Mirror
(Don't get me wrong, I love Marinette and I do believe she is doing the best she can... The power dynamic between her and Chatdrien is just so skewed, though...)
will byers stan first human second
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

ellievsbear
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@theartofmadeline
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Andulka
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
DEAR READER
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@spotted-kittens
Mirror
(Don't get me wrong, I love Marinette and I do believe she is doing the best she can... The power dynamic between her and Chatdrien is just so skewed, though...)
I have great ideas for how I want to color this, but the tablet I drew it on was not made to handle this, I need to move to the computer... in case I never do, here is the wip...
and the mystery remains unsolved to this day.........
" I became your bodyguard, your right hand woman, your friend, and even MORE...."
Whenver Marinette starts catastrophizing over what would happen if Adrien learned even a portion of the truth, it always seems to be focused on the fact that he wouldn't love her anymore. This is an incredibly inaccurate depiction of what must be her thought process that I find it annoying. If she truly was worried mostly about that, she would simply let him find the damn letter around the house like would have happened if she hadn't interfered (at this point removing the envelope, but whatever). She would be several steps removed from the issue and be able to do damage control.
Of course this would jeopardize the partnership between Ladybug and Chat Noir but Marinette doesn't know that so this cannot be a motivator for her.
So this implies that Marinette's main motivator is indeed Adrien and his wellbeing, because she doesn't what him to have to go through that (and possibly loose Nathalie in the process).
I kind of have a love-hate relationship with fics where Chat and Ladybug end up fighting, like both Chat gets controlled and Chat learns the truth and goes villain and also some which fall in both/in the middle.
I don't want it to happen, but damn if it makes sense...
This show will be the end of me, and I love the talented and imaginative fandom around it... (yes, I occasionally see also the more salty, toxic side, but I steer clear :D)
guys whe n . wehn . when did adrien paint his colorful WIP walls with white.
el toro de piedra:
sadnansi:
his metaphorical character development. the symbolism of him trying to figure himself out. splashes of color in his room that he put there himself.............. at some point, in s6, he painted over it. made it white again. im,,
Oh. My. Godness.
In Lady Chaos he was in the process of getting it done white again. This is his father taking over his mind again...
Ya know, they are really squandering a lot of Ladrien potential this season. You're gonna tell me they haven't had a Ladrien episode where someone is after Adrien (maybe a reporter trying to get the scoop on his dad), and Ladybug has to protect him. And while she is carrying him around, he tries to ask her about his dad, and she's just like hoooo we don't have time for all that gotta get you to safety 🤠👀😬 Like this secret is LADYBUG'S and you're telling me that they've barely interacted all season.
While we are at it, give us a MariChat episode where they're awkward exes, but also Chat Noir is still secretly fawning over her bc that's his actual girlfriend she just doesn't know it. I love Adrinette to death, and I have been loving all of the content, but I miss the obligatory side episodes for Ladrien and MariChat. And this season has so much potential for shenanigans!
am i (15 f) the asshole for not telling my mega famous model boyfriend (15 m) that i am secretly the biggest superhero in paris, that he and his twin cousin (15m) and his ex girlfriend (15f) are not human but actually magically created sentimonsters who lose all personal agency if they lose their rings, that he’s the reason his mom died, that his twin cousin wasn’t a supervillain, that his mothers corpse was in his basement for like a decade, that his abusive and neglectful dead father was actually a supervillain trying to kill me and not a good chill guy, that his ex girlfriends mom is also a supervillain, that his current mother figure also used to be a supervillain, that i stole his dead fathers last letter to him trying to convince him to also be a supervillain, and that everyone in his life but him (including his ex girlfriend) knows all of this
I am not immune to Lukadrinette
My sunshine boy deserves all the love
adrien + félix uhhh dungeon torture h/c?
CW: Torture.
Felix has run contingencies, plans with Duusu until his mind settles. He's planned for this day extensively - his position as the Peacock holder has never been a secret - and damn that grandstanding impulse, driven by the desire to fix everything and only making it worse in the process - and so of course, when whatever they've facing decides to target one of them, it will most likely be him.
He's prepared, it's a quick trick. He doesn't even need to give Duusu an order because they've practiced. The Miraculous and his Amok, off to Marinette or Kagami, whichever is safest to approach even as Noe's hand closes around his throat.
His head slams against the stone wall as Noe's hand comes up empty in searching him. The man shares some of Chloe's look, but even Chloe has never had that much malice in her eyes. "Where is it?"
Felix says nothing, stares at him resolutely. He's shaken, roughly, and then backhanded hard enough that he tastes blood.
"Felix!" Adrien twists in the hands of the bodyguards, and Felix winces - he's run a lot of plans, but having Adrien with him was not something he considered.
The distance between them has grown since his Uncle's death, and while he hates it, he thought perhaps it was safer for his brother to stay far away from him.
Of course, when this happens, Adrien has to be close. "Does he have it?" Noe demands, hand tightening.
"He has nothing to do with this." Except that he does, except that his brother is as much as a product of the Peacock as he is.
Noe smirks, the cold basement they've been dragged to - stupid, stupid - reminds him of his uncle's lair. "Doesn't he? He's Gabriel's son, after all."
He tries not to look at Adrien, but it's hard. He needs to know what his brother's face is doing - and how close they edge to the disaster they've all been trying to avoid. "Break his legs." Noe orders. Felix can't hit him with his hands in cuffs, but he tries to struggle anyway. "No!"
"Ah, see? Your harm you don't care about, but that useless sentiment." Noe laughs above him, throwing him to the ground and kneeling on the back as the bodyguards pin Adrien down - one of them comes back with a crowbar and Felix makes a sound, not quite a scream, a bit more animal.
"Stop!" Felix screams.
"Where is it? Tell me, and I might spare him." Noe pulls his head back, forcing him to watch.
Adrien puts up more of a fight than he expects - one of the guards has a bloody face, but it's seven on one and Adrien can't win against them.
Felix locks his jaw, resolute. He loves his brother, but it's so much more than them at stake if this crazy man gets the Peacock. Adrien catches his eye for half a second, and while he looks -s scared - there's something so resolute and understanding in his face. Felix still can't stop the scream when the blow falls, unable to look away. *~*
They're chained to the wall, which seems like overkill. Hands, feet, collars thick and cold around their necks. Adrien is limp in his, face bloody, leg bending in the wrong place. Felix isn't sure if someone hit him hard enough to knock him out - or if he'd passed out from the pain.
He knows Noe had taken to kicking him before they finished with Adrien, and that he'd been knocked out.
"This would be a great time to reveal your plan." Adrien croaked softly, barely lifting his head.
"How's your head?" He asked, reflexive.
"I don't think I'm concussed, but. It's hard to focus." Adrien lets his head drop. "Plan?"
"What makes you so sure I have a plan for this?" He testes the restraints, focusing on finding a weakness. "You always have a plan." "Not for getting jumped in a parking garage." He sighs, resting his head against the wall. "Duusu will get help."
Adrien lifts his head. "Why send him away? You could have transformed?"
Because if Noe had his Amok, the keys to everything would be in his hands. He couldn't risk it. "The Peacock is one of the most dangerous Miraculous, Adrien. I can't risk it falling into someone else's hands." He turns his head with a grimace. "Sorry for getting you into this."
Adrien laughs, a sharp, gravely sound that ends in a wet cough. "You didn't." "I did. They wouldn't have touched you without me." "Hm." Adrien smiles, his teeth are bloody and his eyes are practically luminous in the darkness. "I guess of the pair of us, I'm just better at keeping secrets." Felix frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing." Adrien hums. "Do you think you can tell me what they meant? About me being Gabriel's son?"
Felix hesitates, and Adrien smiles softly, sad.
"Well, maybe after this." Adrien whispers, just as something goes through the restraints on his hands and pops them open. "You got the cameras, right?"
"What do you take me for?" The Kwami - the KWAMI - asks his brother, tail twitching behind him. Felix's hands drop to his lap, shock rendering him mute. "If I transform - will this?" Adrien indicates his leg. "It'll hurt. But you've worked through worse." The Kwami informs him gently. "You'll feel it."
"As long as we get out of here, that's all that matters. I don't get the impression they intend to let us go." Adrien says softly. "Plagg, transform me."
"You-!" Felix squeaks.
"Me." Chat Noir grins as he gets to his feet, though it falters briefly as his leg takes his weight.
I am calling it now before it's too late.
THIS IS ENTIRELY MY OWN SPECULATION/GUESS AND IS BASED ON NOTHING
I think we will not see Gabriel's statue being vandalized until the season's finale, where it will happen during a time-traveling episode. It will be by Chat Noir's hand and it will be the episode Adrien finally gets his makeover.
I think the season will end with Chat Noir and Ladybug at odds, but no identity reveal between the two heroes.
I am also starting to have my suspicions about Madame La Maire's (Mayor Bustier's) akumatization, which has been mentioned but not shown. I wonder if that will be part of the same time travelling shenanigans I suspect will happen in the Season 6 finale.
Partial vindication, I guess...
It was Chat Noir but apparently no time-travelling?
I want to know moooooore!
amelie hold fast. amelie it only gets worse
Adrinette April Day 4 - Passing Notes
i spent a million dog years (3 days) on this why did i do that aNYWAY IM STILL DRAWING THESE!!! WHOOOOO
@adrinetteapril
my explanation why felix wasn't in london special. he was preparing for party.
ps: i also wanted to see a comic.
the delusions are overtaking me. pretty soon i’ll be writing fic from the pov of the gdv twin rings
you’ve already witnessed generations of cruelty and strife by the time you are placed on a chain around the neck of an infant. she is fussy and wild and nothing like the male heir that her parents would've scorched the earth for. still, she keeps you fastened around her neck like a promise—one that she only breaks sometimes, only when you hang too heavy and she begs her sister to take her place, just for a day, just so she can taste the freedom of running without anything knocking against her beating heart.
the girls are a pair, just like you. they joke about you—two rings, one future—and the wild one swears it's meant to be, because she cannot imagine shouldering her destiny alone. there is a reason the girls were born together, they decide. forged, like you, in the same flame. two rings, one future. two sisters, one life.
as they get older, they share your weight more evenly between them, the wild one increasingly shedding her lot in life like molted feathers. her sister steadfastly takes up the mantle—their future is a shared burden, after all—and you spend more and more of your days nestled against the quiet girl's collarbone. she traces your silver with anxious reverence—you are a promise, a promise to her. twin rings forever locked together. one life.
when the wild girl sloughs off her future for good, she takes you with her. you clang together against her pounding heart for the whole of her escape, and she doesn't slow down until she's gone. until she unstrings your twin halves from the chain and slides one onto her slender finger, one on his. she grins, tells her lover that you are a new promise. one that the wild girl has made to herself. the future is molten in her hands, it's whatever she wants it to be.
you travel with the hands of the wild girl and her lover as they stitch together a humble oasis, secluded from expectation. and when they grow bored of playing poverty, you graduate with them to stardom—with the lover's hand tracing grand outlines and cutting silken fabric and sewing neat seams. with the wild girl's manicured finger reflecting glistening gowns and camera flashes. still, no matter what he makes her, the wild girl's lover cannot make her happy. she buries her face in her hands and he holds her shaking frame. every part of you is wet with her tears. there is only one thing she wants, and it is something she cannot have.
but the future is molten, and desire burns hot. the hands that bear you now are used to fashioning life into something they want. so you join their grand search for satisfaction, tasting the salty air and thick dust of foreign lands. when doctors fail them, they seek mystics. and when mystics fail them, they seek the divine. you brush against the skin of a hunter, young and rough, who invests new blood into the search. the hands come up empty, always.
until, one day, they don't.
on the night you are changed forever, the air is charged with hope. your twin halves twinkle under candlelight. love and magic swirl together amidst sparkling laughter and bubbly champagne. lips press against you, folded into woven fingers, whispering words as fervent as a prayer.
and then—
and then everything is different. and then you are thrumming with life. and then there is a soul within you, wispy and delicate, just a flutter of consciousness. from your two halves are strung a lifeline, cords taut around the heart of a boy fashioned from magic and love.
the wild girl tugs your boy's lifeline like a puppet string, gentle enough to convince herself it's only a caress. it begins before he even tastes the air. kick for me, she whispers, twisting you with a careful thumb. I want to feel you. her prayer flows through you, strings tugging on your boy's fetal limbs until the wild girl grins at the life in her belly.
your boy, the coveted heir, is born far away from his grandparents' castle. far away from the humble oasis of his parents' youth. you brush against his lily-soft skin as he is brought into a world of harsh marble and bright lights. his squirming is calmed, his cries easily quieted. like everything else they touch, your boy is malleable in his parents' hands.
the lover—a father now, in technicality, but a lover before all else—carries you like a safeguard. he has fashioned finery with these fingers before, and now he'll wield you to fashion a son. he refines your boy like an offering, trimming the excess that hangs over the mold.
your boy grows taller and quieter, golden and careful. the molten star upon which the family hopes hang. not a prince, but an heir all the same, his inheritance is a heavy one. but all their tugging trains his muscles, and his smile stays intact. until it doesn't.
imbued with divinity as you have been lately, and witness to cruelty as you have been for much longer, you are familiar with the human impulse to play god. but no matter the lengths taken or the sacrifices made, you've learned that there is no one who can account for everything. and in the vein running through the wild girl's ring finger, you feel her pulse start to dip.
her decline is steady and wretched, a methodical deterioration of strength. you descend with her into baths of antiseptic and sweat. you rest with her brittle hand on the arm of a wheelchair. you tremble with her fingers against the wet cheek of your boy. when doctors fail her, the lover and the hunter do not bother with mystics. they barrel straight for the divine.
these years, you are split like never before. half of you waits, immobile, trapped with the wild girl—the stuck girl, dying girl, the mother—and your guilt-ridden boy within walls. and half of you leaves. over and over. you travel with the lover and the hunter everywhere, anywhere. wherever you go, desperation thickens the air. you are slick with sweat and blood. the hands come up empty, always.
when the wild girl's hand goes cold, you are laid with her to rest. artificial lights warm you both through glass, a flimsy approximation of life. but the only thing alive in your shared coffin is your boy's weary soul, heavy within you.
the half of you that remains upstairs with the living is clenched tight in the lover's fist. his grief is tactile, sharp. all-consuming. a heavy blanket that crushes the house, crushes the spirit of your boy until it's withered away to nearly nothing. when the lover pulls your boy's lifeline now, it's like the tightening of a noose. you rest hollow as a gravemarker, spanning the stories between life and death in this house.
when new magic thrums at the hollow of the lover's throat, you feel it resound in his bloodstream, humming beneath his skin. it feels like grief crystalized into something hungry and mean. it feels like hope.
the cruelty you witness in the next months is not shocking or special, not in the grand scheme of things. it is cruel nonetheless. you switch hands—from the lover to the trickster, your boy's soul twin. you brush once more against the skin of the quiet sister, louder now, having borne your promised future alone. eventually you are parted from the cold finger of that dead, wild girl, and for a time you find your halves spanned between the hands of the cruel lover and his hunter, who's resided with him all the while. you have held souls and futures and wedding vows in your bands, and now you hold something unspoken, volatile, crumbling.
at the end of it all, both of your twin halves are held victorious in the lover's fist. your boy's soul cries out, oceans away, tied up by more than just puppet strings. a knight clothed in magic puts up a valiant fight, but it is no matter.
the world is molten, and the lover shapes it into something he wants it to be.
in the aftermath, you lay cocooned in the palm of the young knight. terror rings out from her at the sight of you. the world, just reformed, hasn't cooled yet. in her hands, now.
on the day you first meet the finger of the boy whose soul your bands keep, the new world is in perfect bloom. roses sweeten the air and sunlight glints on your shiny silver. when you settle onto your boy's finger, it is the first exhale of a lifetime. his heartstrings rest, now, in his own hands, for himself alone to pull. this is the promise you hold now. but it is not the promise that the knight gives to your boy. her soft skin brushes lightly against you as she pulls your boy close and gives him a gentler promise, one that is easier to say.
you have been witness to cruelty and strife for generations by the time you are placed on the finger of a young boy made of magic and love. and you will be witness to more.
Ok. Wait.
I usually watch MLB in Italian or if I must French, and I am today years old when I listen to the English dub of Kwamibuster to find out it contains a direct quote from Ghostbusters and no one ever thought to tell me???
People, really????
Please reach out, I need to talk about this...