron? You-"

He cut himself off as a noise broke through his rage. In all four of his years at McKinley High School, Kevin had never seen Ian McKinley cry. He didn't think he was capable. But here he was, burying his face into the top of his hoodie and biting back his lips to hold in sobs. Any remnants of anger died on arrival as Kevin felt himself climbing up off of Ian and onto the grass beside him. He reached a hand to Ian but Ian slapped it away, sniffing as he slowly raised to a hunched sitting position.

"Hey," Kevin soothed as soon as he regained his voice. His malice had drained completely, focus switching onto calming Ian. He watched as Ian furiously scrubbed the end of his sleeve at his tears, finding more success in smearing his eyeliner across his skin than he did drying his eyes. "Just... Take a breath. Okay, man? You're good."

Kevin could see Ian choking back what could have been a maelstrom of bitter insults and mockery but Ian couldn't seem to find his voice, resolving to shove Kevin further away instead. Kevin caught his balance, resting one hand in the grass as he turned his attention to their surroundings. He noticed two security personnel and one medic from the first aid tent making their way through the crowd towards them and sighed in quiet relief. Maybe they could talk sense into Ian - calm him down at least. He got to his feet slowly, pain from where the horse had previously kicked him sparking in his torso as he waved them over before glancing back down to Ian curled up on the grass. He looked so small. Almost fragile. Guilt tore and clawed at Kevin from his gut to his throat. He knew the pain he saw reflected in Ian's face. He'd been there too.

Before he could say another word to Ian - any of the words he wished he had heard after losing Carrie - security shouldered their way past him to crouch beside Ian. Kevin watched as they flooded Ian with questions, shining lights into his unresponsive eyes and trying to force him to his feet. He wanted to shout for them to give Ian some space but he couldn't bring himself to say anything, glancing back at the feeling of Wendy's hand tentative on his shoulder. He could talk to Ian later. Right now, his chest and abdomen throbbed and his head was fuzzy with adrenaline. He relented, allowing the girls to lead him towards the first aid tent with one last look back.

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

Kevin had been hunched over in the first aid tent for what felt like hours when security finally led Ian in through the pegged-back curtains.

Wendy had gone with Julie in an ambulance en route to the hospital to take her to the accident and emergency clinic - something about an underlying heart condition which had sounded way too intense for Kevin to question. He didn't mind being by himself too much. The medics were nice enough, music played out of a small, beaten stereo and the pack of ice they had given him felt good against his tender bruising. Still, the illusion that things had calmed to normality was torn from Kevin when the tear-stained, pallid face of Ian McKinley was brought in front of him. An official McKinley police officer had joined the Tricentennial security team but they barely glanced in Kevin's direction. Perhaps he would be questioned once security was dealt with.

As soon as a member of security had settled Ian down into one of the fold-out plastic chairs, the officer invited the personnel to talk outside - leaving the boys alone. Kevin trained his eyes on the ground before letting them flicker up to scan Ian's face. The kid looked exhausted. He sighed quietly before deciding to speak.

"How are you feeling?" It was as good of a place to start as any other. The question hung in the dead air between them, Kevin receiving little more than an uncomfortable twitch in response. He decided to try again. "...Look, you can talk to me. Got that? We're all going through this, McKinley. It's no excuse to go crazy on us."

"What, we're all gonna sit around in some kind of group therapy?" Ian mumbled, still avoiding eye contact. His voice was gravelly and hoarse from the strain of his previous yelling and his fresh tears. "Hold hands and talk about our feelings? Sounds fucking peachy."

Kevin narrowed his eyes at Ian's comment, doing his best to keep his cool. Ian had always been difficult to talk to. Perhaps that was why they stopped in the first place. He took a deep breath before speaking again, keeping his voice as non-threatening as possible. "I lost my girlfriend too." He noticed as Ian flinched slightly at the comment. "Carrie, remember? I..." He faltered, trailing off. "...So I know how you feel."

Ian's gaze finally settled on Kevin, his dark eyes set cold and impenetrable. "Carrie died," He acknowledged, keeping his voice low. "And we're all very sorry about that, but I don't need the wise words of Kevin Fischer to make me feel better. The last thing I want right now to to get patronised by some dumb jock."

Kevin bristled at the childish insult but did his best to not let it show. Ian was hurt and he had to sympathise with that if they were going to get anywhere. "I know more than you think," Kevin reasoned, chipping back the rising edge in his voice. "You might be surprised."

"You used to be smart," Ian reasoned, leaning back on his plastic chair and letting his eyes scan over Kevin's face and body with a sniff. "Back when you'd bother to talk to me once in a while, but now? You're a shadow of that. You're just like the rest of them - a high school stereotype."

Kevin held back the urge to roll his eyes at the label, expression hardening the more Ian tested his patience. "I stopped talking to you because of, well, this." He motioned a hand towards Ian, gesturing at his entire body vaguely. He noticed Ian raise an eyebrow and continued, repressing the venom in his voice. "You want a high school stereotype, McKinley? Look in the mirror. All this holier-than-thou bullshit and you wonder why you never made more than one friend?" Kevin let the words hang in the air for a moment before looking down and adding a quiet "I'm sorry."

Ian scrolled through an array of loaded comebacks in his head before sighing and closing his eyes. This wasn't going to make him feel better. "You could have died back there," He muttered, opting to change the subject. "You could have just let it crush me if you hate me so much."

"I don't hate you," Kevin correctly gently, looking back to Ian with sad eyes. "I know you're hurting. We've all lost people and I didn't want to lose anyone else -" He managed a small ghost of a smile as he spoke. "- even if it is you." Kevin's smile grew when Ian released a quiet snort of a laugh, the goth's pale lips twitching slightly. Smiling was a good look for Ian. Not the condescending, malicious smirk he usually wore, but a real and comfortable smile.

Kevin leaned forward as best as he could and patted a hand firmly on Ian's shoulder. Ian tensed, his smile falling again as he looked over Kevin's warm features. A true American boy next door - no wonder the girls all wanted him. He faltered before speaking again, quieter this time. "So what do we do now?"

"Now," Kevin started, pulling his hand back. "Assuming that Death just skipped you, it'll be going after Julie again. So, we're safe for now; I'm after Julie and you're after Wendy." Kevin's words failed him as he held back from saying what his gut urged him to. This was Ian McKinley. As if he was concerned enough to take it this far. Then again, Ian had proclaimed his new found belief in Death's design himself. Perhaps this wouldn't sound so ridiculous. "...Until then, I think it would be a good idea to stay close together. Or at least keep in touch."

Ian hesitated at the offer, turning it over in his mind. It seemed logical enough; keeping together would act as an efficient warning system as well as increasing probability of death prevention. Still, a part of his brain held back from agreeing so easily. This was Kevin he was talking to - the source of so much contempt and confusion set in his brain from years of secret, self-hated admiration. Could he live with that? Did he want to live with that? The idea made him nauseous but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Before he could figure his feelings out in their entirety, he found himself nodding slowly.

"Yeah. It is a good idea."

Any remaining doubts he had were stripped momentarily when Kevin smiled at his response. He could feel the involuntary swell of his own smile in return. Maybe they would be okay.

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Five months after the McKinley Tricentennial, Ian McKinley and Kevin Fischer were exclusively dating. They had moved out of their family homes together at their first opportunity in favour of a shared apartment on the outskirts of McKinley. Ian had been eager to leave the town altogether but that kind of move would have cost them money they just didn't have yet, so the apartment was a steady compromise. With the pair of them taking independent gap years to work and get their affairs in order, leaving town was not the distant dream it had been at the start of their endeavour. Still, they had to keep money aside to treat themselves once in a while, and that's just what they were doing as they waited hand-in-hand for a subway train to take them to Oswald.

It had been Kevin's turn to decide this month's date night and he'd been adamant that they travelled to check out the game at the other end of the line. While he was far from a mainstream sports fan, Ian had given in to the request. If it really made Kevin that happy, Ian could sit through a couple of hours of yelling, chanting and uncomfortable seating. He'd get the power to choose next month.

Kevin turned to face Ian when the subway pulled up with a sharp screeching against its wheels. His mouth relaxed into an easy smile and he pressed a gentle kiss to Ian's temple as the doors of the train slid open with a soft ding. Ian returned the smile before glancing around and leading Kevin quickly onto the train. Ian's eyes impulsively glued onto the train map above them on entrance, tracking the red line across from McKinley to Oswald.

"It's the last stop," Kevin spoke as he stepped up beside Ian, squeezing his hand gently. He glanced across to his boyfriend and his smile morphed into a teasing smirk. "It's not exactly an easy stop to miss."

Ian rolled his eyes playfully as Kevin held back a breathy laugh at his own hilarious wit, Ian shoving the taller boy gently. "Yeah, okay. Let's find a seat before they're all taken. It's a pretty long ride." He took Kevin's arm around his shoulders as an agreement, leading Kevin towards the corner of the car where they hopefully wouldn't get disturbed by jacked-up, intoxicated sports fans. Kevin settled down first, drawing Ian beside him and slipping an arm around his boyfriend's waist. Ian turned his head toward Kevin to find Kevin already watching him, content. Ian's faint smile split into a more distinct grin as he leaned forward, catching Kevin's lips in his own. The further they got to Oswald, the more dangerous this would get. He'd make the most of this public affection while he could.

It was, in fact, a long ride towards Oswald, and the train packed people like sardines the closer they got. Sitting further apart now but still holding hands, Kevin and Ian didn't talk. They were sharing a pair of white, plastic earphones, the faint stereo sound of Nine Inch Nails combating a busker making his way down the car with an acoustic guitar. Ian didn't mind too much - there were worse situations to be in, even if Turn Around, Look At Me by The Vogues didn't mix seamlessly with The Hand That Feeds. Ian let his attention drift around the train's occupants while Kevin distracted himself by leafing through their game tickets and subway passes. They were only a couple of stops away from Oswald - Booth Street acting as their buffer - and then they could slip back into their normality again.

While pleasant ideas for the rest of their evening floated through Ian's head, his eyes caught sight of something - someone - who pulled his thoughts back to reality in a sickening mental whiplash.

Wendy Christensen.

The logic in him knew that he was being ridiculous. He was acting as if Wendy was nothing more than a bad omen. A superstition. Hell, shouldn't he be happy to see an old classmate no matter the circumstances? He should. But that just made the sickening dread settling into every part of his body all the more disconcerting. He found himself squeezing Kevin's hand even tighter as train 081 pulled up towards Booth Street, the fuzzy noise of the subway intercom cutting through his trepidation.

"This is Booth Street. Next stop is Oswald - end of the line. Next stop is the end of the line."

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That’s it-

This was just poorly written, self-indulgent trash but I hope you managed to enjoy it lmao

also yes, when Kevin said “It’s the last stop”, I had to fight with everything I had not to write “It’s the final destination” because I’m a waste of brain cells

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: So Little Time

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Switchfoot: On Fire and I-Human: Give All Of Yourself

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-graphic depictions of sexual acts between two consenting adults, and emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Illeria always looked beautiful to him. 

  It was never a question of finding the right angle, or seeing the good through the mediocre. To Destrier, she just... was . It was as if it radiated from her, permeated her entire being. 

  She was, is, would always be lovely. 

  Were he not already serving his masters, both earthly and cosmic, she would be his divinity. Her hands, her smiles, her body...she was so tender with him, so strong when she had to be; an intoxicating duality that would not cease to awe him in its ever-present splendor. 

  Illeria, always waiting for him at the door as he left in the early hours for yet another forum with the King's Chosen, and he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would willingly spend her time with someone who could offer her so very little.

  When the choice was finally made that they must deal with the other fiendish abomination, the other lich that had encroached and sought to bring such destruction to the kingdom, both King Jonathan and Leofore counseled for expedience. The King's Chosen were to depart on the day after the 'morrow.

  There was always so little time to spend with his beloved, but Destrier bore that burden gladly. It was a small price to pay to keep her, to keep the kingdom safe. 

  Their kisses had grown steadily hungrier as of late, the two of them lingering longer and longer in the mornings. Destrier, for all of Illeria's prompting, had yet to join her in her bed in the evenings, the knight choosing instead to sprawl out across the warm hearth. 

  Not for lack of interest did he avoid her, gods no! But instead, out of an odd fear. He was a man so used to destruction, able to summon fire with a mere thought, able to strike down foes four times his size. 

  He was a man raised rough. War was all he knew, was all he had ever known. This...

  Gods, he ached to hold her, to truly touch her and know her, but he feared that his clumsy, indelicate hands would leave some mark , some grotesque stain. If he harmed her, he would never forgive himself.

  So he battled his urges, reasoning that it was far more than he deserved to even just kiss her. If that was all she wanted from him, he would be content with that.

  /x\

  His sigh sounded like it came from the earth itself and Illeria looked up to see her beloved Destrier standing in the doorway, his fingers grazing the crest above the lintel. His eyes were fixed on the fire that crackled in the common room's hearth, their brown depths equal amounts thoughtful and wistful. For being a man who wasn't particularly renowned for his intelligence, Destrier Revel certainly seemed to do a lot of thinking .

  "I come bearing news that is good, for all that it makes my heart heavy." The knight stated after a moment, his eyes flicking to her own and warming almost immediately.

  A blind man could have picked up on the knight's shyness around her years ago, Destrier's stammering the most endearing part of the whole debacle. That he had finally managed to overcome such a hurdle was a true indicator of how devastating the struggle with Leofore must have been. 

  In spite of that progress though, Destrier still seemed hesitant to go any further than his tender, drawn-out kisses. Illeria could posit easily enough that some of his hesitation was due to his military mileage, the trials he endured enough to break a lesser man. While the woman wished he would talk to her more openly about such things, she could only assume that he was doing the best that he could.

  Illeria Stennas was not some frail creature to swoon after a turn about the drawing room, however. 

  She wiped her hands off on her apron, then crossed her arms on the counter, leaning forward a bit. "What new trouble is our great king sending you and your friends to sort out this time?" Illeria asked, her tone one of playful resignation. She had learned long before their involvement that Destrier's loyalty to his master and comrades was second to none.

  "We are to do battle with a lich." Destrier looked haunted for a moment and Illeria was reminded anew of how hard the King's Chosen had to fight to reclaim Leofore from the clutches of such evil previously. "Illeria, I…" The blond man paused to close and lock the door behind him against the chill of the night air, then turned to face her again. "My love, I am to leave shortly."

  "How shortly?" Illeria queried, cursing inwardly at the sharpness of her tone. 

  "Two days, Illeria." 

  She wanted to protest, to voice her disapproval of the rapid decision, so soon? . But Destrier already appeared miserable, the large man cupping her face in his hands over the counter. "I know you have no choice." She said instead. The young woman wasn't sure if the kiss on her forehead was gratitude or apology. Maybe both. A boon for her understanding heart.

  "Illeria…" Goddess, when he breathed her name like that it was as if her knees were designed to tremble. 

  Destrier was all softness with her, but the occasional sharp edge to him was what she loved so dearly. The barest crack in his armor of propriety, painstakingly crafted over the years of knightly training. Leofore had taught him well, guarded his mind against corruptions or temptations that may have struck out in the field. His occasional slip-ups around her served as a reminder of his comfort in her, as well as a bit of an ego-stroke. 

  "Yes, Destrier?" She replied, her voice just as soft while he leaned in.

  "Forgive me for this." Destrier murmured, and then slotted their mouths together. His tongue sought hers out hungrily and Illeria found herself at a loss, her hands fumbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. He rested his forehead against hers, those eyes nearly golden in the light from the lantern. "Forgive me." He begged again, stroking over the kerchief that she had covered her hair with.

  "What terrible thing have you done, my love?" Illeria murmured.

  "Not for what I have done, beloved. For what I may do." Destrier seemed legitimately distressed and Illeria caught his hands as he struggled to articulate himself. "I have this... hunger I cannot seem to reconcile. These urges, these… base cravings I feel to see more of you. Yet I cannot call anything associated with you truly base, for you are all that I fight for." Destrier kissed her knuckles. "My beautiful Illeria, my shelter, my light, I come to you not as one of the King's Chosen, not even as a knight of the crown. I come to you simply as Destrier Revel, a man rendered insensate by his need for you."

  "What is worse," Illeria began, her head swimming pleasantly at his luxurious words, "than a man who takes what is not his to take?"

  " Nothing ." Destrier answered firmly, and if it was possible the woman fell even more in love with him even as she shook her head. 

  "Destrier, it is a man who keeps his eager lover waiting!" She teased, seizing his ascot to reel him in. A bit more serious, she added, "I feared that you did not want me." Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I feared that perhaps you did not have the same depth of feeling towards me that I foster for you."

  "Illeria, I might die from wanting you." Destrier replied, the bluntness of his words settling in her stomach like an ember. "The years have been brutal to me. I am not the man you deserve." 

  "You are the man that I want. I believe that is enough." Illeria twined her fingers through his, leading him around the bar. "Take me to bed, Revel."

  "Are you certain? Illeria-"

  " Desty ." The woman said the nickname in exasperation, making him chuckle. "I am much more certain than you seem willing to give me credit for!"

  "Very well, my love." Destrier acquiesced, his smile faint but still there. "Forgive my constant need for reassurance."

  She rolled her eyes, tugging him into her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. Goddess, she was really about to take this plunge with Destrier . The incorruptible paladin of the King's Chosen, Knight-Captain Revel. All the lofty titles he had accumulated and yet he was still so uncertain , so humble, that he came to her as nothing more than a man.

  They had entered this room many times before, hand in hand like they were now. Occasionally even clumsily fumbling at one another for a time before he would inevitably soothe her back against the counterpane, his expression troubled as he departed the cozy warmth of her bed and curled up in front of the fireplace. 

  He had oft left her wet and aching with his passionate, tender kisses, but she did not chide him for it. Destrier was not a hasty man, and he was also not a man lacking in emotion. Turmoil ran deep in him, the caution he displayed only fanning the flames of her ardent curiosity. What would he be like if he was truly unleashed? 

  She thought she got her answer as the door clicked shut. 

  Destrier pinned her against the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to shield it from the impact. " Illeria ," he whispered, his voice grating slightly. "There is never enough time, my love, and yet if I do not ask now, I fear that I will be unable to again." He half-laughed sadly, resting his forehead on her own. "Every time I have ever had to leave the kingdom, every maneuver against the enemy...all I could think about was whether this would be the final time. Whether it would be the end, and I would never be able to see you again. Even if you didn't know how I felt, it seemed like it was enough just to see you, happy and safe. I told myself I could live with that, why muddy everything so?"

  Illeria dug her fingers into his hair, freeing it from the haphazard braid he had constructed at the nape of his neck. Destrier hummed at the gesture, his eyes half-lidding as he leaned into her touch.

  "After what transpired with...with the Knight-Commander, believing that we had truly lost him…I was in such a disgraceful state. It was an immense blow, one that I am aggrieved to say nearly ended me." He confessed. "I could not bear the thought of making you feel even a tenth of the pain I felt at losing Leofore, should something happen to me." His large hand tucked beneath her chin to lift her gaze to meet his own. "Should we continue down this path, my love, I fear I will cause you grief. If we need to cease our interactions here, I will understand."

  Illeria remembered well the way that he had been following Leofore's supposed death. Distant, painfully so, and no victory seemed to be enough to blunt the edge of that specific defeat. "Did you believe you would die? When you departed with the others to rescue the queen and prince?" She asked instead.

  "I do not fear death, Illeria."

  "That is not what I asked." Illeria pushed him back a step, enough to give her some room so that she didn't lose her senses. His proximity could be... overwhelming . "I asked whether you believed you would perish. Did you believe, in some corner of your heart, that your death would serve as penance for the loss of his life?"

  "I..." the guilty look Destrier sported told her all she needed to know. "You must understand, he taught me all that I ever had to offer. Unshakeable where I am brittle, strong where I am feeble, Leofore...is everything I could aspire to be. I told you before that I did not think I would survive the war, and losing someone so important--"

  "And what of your own importance, Destrier?" Illeria interrupted him fiercely. "What of the people that might grieve you, as you grieved Leofore?" What of me , she wanted to ask, what of my heart that broke every time you left? But no, she could not take that out on him. It had been her own fault for remaining silent about her affections for so long, trapped by the inadequacy she felt. He was a brave, noble knight, and she was nothing but an ordinary woman who had carved out an existence for herself. Free, and so, so lonely.

  "Every life in this kingdom, from the youngest babe to the oldest counselor, is worth my own many times over, Illeria. That is the reality of my knighthood, and a burden that I gladly accept." Destrier's tone was resigned. "My life so that others may live on in peace."

  "Do not pretend as if there is no heart in your chest, Revel." Illeria snapped. "You do yourself no great service."

  "Naero said much the same to me once." He smiled fondly at her and despite her best efforts, the woman felt her irritation wane. "When I am with you, it feels as though it is fit to leap free of my chest."

  "You leave the day after tomorrow?" Illeria waited for his nod of confirmation before drawing a shaky breath. "I suppose we must make the most of that time, then."

  "It would be wise." Destrier agreed, sounding a bit confused. "Are there any repairs to be completed? Or-"

  She caught him by the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling herself into him and kissing him hard. Destrier's startled exhale made her want to laugh for a moment, but then he was kissing her back and suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. "Destrier," Illeria sighed, pleasantly surprised by the way that he groaned in response. "I would appreciate you laying with me before you depart."

  Destrier buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder with another groan, this one louder. "Illeria, have mercy ." He pleaded, "I want that so badly it hurts, my love, but-"

  "What is stopping you?" Illeria pressed kisses to his throat, his ear. "Undress me, love."

  " Gods ." Destrier said through gritted teeth. "You want me? Truly?"

  " Yes , Destrier. I want all of you." Illeria hesitated, unsure if what she was about to say would be too weighty for their current situation. "I want you to know exactly why you're fighting so hard to return to me."

  Destrier's fingers dug into her back and the man held her tightly for several long moments. "I don't deserve you." He muttered, finally tugging at the laces of her corset. "I have never deserved you, and I doubt I ever will. If you will accept me as I am, who am I to question such providence?"

  Illeria covered his hands with her own, feeling him trembling as she guided him through unlacing the supportive garment. The corset slid down her body, taking her skirts with it and leaving her there in her chemise. The woman raised her hands to his shirt collar, deft fingers untying his ascot. "Are you alright, my love?" She asked gently. Destrier's eyes snapped back to her own, the man nodding hard enough to make her giggle. 

  "I am uncertain of where to look." He admitted, his expression gone sheepish. A flush had crept up his neck to dust the bridge of his aquiline nose with a sweet rosy tint. The image was utterly precious and so very Destrier that Illeria couldn't have helped her smile even if she had wanted to.

  He seemed content to just stand there and let her undo the buttons on his waistcoat, the knight shrugging out of the garment absently. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of other women?" Illeria teased. "You must have looked at them, Destrier."

  The large man fidgeted guiltily. "Well, yes."

  "And I have enjoyed the company of other men, Destrier." Illeria smiled at him. "Do not appear so pensive, my love! We are neither of us blushing virgins. There is no shame in enjoying the touch of another person."

  Destrier swore under his breath, meeting her gaze once more. "I just feel inadequate, Illeria. I bandy with the notion that you may not enjoy me, and to know that you could be trapped with me...many folk love each other without enjoying their coupling. I do not wish for you to warm my proverbial bed merely out of a sense of duty or normalcy."

  "Fatalistic! We will be fine , my love." Illeria stated firmly. "You must stop thinking of the worst possible thing, lest your forehead become hopelessly wrinkled."

  "Truly, what a terrible fate that might be." Destrier smiled reluctantly, his fingers undoing the kerchief that kept her curls in check. "Gods, I love you. I love everything about you." He said, the plainness of his words doing nothing to take the sincerity from them. "Did you know that your eyes light up when you smile?"

  Illeria blinked at him. "They do?" Being the sole caretaker of Maplecrest, she had little time to practice smiling at herself in the mirror. 

  Destrier nodded. "They take on this warm hue, I am unsure of how to describe it. I've never been of a poetic bent. Regardless, the effect is absolutely enchanting." He cradled her face, brushing their lips together but not fully kissing her. She could feel the strange burn scars that spanned both of his palms pressing into her skin, the touch familiar and grounding. "Illeria, if I do something that makes you feel uneasy or...or if I cause you pain…" he trailed off, searching her eyes. 

  "We won't ever find out if we keep going at this pace." Illeria half-scolded, half-teased, taking matters into her own hands as she grasped the hem of her chemise and stripped it off over her head. 

  She understood his concern, of course. She had wrestled with such notions herself on more than one occasion. But there was no need nor room for doubt anymore. With the same certainty that she knew she loved him, Illeria knew that Destrier would never intentionally cause her discomfort. 

  She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him, hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. Illeria tilted her chin up to give him a playful wink. "Well, Knight Revel? Is one simple woman too great a foe for you to conquer?" 

  Destrier's reply came in the form of his eyes trailing down over her body, the paladin taking in every inch of her on display. Then, he shifted his weight, advancing on her until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed. 

  "I have yet to meet a foe that can best me." He sounded almost contemplative, his hand reaching out to press against her collarbone and continue to urge her back until she had no choice but to lay down. Destrier shed his shirt and unlaced his breeches while she got comfortable, and Illeria decided that she had waited long enough.

  Her own fingers began to move down her body, the woman teasing herself. "If you don't hurry, Destrier, I will certainly best you." 

  "Hmm, doubtful." Destrier murmured, his large form abruptly caging her in. "Though your confidence is not unfounded, I must insist that you yield." His fingers twined through her own, pinning them to the blankets on either side of her head. "You are wholly at my mercy, woman. However, should you request my supplication, I may be swayed to grant it."

  Had any other man said such a thing while looming over her in bed, Illeria would have made them regret being born. But Destrier saying those things, brown eyes scorching in their intensity even as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth…

  She had never thought that a man teasing her could elicit such a heated reaction. Illeria felt her entire body flush. " Please , Destrier." She begged, and he smiled at her so warmly. Her thighs fell open as he tried her with his fingers, the man's breath leaving his chest in a harsh gasp when he found her slick and ready for him.

  " Gods , you want me." Destrier sounded awestruck by the confirmation of her arousal. Illeria whimpered, nodding and arching her hips up in invitation. An invitation which Destrier proceeded to accept, the blond man finally gifting her the last piece of what she had been craving for so long. 

  His hand still holding hers squeezed once when she moaned his name, her own breathing so quick to stutter when Destrier plunged deep. His pelvis ground against her, providing such delicious stimulation that she couldn't help her cry. 

  Destrier rumbled wordlessly in response, ducking his head to flick and tease at her nipples with his awful, terrible tongue. The tongue that said such sweet and pleasing things now menaced her mercilessly, feeling like a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Illeria gripped his back after he released her hand to support his weight more fully, the large man shuddering all over when she dug her nails in. "Good?" He queried breathlessly.

  "Gods, Destrier , more-" Illeria couldn't even get the full plea out, the muscles in his back shifting before snapping taut beneath her touch as he moved to obey.

  His voice was gravelly when next he spoke, his hand stroking over her hair with such tenderness. "I never believed I would get to do this with you, my love." He looked dazed. "I feel as though I'll wake up at any moment, aching and alone, still in my tent out in the field."

  "You dreamed of me?" Illeria meant to joke with him, but his expression was so soft as he looked down at her and nodded she couldn't bring herself to. 

  "Nearly every night, it seemed." Destrier confessed, making the pit of her stomach throb sweetly with the depth of his next thrust. "I would start awake, your name on my lips, wishing more than anything that I could-" he paused for breath, glancing downwards at where their bodies were currently joined and then back up at her. His grin was pure mischief when he continued, "well, I'm certain your own imagination can fill in the blanks."

  "I have been so fearful that you saw me as a trinket, something nice to look at and do nothing with." Illeria gave him her own confession, laughing a little when he accidentally bumped his nose against hers. "I did not want to rush you, Destrier."

  "Patience is a virtue, my love, but there are worse things in life than being less virtuous." Destrier kissed her forehead. "You have waited so very long for me, and I for you, Illeria Stennas." 

  His hand slipped between their bodies, delving into the apex of her thighs to give her what she dared not ask for. Illeria clung to his shoulders, her legs framing his hips as he rutted into her until she was panting his name, over and over in time with his motions. Destrier's fingers stroked her firmly, coaxing her towards her inevitable climax in a way that no other man had ever bothered to do. 

  "Illeria..." he moaned for her and the effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in her body tensed, Illeria threw her head back and canted her hips to meet his next thrust. 

  Stars erupted across her field of vision, the lure of completion beckoning her onwards. 

  Destrier dropped his forehead against her sternum while she trembled and sobbed out his name, her entire being ablaze with aroused heat as she fell apart for him. In the haze of her post-moment, Illeria vaguely realized that Destrier had gone stock-still, quivering a little.

  "Where do you want me?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fear I am close."

  Where do you want me?

  She bit her lip unintentionally as she thought and Destrier groaned, a tremor running through him. "Illeria," he began to protest, then grunted as she pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, theoretically keeping him right where he was. In truth, she knew full well that he could easily remove himself from her embrace if he did not feel comfortable with such an act. 

  "Inside me, my love?" She requested softly. Illeria could have sworn the fire in the hearth behind him flared a little brighter, Destrier's brown eyes flickering like molten gold as he stared down at her. "Our first time together should be special, shouldn't it?" She reasoned, combing his hair back out of his face. 

  "You are certain? " He rasped, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made her want to shiver. "It is not too late to change your mind, Illeria. I will not unless you truly wish for it."

  "I love you as I have never loved another, Destrier Revel." Illeria assured him. "I trust you."

  That seemed to do him in, the paladin gripping her hips nearly tight enough to bruise. "I will return to you, I swear it." He promised fervently, "Not even death itself has a chance of tearing me from you, Illeria."

  Such lofty words, spoken so sincerely. She could not help but almost believe him. The woman embraced him as he too reached his climax, cradling him against her body while he shuddered and spilled himself into her. 

  /x\

  Destrier's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Illeria, Illeria , his mind chanted, and she had never looked so beautiful as when she had lost herself under the caress of his fingers. 

  A thousand nights that he had awoken alone, all washed away by this one instance of lovemaking. He felt like a complete idiot, smiling at her like the lovestruck fool that he was. He was always so careful with her thick hair, knowing that one wrong move could tug it to the point of pain, but he managed to successfully lace his fingers through it so he could tilt her head. His nose being... prodigious , certain precautions had to be taken when he kissed her.

  "You are incredible." Illeria whispered against his lips, giving the man pause. He pulled back, a bit startled and confused by the strength of the affectionate look she was giving him.

  "I am?" He asked after a moment. 

  Illeria laughed, the noise carefree as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. " Yes , Destrier!"

  "I love you, you know that, right?" He hated how pitiful he sounded. "I have never felt this way before, Illeria. I have never…"

  Her hands framed his jaw, tipping his face down to gently peck his slack mouth. "Destrier, I feel the same way. It's all so…"

  "Raw." Destrier finished for her, shaking his head.

  " New ," she corrected him, "raw makes it sound as though it is painful. Are you pained, my love?"

  " Gods , no. Oh! I should move, I must be crushing you." Destrier floundered back, nearly falling over in his hasty effort to take his weight off of her. "I did not hurt you, did I?" He asked after righting himself, relieved when she shook her head.

  Her fingers traced the scarring that intersected his left eyebrow. Unbeknownst to her, those and a few more marks that his hair thankfully hid were the only indication of his abrupt departure from (and subsequent return to) the land of the living. 

  Destrier leaned into her touch, taking her hand after a moment and pressing a kiss to the still-thundering pulse in her wrist. "My beloved." He murmured, sure that he looked absolutely smitten. He certainly felt as much!

  "I know you have to leave, but…" Illeria trailed off, her brow creased with worry. 

  Destrier cleared his throat. "Not for two days." He reminded her, trying to smile. "The day after tomorrow." 

  Illeria nodded. "We won't be open tomorrow." She said decisively, her tone downright flippant . 

  "No?" Destrier cocked his head, thoroughly confused. "But...the inn?"

  " Destrier , you leave in two days ." Illeria reiterated with a wave of her hand. "If I can still walk at that point, I may consider it a personal failing on your part."

  " Illeria! " The knight sputtered, torn between laughter and embarrassment. "You are...gods, I love you." He smiled, much more fondly than their ribald conversation would call for. "I shall do my best, if you are willing." He was sure he was red from the tips of his ears to the center of his chest.

  "That is all I can ask of you, Destrier." The young woman slung her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "If you are mine, I am willing." She sighed when they parted once more.

  " Always , beloved. Until the stars burn to ash."

  /x\

  "You had better be safe. It will be cold without you." He could recognize now that the terse tone she had taken was due to her concern for him, and his heart ached in his chest.

  Destrier took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I promised, did I not?" He tried to assure her. "I will return as fast as I can, my love."

  The soft gray fabric wound around his neck, and Illeria used it to pull him back down for another kiss. "Wear your helmet." She insisted.

  "Of course, Illeria."

  "If something happens-" Her voice choked off, the woman blinking rapidly and then looking away.

  "Illeria, you must be strong enough for the both of us." Destrier murmured, his thumb catching the tear that managed to escape. "I will not ask you to force a smile or even put on a brave face, for it would be foolish to expect such a taxing thing. All I can ask is that you do not lose hope. I will return, and when I do, I…" Destrier hesitated, then smiled thinly. "I shall put in a better effort to ensure your lack of motion."

  Illeria gave a watery snicker at that, and Knight Revel rushed to kiss her again before she could potentially say something that would send Thranrok into an absolute spasm .

Part Five: A Choice

[gavalaa]

>> Back on my AU bullshit today we have my take on Shadow Akechi (which, newsflash, isn’t a very creative take hjfh)

>> I’ll be describing pretty much everything under the cut as to save space and not clog up your dash or explore :)

>> And fair warning, there are spoilers to Persona 5 under the cut. IDK why I have to say this since the games been out for like 3 years, but people ask me to warn spoilers anyways SO

Also warning, it’s pretty much me trying to make Akechi Good so if you aren’t an Akechi fan I would just keep scrolling fjhdsjfh

>> SO BAsically we all know he was planned to have a castle-palace so I played off that idea and scrounged up a page of doodles. I modelled his palace off of Buckingham Palace so I’ve been calling it Akechi’s Palace since there’s already a Castle in the canon game.

>> The shadows are designed off the Queen’s Guard and have blindfolds instead of masks, which plays into Akechi’s Justice Arcana. There would probably be like 2-3 types of shadows, including guard, maids inside the castle, and butlers.

>> The palace is in the middle of a large city which is covered in TV screens and media outlets, all of which would be playing recordings of his TV appearances. The palace itself is surrounded by a tall, sharp, and possibly electric fence which keeps out the general public, which Akechi sees as faceless figures. There are large crowds of people surrounding the palace at all points of the infiltration and are mostly comprised of interviewers, press, and media hosts and fans. (The palace would be post-Okumura when Akechi regains support.) The fence which surrounds the palace is large and creates a large empty space which would insinuate that Akechi feels isolated despite the attention he receives.

>> I had a lot of trouble coming up with keywords for Akechi, but I said “eff it” and came up with some bullshit. The first keyword is obviously his name, Goro Akechi. His distortion plays off his ‘special complex’ and would most likely have something to do with ‘remarkability’ or ‘uniqueness’ or something which would put him in control- something that would also foil off of his canon dialogue before his fate at the end of his confidant. The last word, being the place of the distortion, is Akechi himself. There is no one specific place I feel Akechi would see distortion, except within himself. In Futaba’s case, she was trapped in her room, however, Akechi gets out A LOT. I think he’d see any problems he had and whatever complexes he burdened within himself, and consider them completely self-contained. If it weren’t himself, it would be a concept like the media or press instead.

>> Akechi, the main man himself, is regarded as ‘Prince Akechi’ in his palace and has a very pleasant and almost snarky/childish demeanour upon first contact in the game. He welcomes the thieves into his court and is surprised to find anyone visiting him, and attempts to make small talk with them. Even in his most raw and honest state of being, Akechi is still very two-faced and is naturally a people-pleaser during the first phase of his palace. When you eventually tell him your intentions to steal his treasure, he ushers the thieves by saying “By all means, Thieves, you may certainly try.” 

He’s very charismatic, as you’d expect from Akechi, and scarily accurate to the real deal, however when you reach the second phase of his palace he becomes very cold, distant, and vulgar.

>> The palace would begin like any other, and your main infiltration point would be from a side room/kitchen in the back of the palace. You’d run through a good portion of it and see a lot of his distortion when it comes to the media, and how he sees it all wrapped under his finger and submitted to him. You’ll see how he sees the people of Japan who blindly followed the Thieves and his own words, and how little he thinks of people in general, like serfs or plebians. A very prideful display, and how his ego is fueled by the stupidity of the public. It would also insinuate all of the faked investigations that he undertook during pre-game instances.

However, once you reach a certain part of the Palace, you would begin to see a shift due to his two-faced nature. More information regarding his mother, father, and his situation become apparent as you travel further into the heart of his palace. His guilts, regrets, and his chaotic nature would be revealed as you come across his cognitive memories of what happened in his childhood. 

This part of the palace would be presided with Loki, and would very much represent all of his anxieties, guilt, and regressions as a person. (I have headcanonned for the longest time that Loki is more or less a manifestation of his anxieties and hatred and therefore only amplifies that- while Robin Hood is a manifestation of his ego and his guilt and only serves to amplify that.) This section of his palace would showcase everything.

Everything beyond this point would be treated in hushed whispers within the whole ‘prince/palace’ theme, like some sort of scandal (think like, gossiping court and such. very European drama) and it might even touch on the Prince being a bastard, and how Akechi sees even those close to him in operation will eventually turn on him, including the Thieves themselves. 

Yes, that’s right boys, there are cognitive versions of the thieves in this palace. The cognitive people who are shown to be within the Palace are people Akechi considers to be his own confidants in his own operations, including Sae, the SUI director, Shido, etc. you get the idea. He considers the Thieves to also be apart of this ring, and they are rather close to his heart/treasure, which could play off of what Morgana references in the final rank of the Justice Arcana. The thieves in his cognition, however, are ready to turn on him at any moment and are prepared to overthrow him in all manners of the idea. He doesn’t trust anyone, basically.

So yall probably wondering what the treasure is, since it’s a palace. Well boy howdy, do I have news for you!!! Because I’m like that I decided it would be interesting if Akechi posed a challenge in a different type of way-- in that he doesn’t have a treasure. 

The treasure is a physical manifestation of what first caused the distortion, however, I think that what caused Akechi’s drastic distortion isn’t something physical at all. I know he’s always been a little... not great... however, I think what really pushed him over the edge was his awakening to a persona. Due to that, I don’t think it would be as easy for them to just go in and out with stealing his treasure. I think that in this case, they’d truly have to steal his heart in more than one way.

Should the calling card be sent, Akechi is aware that the Phantom Thieves have infiltrated and cleared his palace, and therefore his own heart and mind should be aware of the fact that they are going to attempt to steal the ‘treasure’ however, this wouldn’t make a treasure appear, but make his Shadow more aware and conscience to the events.

They’d have to not only defeat his shadow but then furthermore convince it to change its own heart. They would have to essentially take all that they’ve learned from the palace and attempt to convince Akechi otherwise, i.e. (you can tell I’m an Akechi sympathiser and want him to be happy with friends and a good ending) by trying to get him to understand that he’s not alone and other things like that. 

The boss battle would be a little different and would initiate after a conversation where you have the opportunity to talk to him and try to reason with him, and Shadow Akechi would wield some sort of Robin Hood-esque persona/become something similar. Once you beat his first phase, you have another conversation with him before he lashes out, parallel to his boss battle in canon, and that's when the le epic sad times second phase begins when he transforms into a form far more befitting to his Loki/Chaotic side. After the defeat of his second form, you have the final conversation with him. If you were to say all the right things (like the godforsaken persona 4 ending dfjhdj) He would come to a resolve and believe you and the other thieves, and go back to Akechi, which would enact the change of heart, but in the event that you don’t say the right things, he will succumb to the guilt and regression of the second half of his palace/loki and Akechi will remain in the same toxic cycle he goes through in canon, or even has a psychotic breakdown or something similar to.

The palace would occur post-Sae, but pre-Shido, and should you successfully convince him and change his heart, he will lose his Loki persona and POssibly even Robin Hood in favour of an awakened form, and he could rejoin the team under better pretence. Should you not change his heart, he will either have a psychotic breakdown, or he will wait for you in Shido’s palace to confront you on it and attack you like in canon. (Idk, it’s honestly up for debate what happens if you don’t succeed with changing his heart) The end result would be Akechi sacrificing himself as per usual should the latter happen.

--

I don’t really know!!! But I like the idea and I’ll definitely build on it for fun and continue to draw for it. I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes or weird stuff, I’m disassociating at 2am and losing my last brain cell, so I hope you can make sense of my weird AU drabble that isn’t entirely realistic or good!

[ograndebatata]

Thoughts on ‘The Lightning Warrior’

Well... I’m well aware that I don’t usually do these episode reviews of sorts... but I’ve been looking forward to this episode for an awfully long time, and ultimately enjoyed it enough that I felt I should share my thoughts here.

Disclaimer: Any thoughts presented below are purely my own opinion. Some of those opinions will be drawn from scenes that take place in series, or my own personal interpretations on what may or may not have gone on behind the scenes, but they are still only my opinions.

Also, one part of this review will delve into VERY DARK elements and implications, so if you’d rather not see them, please, DO NOT click the read more. 

I apologize about it, but... well... it’s just related to a conclusion I came to regarding the episode, and I didn’t want to lie about my thoughts on this matter.

I’m sorry.

With that said, here they come.

First of all, in general terms, I just simply loved the episode. Seriously, it was great. I simply loved seeing Victor and Carla again, and I found that the whole plot point of them needing to help Elena was a logical path to take, and was executed really well. There were funny moments, Victor and Carla recognized their own wrongs, we got more fun characters to add to the EverRealm’s universe, and we got to see believable positive developments in their dynamics with Elena. 

Granted, some might say that Elena went a bit too far with her aggressiveness towards them, but as much as I am a fan of Victor and Carla, I don’t fault her for being so suspicious, given everything they did to her in the past. And Elena herself admitted that she was wrong, so that’s a plus. 

Also, their song? Absolutely precious.

And the squad pose in the ending scene? Looks epic.

Now... breaking things down a bit more into some specific subcategories... 

THE GREAT

- The partial return to way back when

Well... as I said earlier on, I simply loved seeing Victor and Carla return. I will admit, they didn’t exactly become my favorite characters from their first appearance, but I slowly grew to care more for them as time went on. Then Snow Place Like Home came out with that wonderful display of their bond and my feels for them suddenly got a huge boost, which only grew in the following episodes with them both. They all came to a head in The Magic Within, where Victor was petrified and Carla was left completely alone for the first time in her life and, I won’t lie, I genuinely got afraid they would be leaving the series that way, Victor petrified and forgotten, and Carla left to rot in the dungeon. 

I understand that they both were villains for a long time, but they just never seemed cruel enough to deserve such a fate, and even if they had been... well... some things are too bad to happen to anyone. 

Fortunately, this wasn’t the case here. We got to see them return. We got to see them be together again. We got to see more of their bond, which is just beyond pure and precious, We got to see them singing a wonderful song together about better times. We got to see them actually showcasing the change in their ways. And we got to see them receive a second chance and making good use of it. 

The stand-out elements would have to be Victor’s reminsicing about the past and the way he and Carla were willing to help with Ash... but really, every last bit of it was wonderful.

- Close parallels and steps to a new chance

While I went on about Victor and Carla’s development, I liked how we got to see more of this from Elena’s end. As harsh as she may have been at points (not unjustifiably so) and how it took her time to accept that Victor and Carla were being sincere in their attempt at changing, she still shows her empathy when joining into Victor and Carla’s song, and conveys how she can relate to them by longing for a time when things were simpler.

Yes, she still took time to fully give it, but given what they did to her, it’s understandable she’d be resistant to it. I do think there’s one point where she went too far, which I’ll further discuss down below, but at least she showed once more she’s willing to realize the error of her own ways. Which is one of the great things about her. 

- A hero and former villains duet 

I’m not kidding here. Way Back When seriously already made its way into my top favorites. Like, between the sweet music and lyrics, the sheer longing for the simpler times that Victor and Carla - and later Elena - all share, getting to see younger!Victor with child!Carla in those flashbacks... seriously, I just found it great. 

- A shockingly hilarious title character.

Ixlan was priceless. That’s all I can say. 

That over-the-top deadpan and stoic personality, that brutal honesty, the way she thinks with her fists... well, it just makes for a combination that I found hilarious. 

That said, beyond the humor, I liked how she has actual depth to her, most notably when she can see past first impressions and comes to admit Elena is a good leader, and her dedication to protecting the place where her home used to be.

- Monstro’s Maruvian counterpart

The Moyaku was yet another great. I liked her design - while seemingly being a shout-out to Monstro, she was distinctive enough in her own right, and had a really interesting design. I liked the way it and the general adventure with her reminded me of Pinocchio and the escape he and Geppetto made from Monstro (down to the sneezing) while still being its own thing, and it certainly was a relief to see that the Moyaku seems to have much less of a temper and can admit defeat. 

I also liked the way escaping her insides involved both a throwback to the cooking scene and Elena putting her trust in Victor and Carla.

- Naomi’s character development

It was a subtle thing, but I liked how Naomi, like Elena, actually proved she can change her mindset and actually learn to give people a chance.

Also, she was hilarious in that scene involving the dish Victor and Carla cooked.

That’s all.

THE TROUBLESOME

- The pseudo-corpse that stayed there

Well... to give another disclaimer here, I’m NOT one of those people who believes Elena is a heartless monster, or that she’s somehow on the path to becoming evil.

That said, I did find it problematic how she moved Victor to the dungeon, and to top it off, how she seemed to have no intention of ever depetrifying him until Quita Moz said it would take malvagos to break the spell entrapping Ixlan.

I’m not trying to deny that Victor was a villain, and I’m not trying to deny that he endangered Elena. It’s just... there are limits, and leaving Victor petrified and in the dungeon crosses two.

For one, the fact that Carla basically had to deal with seeing what might as well be her father’s corpse every day for who knew how long. Granted, it’s not actually a corpse, but still, when you think about it, it’s beyond disturbing. The only way I could accept her having done that is if Carla somehow asked for him to be there. Because otherwise, even if Elena wanted to move him out of the garden to keep the statue safer, she looks like she has a big enough palace to put him somewhere else. I mean, we even see she even had spare dungeon cells. Honestly, this is just... well, problematic. Especially because Elena said she’d deal with Carla later way back in The Magic Within... and yet, if this episode is anything to go by, she wouldn’t have done anything about this whole situation if she hadn’t needed Victor and Carla.

It just... It just doesn’t look good, I feel.

For another... well... at the risk of sounding dark... there’s the fact that, in this universe, petrification can be seen as potentially worse than death.

If this sounds like it doesn’t make sense, let me explain why I have this opinon. We know that an afterlife exists in this universe. We know that people move on there when they die. And we know that people who get petrified have no awareness of anything until they get depetrified, which was visible with Fiero in Rise of the Sorceress and Victor in this very episode. So, if Victor had stayed petrified, he would have been separated from Carla for all eternity. At least Elena will get to reunite with her parents when she dies, if not before then. If Victor hadn’t been depetrified, Carla would never have seen him again. 

Again, I’m not saying Elena is a monster who was deliberately torturing Carla with that. She possibly - even likely - may not have thought this through. But still.. I just can’t help but see it as problematic.

- Isolation is not a joke

Well... this one is something may just resonate too personally a bit too much, but I will confess I didn’t like the way Elena just automatically sent Victor and Carla off to Soledad Island, and how Carla just joked about it, on two fronts.

First, after the overwhelming isolation she appears to have endured, I’m not sure it’s in-character for her to make that kind of joke.

Second, after what happened in recent months, and to a degree is still going on today, I got to experience first-hand what even much less severe social isolation can do.

I will cut this one quite a lot of slack, because the episode was made before the Coronavirus Pandemic became a thing, and this is still a show for children, but still... it feels genuinely off to see isolation played for laughs so much when I know from personal experience how even less severe one can be damaging. And it similarly feels the same way when looking back at certain characters’ previous fates, like  the Chiki-Chiki in The Last Laugh.

Hopefully later shows will learn from this. I do understand why they would want to keep a measure of ‘downplayed realistic elements’ for the sake of storytelling, but still, I hope they learn this lesson from this era.

THE DIVISIVE

- Changes in magic brand

Well... again, I will partially admit I may be biased here, especially given the path I took in my fanfic AU... but honestly, looking at actual canon, I think that Victor and Carla ceasing to be malvagos was not a good idea.

First of all, the episode just showed how useful it was to have malvagos on the good side. Without that, Ixlan would presumably have stayed imprisoned for eternity. It doesn’t make sense to throw that way, especially because now there will be no one to undo Ash’s evil spells if she uses something comparable to what trapped Ixlan. 

Second... we never actually get to see a proper reason that would justify them wanting to learn good magic. Despite there being a few differences, malvago and wizard magic seem to largely overlap. And there was no in-universe reference or explanation that being a malvago by itself is somehow psychologically damaging. Victor and Carla had their personalities stay the same even though they were malvagos for around a year, so there’s no sign of it ‘bringing about issues’.

Third... well... this is just my general opinion, but I confess I’m one of those who just thinks it would be more ‘narratively interesting’ and would ‘further set them apart’ if Victor and Carla had stayed malvagos (whether they wanted to change back or not) and ended up learning to use dark magic for better purposes - which well, this very episode proved it can be done, even if only in rare circunstances. And again, for the most part, dark and light magic seems to overalp. 

But this is just me. 

THE CONCLUSION

A great episode. It had a few ‘iffier’ spots, but overall, it was still a great episode. If all the episodes that will still come are as good as this one, the series will have a great ending indeed. 

[howtotrainyouragents]

ML Group Chat Headcanons

It is canon that the entire class (including Lila, Chloe, and Sabrina who don’t usually hang out with the others) are all in a group chat + Luka + Kagami + Marc, and since that is the greatest gift ML could possibly have ever given me, here all my headcanons. This is so long and I do not even care. 

It’s definitely that one group chat that has like fifty messages every half hour. It’s so long and there’s a minimum of five different conversations happening at once that Max programmed Markov to deliver up-to-date developments and highlights whenever someone says, “Wait, what did I miss on the group text?” 

Yes, even when everyone is in school, there’s still fifty messages every half hour. Chloe and Alya are skilled at texting without looking at their phones, but Juleka is the true champ of secretive texting and she just spends the day making really funny commentary about school and Luka’s reading them under his desk and trying hard not to die laughing in his class

At least 50% is solely memes, courtesy of Kim, Alix, Adrien, and Nino. They once had a meme off and everyone else simultaneously left the group chat. 

25% is Marc and Nathaniel’s comics, Marinette’s designs, Luka’s music, Nino’s music and other art projects being shared with something along the lines of “I don’t think this is any good, but I thought you guys might like it.” And then everyone else loses their minds over it because how are their friends so talented??

The group chat is a dream for Adrien and Kagami because they aren’t allowed to hang out with friends, so they make up for it over text. They’re the first to respond to every single message. It’s a bit of a competition now

Marinette: I don’t know, what do you guys think about this design?

*Cue Kagami and Adrien dropping everything in the middle of fencing and wrestling each other to get to their phone first and tell her how much they love it and adore her work and creativity and she shouldn’t doubt herself because she’s amazing and wonderful-*

Alya: I think it’s great girl :)

Marinette was the one who added Kagami to the group chat (and the separate girl gang group chat). 

Kagami’s first text: What’s everyone’s blood type?

Marinette: OMFG lolol

Bonus: Kim now lowkey thinks Kagami is a vampire because he’s never seen her outside and who else would ask that kind of question OBVIOUSLY- 

Rose’s good morning and good night texts are like Lin Manuel Miranda’s tweets but add in 100+ gifs of unicorns and rainbows and hearts

Chloe doesn’t like to interact in the group chat much because she’s better than all of them. But she spends hours every night scrolling and catching up on everything like it’s a bedtime story.

Lila’s lies know no bounds in the text chain, but neither does Marinette’s emojii vocabulary. For every Lila text, there’s a Marinette eye-rolling, barfing, angry, or head-exploding emoji to follow

Mylene is always sharing links about environmentalism and creating polls on when everyone’s free to clean litter or plant trees. She keeps the receipts too on who responded and then bailed, and now Nino, Luka, Marinette and Sabrina owe her a Saturday Clean Up.

A lot of times, Marinette stumbles home in the dead of the night after an akuma attack, watches a Chat Noir meme video, and sends it to the group only to get a response from Adrien seconds later.

Marinette: Adrien, what are you doing up so late?

Adrien: Uhhhh, homework! You?

Marinette: Uh, yeah, me too! What’d you get for #7?

And then they’re both internally crying as they have to get out their physics homework now

Ivan invited everyone to a death metal concert, and only Nathaniel and Marc responded. Now they’re all best friends and share links to bands to try and get everyone else on board. 

The girl gang try to get Marinette and Adrien together via text because somehow Marinette still stutters around him even over text. 

Whenever Adrien compliments Marinette, it’s followed by side-eye emojis and the girls responding, “Hmm, interesting. Anything you want to say to that, Marinette?” 

Marinette in the girl group chat: You know that thing you guys keep doing? STOP.

 Alix back in the main chat: Hmm, interesting. Anything you want to add, Luka?

That being said, Marinette just about dies every time Adrien and Luka reply to her messages or compliment her stuff and Tikki has to fan her exasperatedly

At least like once a day, there’s the usual: 

“Wait, we had homework??” (Nino)

“Hey, does anyone have a spare-” “Oh, I got it!” (Sabrina) 

“Has anyone seen Marinette?” (Alya) 

Of course with so many people there’s bound to be the occasional disagreement. Max is busy computing the statistics: “That was a 67% effective burn.” “That joke was calculated to be 82% unfunny” “There’s a 93% chance that they won’t forget about it by tomorrow.” “NOT HELPING, MAX.”

Alya is always trying to analyze superhero stuff, but since that’s all she and everyone else in Paris talks about, the kids are super over it. 

Alya: Who do you think is Ladybug?

Everyone sends in pictures and videos of Ms. Bustier, Roger the cop, that random pigeon, their shoe, the anime dvd cover, a random supermodel, Marinette tripping into a trash can all with the caption: “This is Ladybug.” 

But it’s Kim who almost causes a nuclear war after asking “Who’s better, Ladybug or Chat Noir.”

LADYBUG OFC (Alya, Chloe, Marc, Luka, Adrien)

CHAT NOIR DUH (Lila, Sabrina, Kagami, Nino)

The argument lasts almost 24 hours. 

It finally ends with a  4-AM, high-after-an-akuma-attack five paragraph essay (complete with citations from the Ladyblog and a bibliography) from Marinette starting with the phrase “Excuse me?!? If you think for one second that Chat Noir is not the best-” and ends with “I never believed in a world where I would agree with Lila, but here we are. Chat Noir is the best and that is a fact. In conclusion: I said what I said.” 

Now everyone thinks Marinette has a crush on Chat Noir.

Alya: I have to screenshot this to the Ladyblog

Marinette: NO. What if he sees it??

Adrien already saw it first thing in the morning. It was the best text he ever received

Then a few days later, Kim goes, “Who do you think is the best superhero after Ladybug and Chat Noir?” 

Marinette nearly spits out her tea laughing as all hell breaks loose and the app closes due to an overload of people typing at once.