#miraculous plume

[melbatron5000]

Wild theory, hold on.

(Please do not take any of my theories to Neil himself! Don't do it!)

I've already hypothesized that Crowley and Aziraphale have been working on a plan since Armaggedidn't in season 1. Here's where I go off the rails a little bit. Come along.

Saraqael is part of the plan. She's in on it.

I have only hints and suspicions, not too much for Clues, but hear me out.

In this post, we see a weird movement between buildings behind Shax. Almost like . . . a person in a floating wheelchair coming around the corner? And Crowley is in his spy turtleneck. He's doing something spyish. Meeting an angel he's not supposed to have a connection to, perhaps? About something that maybe interests both of them? Like, not having a second end of the world?

And in this post, we see that Saraqael has opened a spy porthole onto the book shop -- but the picture in the apy porthole is in 2019.

I do not think for a moment that tiny, weenie half-a-miracle-each accidentally blew up into a 25 lazarii miracle. I think someone else at around the same time did a huge miracle, someone powerful, someone who no one is supposed to know about -- or at least, doing something no one is supposed to know about -- and Saraqael hid it the best she could.

Show the arc angels the book shop when Adam reset it. You know, after it burned in 2019. That would be some crazy big miracle energy.

Then go to Earth with the arc angels and nudge Aziraphale into taking responsibility for the miracle. He's good at lying to them, after all, he can come up with something quick. And who is it that says, "Don't tell me you did it?" Why, sarcastic Saraqael. Translation, "tell them you did it, or we're screwed." And Aziraphale jumps right in and says yes, I did that.

Then send someone who won't give back good reports to verify the miracle. Saraqael, why would you send Muriel? Muriel is so sweet and naive, she won't come up with anything she shouldn't.

Then when Crowley is searching around in Heaven, who does he run into but his (doesn't exist) contact? And she tries to give him a reason to recognize her, they worked on the Horsehead nebula together. And he laughs and says, I meet a lot of people. He doesn't need her cover story, he'll just play dumb. She kind of snorts and shakes her head, she tried to give him an out but he took his own way. Headstrong demon.

When the Metatron shows up, who recognizes him? No one but Crowley and Saraqael. Could be because they just watched the trial, could be because they've been actively working together against him for years now. Hard to say. Hard to say. I honestly didn't recognize him in a full human form for a hot minute, it's not like it's impossible to imagine no one would know him. But those two do. Feels important to me.

I don't know if I'm right, but I'm suspicious now. What are they hiding? Who was doing a big miracle that needed covering up? Whatever was the miracle for?

Also, this. More evidence. They are up to something.

[fabseg-creator]

Miraculous fanart/sketch: Émilie Agreste/Plume Azur (Peacock Miraculous)

I've made a coloured sketch of Émilie with the Peacock Miraculous. For the concept, I've thought about this design for the Adrien's mother but without the damages on the brooch. I've found the inspiration on Elsa of Arendelle (from the Disney movie Frozen) for the design.

By seeing Émilie when she's transformed, she has Queen vibes.

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir belongs to Zagtoon.

[star-the-gremlin]

Hey

Hey you

yeah you!

Remember this drawing?

Yeah that one

remember her?

yeah her

you remember? good.

Forget her!

Erase her from your memory!

Eviscerate her!

This is the new her!

Remember her

cherish her

[disorganizedkitten]

Rena

Miraculous Ladybug | 2018 | 797 | Ao3 

When Alya's sisters get Akumatized, she wants to help but doesn't have much power to. Until a feather lands in her phone.

“Alya Césaire, I am Plume Reign. Your heroes can’t fight on their own. Let me give physical form to your will to help, and they may still win this fight.”

“Really? How? Are you like a reverse Hawkmoth? Are you going to be helping Coléoptère Rose and Chat Noir from now on? How did you get your Miraculous?”

“Alya we don’t have time for this! Yes or no?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Mental links do that sort of thing,” Plume answered resignedly. “Are you on board or-”

“Yes!” Alya yelled. “But can I get an interview later?”

 Plume shook her head from her hiding place. “I’ll maintain the link whist we fight, and I’ll answer as many questions as I can, but I don’t think I’ll be able to provide an interview anytime soon.”

“Aww.” Plume could feel Alya’s disappointment, but that was quickly overtaken by wonder when her fox spirit formed.

“Whoah.”

When the fox formed, Alya really only had one thought in her head. Rena.

“Lead her to the others. She will help you,” Plume informed her through the mental link.

Alya nodded. “Rena! Come on! We have an Akuma to catch!” The giant fox tilted it’s head at her, then knelt.

“Uh, Plume?”

“She wants you to ride her. You’ll travel much faster that way.”

“Alright!” Alya touched Rena’s nose, finding it surprisingly solid. She walked over to Rena’s side and pulled herself up. She got a solid hold on Rena’s neck, and patted it. It seriously even felt like fur. “Ready Rena?”

Rena took off.

“THIS IS AMAZING!!!” Alya screamed as they raced across Paris. Riding Rena was like riding a rollercoaster on steroids. Rena ran faster than anything Alya had ever ridden before, and she kept stopping to bite off the hats of any Sapotis that came within her radius.

“What is that?” Coléoptère Rose asked, staring at the giant orange, black, and white fox that had just skidded to a stop in front of her and bitten off the hats of ten Sapotis at once.

“Another Akuma?” Chat Noir offered.

“But it’s fighting the Akuma….”

“Guys! Guys! Look what Plume Reign got me!” Alya called, leaning over the fox’s neck. “Look at this beauty! She’s amazing!”

“Plume Reign?” Coléoptère asked. “Who’s that?”

Alya paused. “What do you mean? Don’t you- Oh.” She quieted for a bit, and then nodded. “I can pass it on!” Alya slid down the fox’s side. “Thanks Rena.

“Guys, this is Rena, my will manifested physically. It’s a little weird, but we’re fighting negative emotions turned monsters so-” Alya shrugged. “Plume Reign says she has the Peacock Miraculous. It’s similar to the Butterfly Miraculous, but she swears she won’t abuse it. She’s been watching from the shadows for a few days, and says she only comes in when absolutely necessary due to how draining using her powers is.”

“Plume Reign… Are you who helped me during Puppeteer?” Coléoptère asked.

Alya paused for a moment, and her eyes flashed blue. She seemed to be listening, and then she nodded her head. “Yep!”

Coléoptère nodded. “Alright. Thanks for the help, Plume. You too Alya.”

“No problem! Let’s de-akumatize my sisters!!”

**

“Miraculous Cure!!!”

“Alya!” Ella and Etta shrieked, tackling their sister in a hug.

“There you two troublemakers are! I was worried I had lost you to a swarm of real Sapotis!” Alya hugged them back. She had been a lot more worried than that until Plume showed up, but the twins didn't need to know that.

“Alya, I’m going to pull the connection now. Thank you for helping,” Plume’s voice said inside her head.

“Okay. Thank you for letting me help! It was awesome talking to you, and it was even better to have Rena.” Alya paused. “Rena’s going to disappear, isn’t she?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Okay. Can I show my sisters and say goodbye first?”

Plume was silent for a moment, but then, “Go ahead.”

Alya thanked her mentally a few times as she moved. “Etta, Ella, come meet my friend Rena!”

“Ooh! Rena! Rena!”

**

Plume Reign sighed, exhaustion had settled into her bones, and she knew the sickness part was just waiting until she detransformed. But she couldn’t not let Alya say goodbye!

She would be fine to deal with it. She would have to feed Duusuu a lot, but she had brought snacks in her bag anyway.

She watched Alya pull the twins away from Rena, telling them to tell the fox goodbye. “Alright Plume Reign. Go ahead.”

“Goodbye.” Plume nodded, and motioned for her feather to drop it’s hold. The connection severed.

“Feathers down,” Plume called. Her transformation dropped, and Marinette collasped against the chimney.

“Marinette,” Duusuu started.

“I know, you need to recharge. Let’s see if we can get back to Alya’s.”

[arjengelly]

Now that I know Felix can sing… I’m going to say he and Lila are going to be like Stolas & Stella🤣

But Margo isn’t going to be a moody teen. She just wants a normal life, especially after finding out her mother is a super villain and her father was an anti hero.

[scarlet-star-witch]

The shackles of duty

Summary: In the aftermath of Aegon's fall in the Battle of Rook's Rest, Aemond envisions his future as King with his Queen at his side

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and in a secret relationship with Aemond

Part 2 to His Sacrifice

WC: 2.2 K

Warnings: Implied smut, possessive Aemond, kinda dark Aemond, but not really, he's more pathetic than anything

~~

Aemond stared at the plumes of smoke that billowed from where his brother and his dragon had fallen. 

His heart still raced with satisfaction, the adrenaline pumping through his veins keeping him in an almost high-like state he never wanted to come down from. His victorious smirk remained as he turned to the woman beside him who stared at the smoke with a conflicted expression. 

“With any luck, Aegon has perished, or at least will in due time.” 

She looked to Aemond, the furrow in her brow deep, betraying her indecision and unease.

She always knew what Aemond was capable of, she knew of the darkness within him, but to see it now, displayed so blatant before her very eyes, shook something within her, something she didn’t know she could feel towards the man she had loved for so long. 

Aemond grabbed her hands, holding them in his tightly as he turned to face her fully. 

“We can go back to King’s Landing. With Aegon’s state, I will be named Regent. I will sit the throne and you will be my Queen.” 

“What?” She breathed out, the only word she’d been able to speak in the past few minutes. 

“Aegon is not long for this world, surely. It won't be long until I become King. No one can deny us anything now. We can marry, you can stay with me by my side, we can rule together.” Aemond spoke with a franticness that was so unlike him, it unsettled her more than the gleam of desire in his eye in that moment. 

“Aemond…”

“We can finally be together.” He reminded her as his hand reached out to grasp her cheek affectionately, the longing he displayed tearing her insides, as if she were being pulled in two radically different directions. 

She watched him for a long moment, savoring the sight of that beautiful face she’d spent the past few years memorizing, every perfect dip and curve that never failed to leave her breathless, and emotion swelled as she realized she’d have to break his heart. 

“I can’t go with you.” She told him, her voice barely above a whisper, as if it would soften the blow, as if saying it quietly would mean it wouldn’t completely destroy him. 

His lip twitched, his smile fading slowly as he took in her words, praying he had misheard her. His grip on her hands tightened, as if he could keep her with him, as if he could forever stop her from leaving his side. 

“But…”

“Aemond, you know I cannot go with you. No one will accept-”

“Fuck what they think! You are mine and the second I sit on that throne I can make it so. No one could stop us.” 

She shook her head and moved to pull away, but he didn’t let her, his hand sturdy in hers, a look of heartbreak on his face as he felt her hesitation. 

“We are at war, Aemond. Our marriage will not solve anything, it won’t miraculously dissolve what is happening in our family, it will only create more chaos.”

“I don’t care.” Aemond spoke through gritted teeth as he stepped towards her, his hands now cradling her face. “I don’t give a shit about this war, you are all I want.”

She sniffled, bowing her head to avoid looking into his eye. It was too painful to see how she was hurting him. 

“Think about what you are asking of me.”

“I am asking you to be with me.”

“You are asking me to abandon my mother!” She yelled. 

His chest ached, the rush he’d been thriving on suddenly turning to despair as he looked at her, realizing he wouldn’t soon have her in his arms as he had hoped. 

“We can fix this.” He spoke with reverence, but it did little to soothe the storm within her. 

“Maybe we could have… but that was before- before Lucerys.” 

Aemond flinched, recoiling as if she had delivered a physical blow. 

“You know my regret for what happened. You know I would have never willingly jeopardize-”

“I know, I know.” She whispered tearfully, her hands moving up to grip at his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath her touch. 

She remembered the night after learning of her brother’s death as she met Aemond on their Island, how he immediately fell to his knees in forgiveness, how he let her scream and cry and rage at him, how they held each other as they cried, knowing the state of their family had broken beyond repair, ruining what little chance they thought they had to one day be together as they wanted. 

She wiped her tears and with one last gentle caress to his hands, pulled them away from her, taking a step backwards before he could reach out to her once more. 

“I have to go.”

With every step she took away from him, he took a step closer, his face shifting each time she moved, his frown growing deeper and deeper as it abruptly dawned on him that he was about to lose her, yet again.

“Please, don’t do this.” 

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, the sight of him blurring as tears sprang to her eyes. She turned and didn’t look back as she climbed upon Vermithor, ignoring the pit that grew in her stomach, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that screamed at her to stay with him. 

She didn’t dare spare him a look. She knew she’d cave if she did, that she would fall back into his arms and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

She wiped her tears as she flew, ignoring the pull she felt to her other half as the distance between them grew greater. 

~~

A yell of pure rage escaped him as he flipped the table in his room. He grabbed anything he could get his hands on, throwing any and every object he found across the room, destroying everything in his line of sight. 

His bed was in disarray, the tapestries that lined the walls torn to pieces at his feet, candles knocked to the ground, trinkets shattered into nothing but dust as he raged. 

He only stopped when there was nothing left to ruin. 

His chest heaved with exertion as he let himself slump against his bed, burying his face in his hands as he struggled for breath, forcing himself not to let his tears fall. 

His mind raced with her words, each like a dagger to the heart, each one tearing away a piece of him, leaving him unwhole and untethered to the one thing in the world he cared about. 

Nothing made sense without her. It had only been hours and he was already spiraling. 

Simply picturing her beautiful face caused his chest to ache, as if the dagger of her words had been real, causing him to bleed and fade away until there was nothing left of him. 

He could not let this be the end. 

With a half-formed plan in his mind, he stood with haste and reached for his cloak, ensuring the hood covered his head and stepped out of his room, his steps quick and purposeful. 

He would not let her slip away from him again. 

~~

Her mind was racing, keeping her from her much needed sleep. She couldn’t stop picturing Aemond’s face, the pain she had caused him stirring her own. 

She couldn’t ignore the regret that overtook every inch of her. While she loved her mother and longed to see her as Queen, she couldn’t deny that Aemond had stitched himself within the fabric of her, he was now a part of her she couldn’t ignore. 

She didn’t quite know when it happened, all she knew was that it was too late to go back now, too late to pretend she felt nothing for him. She couldn’t move forward without him. 

She had to see him.

She hissed a curse and tore the covers off, getting to her feet and dressing in her riding leathers quickly, acknowledging the stupidity of her plan, but steadily ignoring it. 

It was easy to sneak out of the castle. She’d been doing it for years now, she could do it with her eyes closed. 

It took little time to get Vermithor in the air and on the course for King’s Landing, her heart in her throat as she flew. She didn’t know what awaited her, what danger she would be placing upon her head, all she knew was that once there, Aemond would never let any harm befall her. 

It was the only assurance she needed to drive forward into enemy territory. 

Suddenly, the bellowing roar of a dragon sounded over the din of the wind. 

She startled and narrowed her eyes, the moon providing light for her to see, but as the hulking figure of the dragon coming before her became clear, she soon realized, her eyes widening as she stared back at Vhagar. 

A breathless laugh escaped her, pure relief overtaking her as she realized Aemond was in the same state she found herself in, unable to settle for their circumstance. 

She pulled at the reins, directing Vermithor to descend, heading towards their Island with Aemond following seconds behind. 

The two mighty dragons landed and their riders met each other's gaze, the both of them taking a moment to simply admire each other, their shared smiles of equal relief and awe that they had had the same thought, the same longing to see each other. 

Her hands almost shook with anticipation as she untied herself from the saddle. 

She felt nervous, as if it were their first meeting in secret, as she approached him, but her reservations didn’t last as Aemond stepped towards her quickly, with no hesitation.

A shaking breath escaped her as she was pulled into his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered weakly, her voice strained as her throat tightened, overwhelmed to be back in his loving arms. 

He shook his head and held to her tighter, softly whispering his relief to see her again

Time was lost to them as they embraced, as they held each other as only lovers could. 

“I don’t know what will happen next.” She mumbled, hating to break the moment with their reality, but it wasn’t something they could ignore for much longer. 

“I don’t either.” He admitted quietly. “But what I do know is that, whatever I do, it will not be without you. I don’t care how many times I will have to chase you down and bring you back to me, I won’t lose you.” 

“You won’t have to chase me. I’m not going anywhere.” 

His exhale of relief was loud and she barely had time to apologize again before he was kissing her firmly, leaving them both breathless and lightheaded with desire. 

His touch was desperate as he laid her down in the dewey grass. It was familiar to them, these fleeting and frantic touches all they could spare in the war that ravaged their families. 

He took her with an intensity as if it had been years since he’d felt her touch and not mere days as it had been. She felt more loved than ever before as he lavished his praise onto her, as his lips caressed every inch of her, as he made love to her with the burning passion as only a man in love could. 

Their cries of pleasure echoed on the desolate Island, their secret remaining shrouded in darkness and isolation. 

As he spilled his seed within her, his call of her name sending shivers down the length of her body, she held him tightly, wishing she could hold onto him forever, wishing she didn’t have to leave his side time and time again. 

He wasn’t quick to part from her, laying over her, his hands still eager to touch her, to remember the curves of her body in fear that it would be the last time. 

But they would never let it be the last, not as long as they still breathed life. 

He left her side with a promise to see her the next night. 

There was no mention of the throne, of titles or battles. It didn’t exist in their time together, the both of them determined to blissfully ignore the reality that was slowly crushing them, slowly pulling them further and further apart, no matter how hard they tried to fight it. 

~~

He lingered in her mind as she woke alone but sated, the phantom bliss of his touch, bringing a smile to her lips in the early morning. She could still feel the warmth between her thighs, feel the pleasurable burn of the marks he had left on her body. 

She smiled politely as her maid entered, placing breakfast down for her. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Princess?” 

Moon tea.

The words were on the tip of her tongue. She trusted her handmaiden, she’d never given her a sideways glance over the past years when she requested the drink. Her mother was still blissfully unaware, which meant her maid was at least keeping her secret. 

Yet the words didn’t come, a decision made in a fraction of a second. 

“No, thank you. That is all.” 

As her maid left, her hand drifted to her stomach, a smile forming on her lips as she wondered what their child would look like. 

~~

Hope you enjoyed! I have more Aemond content coming! I literally have a thousand ideas for this beautiful man, so stay tuned xx

[lydiablackblade]

Yes, Aziraphale's being funny butchering the poor French language, but did you really consider what it means?

He speaks every language in the world. He could decide at any moment that from now on his French is perfect and fluent. But he doesn't want to. Not just because he likes to do things as humans do.

But because it is something he did. Not a celestial or miraculous gift. It has nothing to do with he's being an angel. He chose to be imperfect, he, who's always so worried about what others think about him. He worked hard for his horrible French. It's his. His making. His hard labour, his prize. It's said French is the language of love. Knowing this Aziraphale worked really hard to learn love.

To express his love. To communicate his love. It's maybe imperfect, it's maybe ridiculous, but this is his way.

But Crowley understands. Understands, because for 250 years Aziraphale has been wittering on about the plume of his imaginary Tante.

For the last 250 years Aziraphale has been communicating his love to Crowley. Imperfect, stuttered, hard to understand. But his way.

Nice addition that he attended to Monsieur Rossignol's night class.

[noneorother]

The puns are never ending : Aziraphale's miraculous "visable" bullet.

Aside from this closeup diagram of how to perform the bullet catch being objectively hilarious, it's also got a pretty fascinating *spelling mistake*.

If you look closely at the part of the pamphlet in red, you'll see that the bullet should be hidden in the mouth where it won't be visable. Not "not visible". Not visable. Seems innocuous enough right? But of course, the layers are never ending.

"Visable" is actually a Middle English word, *not* a modern English one. The last time it was used was before the printing press was invented, so pretty old. Here's a little background :

What's really fascinating though, is that just like the expression "dark horse", the word has two meanings : one is "Capable of good judgement, prudent" the other is "Tractable and docile".

There are also only two examples of the word in context that I can find, and they really should be sending you into orbit :

The first one is actually from Henry Lovelich's translation of the French epic poem "The Romance of Merlin" also known as the first English treatment of the Arthurian legends. It's modernized as "He was a worthy knight, valiant and visable in every fight." Which uses the "good judgment" meaning and sounds... a lot like Aziraphale in his role of guardian and protector.

Why do we care? They are standing literally in front of Excalibur, Arthur's sword.

The other one is from "Ipomadon", another middle English epic poem about a hidden identity romance between a beautiful but proud heiress, and her dark knight in disguise. "She was... visable and virtuous, meak and mild, and marvellous." Which clearly uses the "tractable and docile" meaning, but also... kinda sounds like Aziraphale in his damsel in his distress mode, which:

Ahahahah fuck off. But wait, there's more!

I originally twigged to this error because if you, like me, also happen to speak the language of la plume de ma tante, you know there's a reason why the uses happen in epic poems that originated in France: it's a loan word from old French, and still exists today in modern French, but it doesn't mean tractable and docile...

For the non-french speaking among you, it's a derivation of the verb "viser" :

Verb 1 To aim 1.To aim, to carefully direct one's gaze or a weapon towards a goal to throw something at it.

And so, if you happen to be, oh I don't know, a demon and have been alive for thousands of years and can definitely speak all the languages on earth and happen to have participated in the Arthurian age in England, when you read that pamphlet really carefully because someone is making you do a crazy stunt and there's a miracle blocker on, you could *conceivably* have read the instructions as:

"IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT YOU LOVE, DO NOT SHOOT AZIRAPHALE IN THE FACE." ________________________________________________________ Thanks to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable as always.

[sillygoofylittleartist]

Mayura redesign. There were a lot of things I liked about her original design but the main thing I wanted was to amp up the peacock aspects since they have so much drama and vibrancy to their looks. I also wanted her color palette to have more peacock colors so I added a lot more green and toned down some of the pink.

I changed the pattern to be more like the actual feathers of a peacock. I lengthened the skirt and removed the feather/fur cuffs on her sleeves and neck. Peacocks have a lot of different types of feathers but none of them are super floofy as they’re generally pretty sleek so I wanted to reflect that in the design.

I also added a caplet and a top layer to her skirt both with the feather patterns. I also gave her gloves with claws like peacock nails, partly because I love chat noirs claws and I want them to be incorporated into more characters, especially since so many of the animals have claws or talons.

Finally I gave her a mask with markings like on the face of peacock and instead of the little hat piece thing I gave her a little accessory kind of like the ones from the flapper headbands. I thought her hair and stuff reminded me of a sleek 1920s look so I figured that would work.

To the little accessory I added plumes like the ones on the top of a peacocks head. They’re so specific i don’t know how any peacock based design could leave them out.

This redesign is kind of busy but I hope it’s not too overwhelming. The color palette gave me a hard time but I think I made it work. I want to see a non villain design of the peacock miraculous with a brighter color palette.

🦚

[1800titz]

something about tdiag harry and his and yns relationship after they know each other and it’s out in the open. domestic dominance. him domming her in her own house.

I did a little blurb on the coffee funishment thing I talked about a little bit here!! :D

WC: 896

>>>>>>>>>>

In one fist cradling a handle, fawn liquid with a plume of steam curling up out of the mug. It’s chalky— there’s too much creamer, and probably too much sugar. He knows the way she likes it. In the other—

Harry blinks. 

Isla gnaws into her cheek, the way she does when she’s trying to get a rise without outwardly chortling, like she’s trying to stifle a peal of laughter before executing the punchline of a joke. 

“Very funny,” he hums. 

The other mug is stuffed with unground coffee beans. The corners of her mouth twitch. She sticks it into his direction; an outstretched offering of an unbrewed, caffeinated concoction in its raw form. Her lips wobble. 

He’s awake. 

“It’s your coffee,” Isla murmurs. Clears her throat when the statement garbles over poorly cached mirth. 

He takes the mug, and her serious mien cracks like a heap of bedrock crumbling, giggling as his shoulders climb and fall on an exaggerated sigh. If she wasn’t so amused, something would probably itch in her guts at the sight of him denuded and exasperated, shirtless and sleep-soft under the eiderdown. 

The way he scrubs over his face and stares into the mug like he’ll miraculously discover actual coffee — based on his intended request — at the bottom if he just stares long enough, the edges of his mouth ticking in lopsided amusement (he abysmally masks), just has her laughing harder. 

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry tells her, finally, bobbing his head, and her tummy swells with her hiccupy cackles— his head twists as he toggles over his phone— “It is— eight in the morning, you little menace. D’you just… plan these things the night before?”

Isla shrugs. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He cocks his head. A soft come hither with a head of soft curls— she obliges, and he sweeps her mug from her hands, carefully, grappling over the top of the searing ceramic like it’s a balmy warmth to the pads of his fingers. Sets it onto the nightstand on a coaster. 

“Well. You can go ahead and eat one of these,” Harry tells her, cradling her close by the small of her back and nudging the cold cup of coffee beans between them. 

Isla sputters. “What?” 

“Well, what did you want me to do with it?” 

“It’s— your coffee,” Isla parrots, pointedly, muffling her speech with another snort. 

Harry hums. He blinks and tells her, slowly, “Eat one.” 

“No,” she squawks indignantly, wriggling reflexively in his hold when his forearm cinches. 

He loosens, the corners of his lips curling in a deceitfully sangfroid simper, “No?” And then—

Isla makes a little sound when he sets the coffee beans onto the nightstand beside her own confiscated beverage and manhandles her into pitching over onto the mattress, clambering up onto his knees with surprising speed for the hour on what’s meant to be a languorous weekend. 

“Did you just tell me no?” 

Isla laughs nervously, stuttery, and dim, and smothered against the comforter when he digs his knee into the small of her back, hiking up her sleep-shirt (an oversized keepsake borrowed to never be returned from his own collection) enough for her panties to peek. 

“…No?”

An indignant sound mottles her paroxysm when Harry pins her arm behind her back, slotting the bones in her wrist into a posture of filched obedience. 

“Hm?” 

A cry, then— something that starts sharp out of surprise and thaws into a soft hum when he swats over her backside with his free hand enough times to make her whine. Not enough to make it hurt. She twists her head over the duvet when he pauses, just enough to catch a glimpse of his torso stretching and his arm reaching—

She gasps, like a breath before letting a lapping salt chuck swallow her down, and contorts (with little leverage on account of the knee stapling her to the bed). Isla flails and squeals when he fingers a coffee bean past her lips. Pure sadism. It’s bitter — the amalgam of uncooked coffee and his cruel mirth, meshed with his skin stroking over her taste buds. She nearly bites—

She sputters as he tucks his fingers out, gauging her aim, and spits it back onto the blanket. He makes a disappointed hum, and she wriggles under him.

“You’ve made a mess, well done,” Harry sighs. He plucks the sloppy remnants from the sheets, “What have you done that for? …Perfectly good coffee.” and sets it onto the nightstand. 

Her face creases. He’s a mean, mean man. She lets him know as much, brows pinched, and Harry hums something amused in response, digging the weight of his knee back into her when he reaches over and culls her coffee. 

She gets just enough of a peer to note the way his nose scrunches before he clears his throat and tells her, “Fuck me, that’s sweet.” 

Isla groans. The mug returns to the nightstand with a clink. He presses a palm over her shoulder blade and murmurs, “Coffee. Black. You know the way I like it. Get it right this time. And,” his hand meanders from her back to her crown when he nudges her face into the soiled spot she’s left with her saliva, garbled with hints of a lax grin, “You’re going to clean this up, or I’m going to spank you raw.”

[lazyjellyfish300]

the aquarium༄˚๑ ˖˚

Synopsis: One quiet afternoon, fate brings you, a mysterious widow, across Shiu Kong's path at the aquarium.

Words:775

CW:xFem!reader, fluff and smoking and an ankle injury, that's it really

A wispy plume of blackened smoke trails upward, hanging in midair before a proceeding exhale from its creator allows it to dissapate completely. 

Shiu stares pensively, thoughtfully at the slow moving school of tropical fish, shimmers of broken refracted light casting an inviting glow marked with teal from the aquarium around his sharp features.

He is alone, seeking temporary solace in his reliable haven of one of Tokyo's miraculously less busier aquariums, perhaps due to the fact that he was here during peak business hours, when most couldn't be ripped away from their desk cubicles. But, for him, an exception needed to be made on this quiet Wednesday afternoon. 

Outward pressure from clients and being the shot messenger one times too many causes him to give into the need to retreat to the simplicity of a cigarette and the slow moving tranquility of sea life. Submerged peacefully in a glass portal. Worries that melted away, subsiding back to the awaiting world outside in unconscious ritual as he inhaled and promptly exhaled the bitter clouds. 

The click of a mystery woman's high heels behind him jerk him out of his bubble, quickly extinguishing the flame but allowing the wrinkled cigarette to fall to the ground completely in a hasty pile of ash when he heard the distressed sound of your yelp, only coming down onto your rolled ankle with a pained cry.

"Easy, miss!" He engages in a brief tussle with the unfortunate victim unaware of the wet floor sign propped in the middle of the exhibit. 

He locks eyes with her, and he is startled to discover the owner is exceedingly striking. 

You're clad in black from head to toe, a black sweater over a black dress that hit you mid thigh with now slightly torn pantyhose from your unlucky spill. Your inviting lips in a pout and eyes that gripped him immediately with an innate desire to intricately know the thoughts that brewed behind them. 

"You okay, dollface?" He asks gently. 

"Fine." You retort, trying to dispell the obvious look of pain on your face. 

"Let's get you patched up."

--- 

And that is how you wound up underneath the blaring florescent lights of the hospital waiting room, engaging in broken small chatter with him as you clutched the ice pack to your battered ankle in a wheelchair. 

The warmth you experienced the last time you looked into a pair of brown eyes was one of such intensity and tenderness, you believed it could not be replicated anywhere. 

Yet here it was so clear as day before you, possessed in the new eyes of your handsome suited savior. 

The only marked difference was the playfulness, an intrigue marked with mischief you could place in his beautiful stare, in contrast to the honeyed gaze of your deceased lover before him. 

"That was quite a spill you took back there, doll. And no thanks to those tiny heels." He smiles with his lips closed, corner of his mouth tugged into a grin with an undeniable air of charm underneath his black mustache. It was almost smug, as though he could sense his effect he had on you. It left you frustrated, but undoubtedly captivated.

"Oh please." You wrinkle your nose. "They look good on me." 

"That they do, doll face. You're absolutely right about that." He leans back with his arms crossed.

"Beauty is pain, I guess." You shrug. 

"What are you doing after this? Can I call someone for you?" He offers. 

"I need to return to work." You wince. 

"Well, let me get you something to eat, for all the trouble you've been through." He prods, face pulled back into that smoulder. "Please? I don't bite." 

"I don't take offers from strange men." 

"Shiu Kong, darling. My name is Shiu." 

You pause at the abrupt retreat to his delayed formalities, but he bestows you another wide smile when your soft palm hesitantly meets his in a modest handshake, his voice lowered to an even more intimate tone. 

"I'm not so strange now, am I doll face?"

You shake him off, and at that moment the nurse comes in, with a murmured apology and polite smile to whisk you away for further examination and X-rays. 

Shiu's smile fades temporarily, but nods warmly at you, eyes not leaving yours as your head turned before the office door shut promptly behind you. 

He sighs at the missed connection, but his attention becomes drawn to a strange scribble on the back of the discarded aquarium ticket that laid on the table between you, his heart hammering in his chest when he realizes it's your phone number written in black ink.

----

@1-900-venusluvs @thatone-writer

[ddagent]

The huge plume of miraculous activity. Last night. From this shop. Nearly 25 Lazarii. Don't tell me you did it.

[fabseg-creator]

Some Eminath sketches.

In an Alternate Universe where Gabriel is dead instead of Émilie, Ladybug and Cat Noir don't confront Hawk Moth but a Peacock "supervillainess": She is called Plume Azur.

First sketch: Émilie/Plume Azur (holding the fan on her hand) flirts to Nathalie (who blushes). Unknownly to the two women, Adrien sees the scene and he is troubled to see his archenemy going to seduce his tutor woman/godmother.

Fact: Adrien doesn't know Emilie and Plume Azur are the same person.

Second sketch (suggestive): In the past, a tied-up Nathalie and Émilie kiss together.

Third and Fourth sketches: Émilie Graham de Vanily a.k.a. Plume Azur sketches from Peacock Émilie fanart

Bonus: Mayura and Émilie

The image is mature (so NSFW).

A naked Émilie is really happy to spend time with a shy Nathalie (transformed into Mayura).

Émilie: Do you want to know why I am on good mood, Nathalie ? 😊

Nathalie/Mayura: Huh... ?! Sure, Mist... Émilie. 😳

Émilie: -giggles- ❤

[skirter01]

Top Gun: Fenton - Chpt 1 (Teaser)

Bout time I put this one out here. Will be up on Ao3 in the next 2 weeks!

The thing about plummeting 20,000ft through the air in the middle of the night – if you realise it's a bad idea halfway down, it's already too late. 

“Holy sh*t!” 

Admittedly, not one of Danny’s favourite ways to wake up. 

He could barely right himself as he plummeted through the dark sky in a mess of flailing limbs and flapping NASA pyjama pants. Obviously not his best look, but it wasn’t like he was prepared to wake up falling out of the sky. In fact, it wasn’t something he’d ever had to actually deal with considering he tended to defy gravity majority of the time anyway. 

Convenient, when it works, he thought saltily, still trying and failing to trigger any reciprocation from his core. Since when was he having power malfunctions? It was like he was fourteen all over again, turning his pants intangible in the school hallway. Puberty, ew. 

Danny’s lanky body flipped and folded uncontrollably like a sheet in the wind, while compressed air screamed past his ears and pulled at the skin of his face, drying out his mouth and grabbing at his eyelids painfully. How could anyone do this for fun, ever? 

Honestly, he’d pretty much accepted at this point that whatever was going on, this wasn't his fault. The last thing he remembered was falling into bed next to Sam post online doom sesh with Tucker and completely checking out of the world of consciousness – because yes he could do that now, three cheers for retirement! So, unless he could somehow teleport in his sleep, this was completely out of his control. Which was unsettling, but at least it was some comfort that he could blame someone else for once.  

A chill nipped at his arms as he plunged through more cloud cover, only this time, instead of more dark and gloom, he broke through to come face to face with perhaps the most menacing skyline he’d ever seen. 

Brutal skyscrapers stood like gods, towering over a city swathed in smog and pollution. Plumes of smoke drifted skywards, drifting past keeling cranes and breathing onto low flying aircraft weaving dangerously between high rises. 

Oh he was so not in Washington anymore. 

His eyes followed smatterings of dim light that illuminated bustling roads and jagged bridges, stooping down into a shadowy harbour, dotted with resting ships bobbing in dark water. The very same water which loomed ominously below him. Danny’s eyes widened as the still, murky harbour water rushed at him, and he tried uselessly to grasp any part of his half dead self. Head-on collision in ten, nine, eight….

He managed to swivel feet first, throwing his legs out like a spring to displace the water. Not that it helped. It was like hitting fucking concrete. His legs cracked sickeningly on impact and the icy harbour water engulfed him. 

As he sunk down, a horrible scenario flashed through his mind; his body filled with water, sinking to the bottom of this strange harbour in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, never to be found again. His only memory; a segment on buzzfeed unsolved. 

Naturally, Danny panicked. He floundered on the surface, splashing around with only arms to keep him afloat and the dreaded possibility that he’d just broken both legs. He sucked in salty water through his nose, and choked it down his throat as the dead-weight of his legs dragged him under. 

Sam, the house and the $20 in my wallet are yours. The console goes to Tucker – but I’ll never forgive you if you don’t put him through the blazing trials of hell to earn it. 

Miraculously, it was then that he felt that familiar weightlessness settle over him, and without a second thought, he launched himself skyward blindly – just far enough to miss the rest of the harbour and crash ragdoll style onto the wooden jetty. 

Rolling to a stop on his back, Danny groaned, chest heaving for oxygen he didn't need. His legs were on fire, but at least that was better than numb – c’mon freaky ghost powers do your thing already. All he wanted was to lie there and pass out. But that would just be too convenient. 

The red and blue lights of justice flashed against the white undersides of the expensive moored boats lining the jetting, and the squeal of rubber tires on tarmac had Danny cursing under his breath. Too fucking perfect. 

Car doors slammed, two of them, and the hurried thumping of boots on the flimsy wooden jetty vibrated against his back. Closest he’d get to a massage probably. 

“Hey!” 

Danny sighed and closed his eyes, so it begins.

The first cop was by his side in seconds, sliding to his knees at Danny’s shoulder. “Please, please don't be dead,” The guy mumbled to himself, clearly young by the tone, fiddling with his utility belt for what Danny could only guess was a pair of gloves. “Not another one. Not more paperwork.”

“Your lucky day” Danny wheezed out a laugh, forcing his eyes back open enough to give the poor traumatised dude some clarity. “Still kicking.” 

“Crap!” The cop startled, falling back on his heels, probably having already convinced himself that Danny was dead. He couldn't blame the guy, good intuition. “You scared the socks off me dude!” He put a hand to his chest, “But thank god for that.” 

“Ha.” Danny exhaled exhaustedly. The Officers silver name badge read ‘Det. Grayson’, but his face was young, a year or two older than Danny, he guessed, somewhere around twenty three or four – definitely too young to be a detective. Black hair peaked out from underneath Detective Graysons cap, hanging above blue eyes eerily similar to his own. They roved over Danny’s beaten face and body with the same critical gaze Jazz had been giving him for years. Oh yeah, oldest sibling for sure – out in the wild. 

The assessment halted at his legs, “God, your…” 

The second cop, Graysons partner, sidled up then, measly first aid kit in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He was an older man, stubby, with a crooked moustache, wide face and a badge that read ‘Const. Marshall’. “What’ve we got Grayson? Another body – holy christ!” 

Constable Marshall staggered a few steps, when his flashlight illuminated Danny’s tattered legs. “Oh hell no. That’s bone! I see bone!” 

“Marshall!” Grayson scolded in a harsh whisper, ripping away the first aid kit.

Danny cringed. So much for being calm in front of a patient. His legs must be pretty gruesome then. It wasn’t worrying, not when he could already feel the burning sensation of his ectoplasm trying to cinch them back together. Except, that was just the problem. 

He gritted his teeth. Please stop healing. 

“Sorry about him,” Grayson mumbled, calmly reaching into the first aid kit for some intense looking bandages, “I’m Detective Grayson, and that’s Constable Marshall. We’re with Bluhaven PD, but we’re working with Gotham City at the moment. What’s your name?” 

Danny’s stomach dropped. “We’re in Gotham?” 

“Gotham harbour specifically.” Detective Graysons brow furrowed. “Did you hit your head at all?” 

“No–I, um…” What in the hell was going on? “– sorry, I’m Danny.”

The Detective's eyes were wary, but he hid it well with an awkward smile. “Well it’s nice to meet you Danny. Although, not the best circumstances, I’m sure.” 

Danny chuckled breathily, mind spinning. “Tell me about it.” 

“What in the hell happened?” Constable Marshall asked, white as a sheet and looking all the more like he was about to regurgitate his dinner into the harbour. “I’m calling an ambulance.” 

Danny’s heart jumped to his throat. “Oh no really – you don't have to, I’m fine, I’ll just–”

“No time. We’ll take him with us” Grayson interrupted, tying off bandages around Danny’s legs to stem the bleeding. “Marshall, help me get him up” 

Danny let out a very manly whine as both men gripped him under the arms and carefully lifted his battered body to a standing position. His vision spun, and he wobbled dangerously, because obviously standing on two broken legs wasn’t going to provide much stability. The younger of the two cops was quick to duck under his shoulders and lift the weight off, whilst the Constable on the other side took a second longer to follow his example. So much for seniority. 

“Danny, how are you going buddy? You with us?” Grayson asked, the epitome of calm, but Danny really couldn't give him an answer right now. He continued, “We’re going to get you over to the car okay? And then we’ll go straight to the hospital.”

“No hospitals.” Danny moaned amidst spinning vision and pounding head. 

“Yeah, I’m afraid you don’t really have a choice my dude, sorry.” Grayson smirked. “Nice pants by the way. NASA, very spacey"

Danny died a little more.

---

Whoop! Bit vague, but all the more fun to come!

[theonevoice]

I should be working so of course my brain decided to surprise me with the random fact that "plume" is not just the French word for "feather", it's also the name of the column of ashes that shoots up during an eruption. Which means that in celestial terms, a miracle is a literal volcanic event, and the use of miraculous energy via demonic/divine "interventions" could be having the same disruptive metaphysical effects that tectonic plates movements have on the surface of the Earth. Hence the "too many miracles" note and the miracle alarms in Heaven.

So the joint "tiniest fraction of miracle" at the beginning of s2 is actually like the warning sign of a potential future super-eruption.

[indigovigilance]

Miraculous Energy

Guys, I think I found a hole in the plot. We should probably walk through it together and see what we find.

inspo citation by @ritz-writes

Originally this post had to do with holding hands.

The 25 Lazari Plume

In S2E1 they hold hand through the conduit of Gabriel and perform "the tiniest, most insubstantial, fractional half a miracle we have ever performed. No traces of anything miraculous left behind. No- no- no alarm bells ringing in Heaven" miracle.

Even though they were trying to be surreptitious, they failed drastically. Common fanon is that their combined angelic and demonic energy, or the power of love, creates a holistic power greater than the sum of its parts. The result:

A miracle of more energy than anyone knows what do with: per Shax, "a miracle of enormous power... the kind of miracle only the mightiest of Archangels could've performed."

But.

This isn't the first time they've combined their powers to perform a miracle.

Two quotes from Gail Neiman:

The instance in question:

Theory:

There are at first glance two solutions to this paradox. Either

a) They did create a burst of energy but everyone above and below Earth was so freaked out by them having just survived hellfire and holy water (respectively) that they were like "yeah that tracks and we're not touching it with a 10 foot pole," or

b) They did not create a burst of energy in the body swap, and therefore the plume of power didn't have to do with the boys combining powers but instead has something to do with either (b1) Gabriel or (b2) the nature of the miracle being performed.

I don't like (a) because Saraqael is so dismissive of the idea that Aziraphale could have performed such a miracle. It creates a narrative inconsistency.

We are left with (b), and since purple is the color of Gabriel's divinity this would be narratively consistent. (b2) doesn't track because the nature of the miracle being performed is fundamentally the same: in S1E6 they were (what in other fantasy fiction is frequently called) glamouring to hide their identities, and they did the exact same thing to Gabriel in S2E1, obfuscating his angel identity with a made-up human one.

So, yeah. It perhaps doesn't lean into our preferred conceptualization of the super-powerful duo, but it does fit the evidence.

~~~

It looks like @ineffable-suffering already put forth this theory, I just missed it. You can read it here: What if it wasn't Aziraphale and Crowley who performed the 25 Lazarii miracle?

~~~

special shout-out to @flameraven for the scripts, you make my life much easier now that I can copy-paste quotes instead of transcribing.

If you liked this, you can find my meta index here.