#so to hear this sort of take is just mindboggling

[litlunacy]

I just heard some of, what feels to me at least, the most pretentious writing advice I've ever heard. And I really do want to give a long rant and break down how impossibly wrong it is, but I think I'm a little too upset at the moment to do that properly.

The basic gist of it though, was that writing is an unforgiving medium and is a much more difficult art than painting or singing because they have more tools at their disposal and writers only have words.

Which is just so ridiculous that I'm foaming at the mouth over here. Writers have so many tools. The tools are how we shape the words, the same way a painter's tools shape the painting and a singer's tools shape the song.

And as someone who is both a writer and a painter (among other art fields) who also writes poetry (which is not singing, I know, but follows a lot of the same rules of meter and rhythm), it feels like such an insult to other art forms which require just as much dedication and effort and careful crafting as writing.

[bloomburnburial]

(with full awareness of how this is kind of an annoying thing to say) it’s bizarre to me when people lament the demise of the album. the album has always been here. the album is well and alive. thriving, even. you need merely seek it out

[ogdoadfates]

It was only a cough: Ch #9 Chromatic orb

Holy shit! It's the next chapter! Huge thanks to @ravendruid for helping me out whenever I needed it! I hope y'all enjoy! And of course here's the ao3 link to the story!

Percy lay atop the van on his stomach, gun at the ready,  eyes trained on the front doors and windows for any sign of trouble. Yet his mind and ears remain focused on the two conversing below him. It’d started with whispers but gradually grew to a normal conversational volume after a while, to be honest, he reckons they’ve forgotten that he lay above them, easily eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Five bucks that Vax will be the one needing to get patched up.” Scanlan declares, where Percy would expect Keyleth to say something in defense of Vax or to tell the short man to knock it off she instead snorts.

“That’s not a bet I’d go against.” She says with a sigh. “He’s always more reckless after something happens to me, well, or Vex.” Scanlan just hums in agreeance, with the light clinking of what could only be him swinging his legs back and fore to where it’s hitting the bumper of the car. 

Gods does he wish he could see the expressions the two have on their faces, instead he’s left to play the game of context clues. The two of them have been hemming and hawing about how horrid everything has become and how they constantly have to be the ones to keep everything light-hearted, with a few nods to Pike at least attempting to do the same. 

‘Giving credit where it's due’ he catches Keyleth say. It’s truly mindboggling and eye-opening to hear their flow of discussion, it sounds both old and new like they’ve had this same conversation with slightly different words many many times. Which in all fairness makes sense, the two are almost always the ones left behind to guard whatever the group was currently calling home whether that's his van or some building they cleared. Doesn’t make it hurt any less that Keyleth goes to Scanlan with these thoughts instead of him.

It’s his shuffling that reminds them that he’s there, that he’s listening in, that he now knows some of their secrets. They fall silent once more. At least until Scanlan speaks.

“So, it snowed a bit last night.” An emotion that Percy couldn’t place takes hold of the musically inclined man’s voice. He hears Keyleth hum in agrenece before he hears the short man continue. “Think it’s going to again?”

Percival’s swears his confusion spreads to even his bones. Sure, Keyleth knows the weather better than everyone in the group but even he knew it was a definite probability to snow again. It’s too damn cold for it not too, not to mention it has been for the last week. Keyleth gives off a long sigh before silence reigns over them again.

He swears for a moment that they’d spend the entire time they waited for the others in silence till Keyleth speaks. “You don’t have to talk in codes, Percy is going to ask me the same question at some point regardless might as well answer it at the same time.”

“Okay. You doing okay? Like really, no stuffy nose, coughs aren’t hurting, no crippling pain or anything?” Suddenly it feels like Percy shouldn’t be hearing this, it’s unbelievably rare to hear such concern in the smaller man's voice that it almost feels like committing some sort of violation to be hearing it. “Cause I got to say. You scared the complete shit out of me when I found you. You looked like you were begging for death.” Percy is starting to regret Keyleth’s decision to forego the code words, as much as he wants to know if she’s okay the memory of what she looked like just a week or so ago is traumatizing in its own right.

“I’m okay, coughing a bit here and there but no pain. At least nothing more than the usual aches and pains.” Her voice is small but he doesn’t hear even a hint of a lie in her voice. “I know we joked about it a bit before but I’m more so focused on the others right now. I don’t have a good feeling about this, how about you guys?”

“I’m-” A loud rumble blasts through the air before Percival can finish even the first part of his sentence, rain starting to dribble down afterward. The two below him shift, knocking things about the van in their surprise, as Percy quickly finds his way off the roof of the van and into the back. A waterlogged gun would be horrific with them so close to what they're guessing is a hoard.

As they get resituated, Scanlan is more inside the van than before and Keyleth and Percy stay at the open backdoors, the rain starts to fall in sheets.

Pike is having a bad fucking time. The adrenaline in her body is helping her but gods will she be sore tomorrow not to mention it appears that it’s started to storm outside. Fucking great! Vex isn’t running as fast as her and Grog, Vax is purposely staying behind with her. Grog’s been doing a good job of clearing the path for them but it’s still not as fast as she’d like, to be honest, she has half the mind to have them break through another window to at least get outside. Actually, that could work. 

“Grog! If you see a window that goes outside smash it! We’ll get out that way!” She can tell he’s heard her by his louder-than-usual grunt. This plan comes with its own risks, Injuries caused by broken glass are no joke but at the same time, it’s better than being eaten alive by a hoard of debilitating undead.

If they don’t lose anything in their haste this will actually be a great haul, she isn’t too sure on how much the boys found but Vex and her hit the jackpot for painkillers and antibiotics. They will be using some of those as soon as they get back to the van but luckily that won’t actually put that big of a dent into the supply. 

Pike’s no stranger to anxiety, none of them are, but she’s starting to understand how Keyleth must feel close to a daily basis. Gods, how does she function like this? The last time they’d been in a hospital was when she almost died. It was excruciating. Being torn apart like a pinata but instead of candy it was flesh, if the others hadn’t gotten to her in time she has the feeling she would’ve figured out what her own intestines looked like. 

“Pickle!” Vax’s voice shatters the fog that’d started swirling in Pike’s head, she’d slowed down. She’s a hell of a lot closer to Vax and Vex now than she was. Head in the game. You’re well you’re not safe but you are mobile, so move! She shouts inwardly to herself with a shake of her head, speeding up again to catch up to Grog who’d suddenly taken a sharp turn.

She doesn’t have to wonder for long as to why he changed directions when the beautiful sound of glass breaking and cascading onto the floor reaches her ears. It’s a good break not much glass is left on the bottom meaning they’re less likely to stab themselves which is good cause they don’t have time to be cautious.

“Everyone out! Now!” She shouts as she jumps and tumbles out the window.

Thick mud, small glass shards, and deafening rain greets her as she hits the ground, her face and parts of her body hurt but she doesn’t focus on that as she rushes up to get out of the way as Vax leaps out. His landing is a lot more grateful than hers in the sense he doesn’t fall flat on his face but she doesn’t miss the loud hiss and grunt that leaves him as he hobbles back to the window to help Vex get through. Once Vex is out nothing happens for a second and Pike’s heart starts to drop before Grog bursts through the window, as soon as he stands up they’re running again.

It’s pouring and Pike can barely see in front of her face, it’s like having a perpetual waterfall in front of her, but she can see just enough to know where she’s going. In no way is it easy, she hears and in some cases feels the others almost slip occasionally.

It takes what feels like hours but most likely was only a few minutes till she sees the van, she commands her legs to run just a bit faster.

“Freddie! Start the fucking car!” Vax shouts and gods his voice is going to join her nightmares. He’s scared, gods when isn’t this poor man scared? First, his girlfriend gets sick which can be life-threatening for her but now his twin sister is hurt. Pike just wants to bundle everyone up in a blanket and put them in a safe, dry, warm bunker but she can’t and it hurts.

[flagellant]

Another Small Essay On Why Capitalism Is Bad: Greco-Roman Empire Textile History Edition

The term muslin to refer to a form of fabric is loosely owed to the travelogues of "famed" "explorer", Marco Polo, who would "write" about his "expeditions" into "untamed" and "savage" lands filled with "exotic"--

Yeah, sorry, no, I can't fucking do that. Absolutely not. I'm not being polite about this: Muslin is a fabric which gets its name from Marco Polo being racist, and we actually have no 100% guarantee on where the origination of the fabric that came to be called Dhaka muslin actually was from. Polo claimed it was from Bangladesh, but Polo also claimed a whole lot of things about the Iranian harams which he never actually saw, so...

The point is, if you know much about fabric, you might hear the word muslin and think of a very coarse and thick, scratch fabric, usually undyed. It's kind of like the textile industry's version of scrap paper--you use it to test designs, to pin shit in place for specific things, and all sorts of other, lovely versatile uses during the production stages that you really do not want to budget actually good-shit textiles for.

Yeah, no, that's not what muslin used to be. Cleopatra wore muslin. Muslin was so important to the culture of Grecian/Roman religion that it was the only fabric allowed to be draped across statues of Aphrodite in her main temples. You might be asking, "Inneskeeper, what the fuck are you talking about? Did Cleopatra and Aphrodite just have terrible taste?" Well Cleopatra allegedly might have had a thing for Antony but ANYWAY, no, Dhaka muslin (I have to call it this bc it's the only words we have for it, sorry) was fucking insane.

Before I go into this, I need the uninitiated to understand something about how textiles actually work: What fibers you are using for your cloth, how fine those fibers are, and how skilled you are at weaving those fibers together into cloth. There is a reason that the Fates were spinners, weavers, and cutters; there is a reason that Pallas Athene, goddess of Wisdom, was a weaver; there is a reason that throughout history, if you look for beauty, for value, for war, and for skill and time--you find it in the shape of making cloth.

This is because it's fucking HARD. And it gets exponentially harder the thinner your threads go to weave. Because sure, smaller and smaller threads means a finer cloth, better draping, and a stronger fabric--but it means you have to spin your thread ever more thin (and this risks snapping or fraying the fibers), and even if your threads are perfect, you now have to take the time to weave all these spiderweb-thin things into a bolt of fabric. The finest cloth in all the world has always been the cloth with thinner threads and higher threadcount. Period, end of story. All value of actual fibers is rooted, at the end of the day, in how good a fabric you can make with them, and the answer to "how good a fabric can I make with this fiber" is always dependent on "Well, how's it spin?".

So, with that small brief aside on textile history, function, and economy, let's go back to muslin. Modern day muslin is scrap paper of fabric, as said, remember. But in antiquity, Cleopatra wore it. Aphrodite wore it. The Byzantine Emperors wore it. Even the English wanted to wear it. That's because Dhaka muslin was so fine a fabric, so diaphanous, that you could wear a full gown made out of it, and look as though you were completely butt-ass-naked.

We have many epistolary and apocryphal reports of Dhaka muslin's scandalous nature because of this. Apparently without exaggeration, anti-public indecency laws had to be put into place to prevent the above scenario from happening. But the value of the muslin was insane, and that's because the labor and skill required to weave a fabric that fine was mindboggling then and impossibly moreso now.

See, the reason we aren't all handweaving our shit anymore is the Jacquard Machine. Joseph Marie Jacquard invented the predecessor of what is now the modern weaving loom machine, industrializing the weaving process and allowing humanity to do in minutes what it took months to do prior. You know, only at the cost of all control of delicateness and integrity of the cloth. See, when working on the loom as a human, you can account for the fragility of the threads you're working with. Not possible, really, with a Jacquard Machine. So textile quality has gone down this past century or so because of it.

That's the main reason why we can't really guarantee we can replicate Grecian chiton fabric, btw. Even beyond the precise mix of linen fibers and such, and even beyond the delicacy of handwork needed, it's a matter of industrialization killing the heart of weaving and why you'd ever want to bother. Jacquard machines can work miracles and so on and so forth, and the cloth is flawless and, sure, it's fine and all. It's just not art. And it makes textile historians' jobs infinitely harder as the tools they need--both literal and the human hands--grow more and more difficult to discover as years go on.

===

Anyway that's where I have to call it at least for now, because I can't afford to just randomly ramble on much longer about dead textiles. There are currently various textile houses trying to figure out how to reverse engineer Dhaka muslin with varying degrees of success, but we aren't ever going to know for certainty if we've done it because the only "good" surviving records are from a racist man who regularly sensationalized his """"nonfiction"""" to sell more copies.

If you found this little mini off-the-top-of-the-head essay interesting, I'm currently a college student studying fashion design so that I can cause problems for governments about it and would love if my encyclopedic knowledge of trivial bullshit could at least buy me a Starbucks because I have classes at 8 in the morning and they don't end til 4:30pm this term and who decided this was okay. Like really

Anyway my payment info is as follows

Paypal.me/tatteredveil

Venmo: @ItsTheInnkeeper

Cash: $ItsTheInnkeeper

ko-fi.com/inneskeeper

[ronmanmob]

@we-are-the-coven

The States would never cease to baffle Ron with their sheer size. His little island could fit so many times in some of ‘em it was frankly mindboggling. Some started as deserts and ended in floodplains. Others began as forests and ended as beaches kissed by the Atlantic. Some had mountains, snow-capped and beautiful; some hot springs; some plains with plateaus and tumbleweeds. This conglomeration of land was the wild west and California; the Rockies and Tornado alley and everything in between and Ron -- he loved the lot of it. He had innumerable pals in these fairs lands’ darker corners and he planned on visiting them all. As soon, that is, that he could get out of this spot he was in now. 

Reggie’d told him where they were stopping off - there was an -ardo in the name he thought, though truth be much of it had passed Kray the Younger by. He’d been more intent on the energetics of the place than its geographical location -- something he knew he couldn’t admit to his brother without a universe of ridicule following him right up shit creek. Reggie wasn’t one for that sort of thing, no matter how big a part of Ron’s life it’d become since he’d awoken to the fact that there was more to life than the normal. There was a beyond. He knew. He’d seen it; walked it; communed with it and now, near on a week into his stay in this place he’d taken to calling Salem - even though it certainly wasn’t Salem-Salem; witch burning capital and all round NO THANK YOU - he knew that some kind of nexus for it was here. There had to be.

That or his brain had decided to take a sideways lurch without telling him. 

There was a boy on the edge of the forest that bordered their little town. Ron had seen him most days, this little lad. Pale and small, he couldn’t tell much about him from the glimpses he’d had, though he was most of Ron’s reasons for suspecting un-normal things were afoot. Reggie’d not seen hide nor hair of him for one thing - even when, to Ron, he was standing out in plain sight on the treeline twenty feet from their room’s window. And it wasn’t just his sensitive as a brick brother - no one else seemed to clock his presence either, and further still no one recognised him when Ron asked about the place and described him. There were no missing posters on lampposts or in shop windows, and Ron looked hard for ‘em; wanting to rule out all he could the possibility that this little lad was in need of help of a sort the police could provide, less a...Hm. 

Dreamspeaker.

Evening seven rolled round and still he resisted fetching his book and his herbs and his whiskey; not wanting to be found in a foreign land in a stupor he couldn’t explain away as drunkenness or a missed pill or worse, found mid-ritual and...most likely fucking shot. So he sat instead, watching the treeline; silent but for the occasional creak of boards under boots until...

There-

There he was again. 

Pale as  moonlight against the night’s  shadows, he peered right at Ron who peered right back and then-

‘Y’alrigh boy?’

Just like that, he was gone. Like every time before but for one detail Ron could hear footsteps haring through the trees now. He was real; corporeal; not un-normal. And every protective instinct Ron had about him howled that he should follow him; make sure he was alright. So, in the dead of night with no idea where he was going, Ron did as instinct bayed him and gave chase.

[flying-elliska]

S5 Review pt.1 : the Good

Arthur season is over, time to analyze it as a finished story ! This meta in 3 parts will go over the good, the bad and the mindboggling. My general impression of the season : excellent beginning, very meh middle, interesting ending. In short :  flawed but I feel people calling it a total disaster really are not making any effort to see it objectively. So ; let's dig into the why and how.

What I liked about this season :

A story made with and for Deaf people : It’s pretty evident when watching the interviews that Winona and Lucas really really enjoyed making the season and that it offered them an unprecedented level of representation. The creators obviously did their research, working with the people of the IVT. Personally I feel like I learned so much and the clips showing aspects of Deaf culture were among my favorites. It felt like a nuanced, rich, in-depth perspective, with details like choosing to get a cochlear implant or not, the testimony evening, the sign language class, Noee’s sign dance, the different ways to enjoy music, how to speak to someone who is Deaf, etc...showing that not everyone within that community has the same story or opinion, that they’re just people with their unique challenges but shared needs, as well as the really awesome culture that is part of being Deaf. It felt really respectful and a thousand miles away from the usual miserabilistic clichés - it brought up some concern about how difficult it is to be rejected/invisible in today’s society, but it was balanced with emotions like curiosity, admiration, and awe. I came to SKAM for the representation but I absolutely love getting educated about groups I’m not part of and I feel this is truly where the season shines. Learning from Deaf fans was also hella interesting. 

A complex discussion about disability : A central plot point, and one of my favorites, was Arthur learning to overcome his (now internalized) ableism. We see that Arthur is an overachiever and this change in his life upsets this idea of the perfect life he has in mind. He repeadedly lashes out at the other Deaf people he meets, makes fun of sign language, underlines how he is ‘not like them’ at the beginning because he is still clinging to his own self image. We can understand where this comes from when we see how condescending towards any sort of weakness, and focused on performance over empathy his father is. But as he learns to meet actual Deaf people and see the diversity and beauty of the community, he learns there is no shame in that sort of difference and learns to stand up for himself and that was amazing to see. Another important part was Laura and Melchior’s inclusion and beyond being very funny, they highlighted the idea that although disabled people have different, sometimes competing needs, they also have things in common, and that deep wish of not being discounted/othered/excluded. All the disabled characters this season were complex, real people, not there just to teach others a lesson or inspire them or be pitied or the butt of a joke, and that is so sadly rare nowadays. Even though some bits did feel a bit like a PSA, I feel like overall it was very well done. 

The politics of desirability : A theme running through the season is the idea that who we are attracted to is socially constructed and can really be biased by our prejudices. Alexia expressed this idea (albeit clumsily) in the bar scene early on, and this came back when she talked about her insecurities. This was also present in Laura’s insistence that disabled people have certain needs like everybody else. And finally, it’s present in Arthur’s own struggles - his fear of not being able to sleep with his girlfriend with his hearing aids, and his own difficulties in seeing what is happening with Noee and him saying ‘she’s deaf’ to the question ‘is she beautiful’ even as he is obviously into her. Our society gives us this incredibly narrow set of criteria for who is considered attractive - thin, white, able bodied, etc - but people’s actual real patterns of attraction and finding beauty are, when you set those prejudices aside, and see the beauty of people for who they are and not how well they fit a box, so much more broad and generous and diverse and I loved how this season highlighted that. 

Technical excellence : God, the cinematography this season was absolutely off the charts, it makes me wish they could redo previous seasons with this amount of style. Shots like Arthur under the shower, or that party at the Asso with the blurry dancing, the shots in the pool, or the ones from the farm episode...INCREDIBLE. The sound editing was used sooooo well to put us in Arthur’s shoes, it was a wonder and I really felt how intense the change must have been for him because of that. And the acting is impeccable. You can really feel how well these actors know their characters by now, they have total mastery of their portrayal. Robin did an awesome job with tough scenes, but just...everyone was on their best game really. 

A nuanced portrayal of abuse : Arthur’s relationship with his father was thouroughly heartbreaking, and it felt very real. I am very grateful that they didn’t try to redeem him - it’s important to show that even if you are trying your best, some people are toxic abusers and the best thing you can do is take your distance. I felt it right away, in the subtle way he was dismissing and belittling his wife and son, in the ways he was asserting his control over them, and I wasn’t surprised at all when more came out. It surprised me in the beginning that so many people were arguing that the father was caring, just strict - I feel like the signs were so obvious but I guess that’s the point. Abuse is a pattern that becomes visible over time and abusers can be perfectly charming and reasonable to people who don’t know what it’s like. Growing up with that is isolating and terrifying and it does awful things to your self esteem and your capacity to be in tune with your feelings. We can see that when Arthur basically defends his father’s actions because he is still so eager to have his love and placate him. Arthur’s behavior did not come from nowhere and it was inspiring to see him grow past that and realize he did not have to perpetuate the pattern and make his own choices. Also, his relationship with his mom was very sweet, supportive (her smoking weed with him was awesome) but complex - the way he was mean to her sometimes, condescending bc of her lack of studies ; the way she blamed herself for not seeing sooner - she must have been subjected to Patrick’s more emotional abuse, and so she will probably feel like she should have reacted sooner or known and that’s like...painful ugh. This whole thing was so raw and real. And it was incredibly important to see the nurse and her Jerome - adults, with medical knowledge - see Arthur’s situation and tell him that sometimes you just have to leave. 

Highs and lows of friendship : Basile !!!! I was not a fan in s3 but the great aspect of POV shift is allowing us to see some characters through a different angle - even though I think Basile went through a lot of growth too. In Lucas’s season he was meant to be the annoying gross overly straight guy as a contrast - but for Arthur he is this devoted friend that is so open and sincere in his affection that his awkwardness comes off as endearing instead. You really understand why those two are friends : Arthur is smart, sarcastic, he can help Basile with social awareness and hype him up, but he’s also so painfully guarded and finds it hard to express emotion, I think, and it makes sense he loves Basile’s spontaneity and big heart. Meeting his grandfather was also so funny and endearing, as were all the marks of more physical affection he wasn’t afraid to show Arthur. I think having a friend like that is part of what allows Arthur to finally stand up on his own - whether against his father or deciding he needs to be single to figure himself out. As for the Gang in general, I loved the moments where they were all happy together (the early graffiti clip is truly one of the shining moments of the season for me) but their later spat is also quite understandable to me. I find it very realistic that although they are trying their best to accomodate their new friend’s disability, they’re going to mess up, that’s part of the process. The most important thing, I think, when faced with someone who is different from you, is to engage with it (respectfully) - ask questions, not assume. And communicate ffs.  I also really liked those moments where the Crew and Gang came together, it gave this big end of high school vibe where all the squads merge and there is this feeling of having gone through an ordeal together that makes everyone closer.  There were also so many funny moments  that were absolute gold (the wheelbarrow ! the dinosaur balloons ! Imane getting attacked by chickens ! Emma and her horse! ).

Arthur on his own : I liked the more introspective moments we got this season. The successive alarms while he was angsting about his hearing coming back were such a clever way to put us in his perspective - there is already a lot of stress linked to a morning alarm, isn’t there ? We all know that moment in the morning where we don’t want to get out of bed and face the world, and taking that emotion and adding Arthur’s absolute stress at realizing that this change is lasting, it was really effective. Arthur’s link to water, as a symbol of another world where sound is much more diffuse, is quite interesting too. And the moment in last episode where he puts his glasses back on, too, as a more obvious sign of a disability that is very socially accepted and that is just part of who he is, just as his hearing loss is. We also got a moment with the bench of loneliness that was an interesting parallel with s3. (I love how the Buttes-Chaumont parc has become this double symbol in Skam France of both loneliness/alienation/putting on a mask and growth/return to authenticity.) And I like that he ended up the season single and deciding to figure himself out. It’s a big aspect of his character that he has spent too much time trying to conform to expectations and that he was super walled off as a result, that he hurt others without realizing, that he found himself boring, that he didn’t seem to open up to his friends, etc...and in the end he is a lot more open but he also knows there is a part of growth that being in a relationship cannot bring him. He can’t use women the way his father did. I respect that a lot, honestly, it’s what saved the end of the season for me, that they didn’t end up putting one girl above the other and made it about Arthur being lost and needing to find his way on his own. 

The tornado and the sunshine : The new characters were awesome. Her role in the plot set aside, I really liked Noée as a character concept. I think Winona was awesome, and I liked Noée’s mix of warmth and feistiness. I like that they let her be angry at the way the world treated her, and compassionate at the same time. Also her headbutting that guy in the club that didn’t want to listen to her was !!! iconic. I loved her style, too, and that dance was so beautiful. Camille was a great addition to the team too, Arthur was lucky to find someone that patient and his dry humor but sunny disposition were great too. It was cute to see him with Mika as a couple of gurus - that we did get a Deaf/hearing couple was a good addition to the season, I think - and I hope we’ll see both of those new characters next season, too. 

Queen Alexia : She was definitely one of the characters I had the most emotions for this season. She’s just so cool and her perspective on life is just so mature and interesting, her acceptance of herself and others so inspiring - a lot of the early clips with her were adorable. I loved how supportive she was in such a creative, playful way - that game she made for Arthur, the boards she brought, etc. The moments she talked about her insecurities, if bittersweet because of what happened later, remains one of my faves from the season. She was so beautiful framed by rainbows (also apparently that’s her sign name ? Amazing.) And the moment where she sings was just...oof. She was really brave and strong to be able to do that, to express her emotions and hurt in such a public, dignified and creative way. It was a moment of reckoning for Arthur, putting him on the spot and recognizing how much he hurt her, but it was done in such a graceful way - the way she signed to signal her acceptance of his Deafness, the reminder that she loves him and won’t be able to forget that immediately, and a rejoinder to recognize his feelings towards Noee, etc. She wasn’t perfect (organizing that meeting without asking really pushed it a bit too far - you can’t rush someone else’s self acceptance) but she was just ...really good. 

Elu as an established couple : One of my biggest reproaches to s3 is that they didn’t give us enough fluff after all the drama (time constraints, I know, etc.) But this season they really delivered. And listen I know some fans love to blather about fanservice but fuck it, I just love seeing a healthy domestic queer couple on screen !!!! It’s just so bloody healing, because they feel real and in love like nothing I have ever seen on screen before. Maybe because so often straight actors are so awkward at playing queer intimacy and they’re really not. Seeing them in their new appartment was like a pure shot of serotonin - morning croissants ! fairylights everywhere ! but I also liked that it wasn’t too fluffy one note. We can still see that Eliott struggles with MI, that Lucas has some insecurities, but yet their devotion to each other is still as strong, as in “he’s my boyfriend and I love him.” It was a hopeful note throughout the season, Lucas being persistent and devoted all through the challenges of being with someone who is mentally ill. Also, I really liked Eliott’s role this season, as a sort of...provider for the Gang ? Getting them a van, bringing them to the cool graffiti place, making this fresque for them...you can feel he’s not 100% part of the gang because he’s older, already in college, etc, but at the same time he has sort of an observer role that can give them things no one else can. I feel like Lucas confided in him about the troubles they were going through and Eliott can empathize with being treated different, the fear of losing your friends...so Eliott helped them in his unique way, through art. And him having this new secret place he can bring more people to, and so full of color and sharing his art with people and !!!! God I’m emo he’s just my fave character ever really. 

The pressure of the future : Listen the last year of high school in France is horrible, there is the pressure from the BAC + half the people are passing entrance exams and doing interviews for the stuff you want to do later and it’s so stressful and I’m glad they touched on that at least a little. Emma really embodied this theme this season, of the pressure of not wanting to know what you want to do later. It’s really when you realize that they’re all so young and being asked to make such big decisions for their entire lives is really sort of fucked up, and I think her being there is a way to dedramatize not knowing, and gives Arthur the freedom to see he doesn’t want to be a doctor ; I liked the apt comparison with Imane’s passion for medecine. I wish we’d seen more of Arthur figuring out his real passion (did he make that painting or what ?) but I appreciated this storyline. 

Overall, I think this season was full of excellent moments - either funny, heartwarming, heartbreaking, or edifying - and it provided some much needed quality representation for the Deaf community. In that, and having educated a lot of people, it is at least somewhat a success. However, as a whole, it did not quite come together for me, which is what I will analyze in my next post. 

[slashthedice]

hii! is it possible for you to write a nsfw imagine of Billy letting you go in a trial? similar to a micheal one uwu

This is a little different from the Michael one because I think if you want to get down and dirty with our hillbilly boy your relationship is definitely going to start out different than your relationship with Michael would (´▽｀*) This ended up becoming a full-length one-shot because I don’t know how to not go overboard, apparently. Also, I just want to explain that I headcanon that Max is capable of speaking, but it’s hard for him and can be painful. Sometimes he can’t get the words to come out right, and he gets frustrated, so he prefers to just not say anything at all. Okay, now that that’s out of the way, NSFW below! (Also tried some switching of perspective, kinda an omniscient POV going on… lmk if you guys like it or not)

It all started with you getting lost in the woods. All you had wanted was to get away from your fellow survivors. A group of them had come back from a trial and immediately started blaming each other for how it had gone. It had all come to a head when Ace made a smart comment and David threw a punch. From what you could gather, they had found themselves attempting to escape the Clown, and David blamed Ace for getting him caught. Whether or not there was truth to the accusation was unknowable, but you did know that you didn’t want to stick around for the ensuing fight. So you left.

Turning your back on the campfire was easy. However, allowing yourself to slip into the shadows between the gnarled, monstrous trees was like diving into freezing water. You immediately felt the sheer emptiness of the forest. The silence was deafening, and for the first time since you had been pulled into the Entity’s realm, you felt alone. You had never known such intimate loneliness. The knowledge that it was just you out there was stifling, without even the hollow mimicries of crow calls to give you comfort.

You should turn back, you thought as you began to waver beneath the weight of your solitude. However, you were quick to realize that you were no longer sure from which direction you had come. The trees all looked the same, and it wasn’t as if you had been following a path to begin with. The underbrush crunched beneath your feet, twigs snapping and dry leaves crackling loudly. Your body buzzed with anxious energy as your thoughts chased each other in fruitless circles of panic and fear. Your wide eyes scanned the horizon, but you saw nothing as you continued to weave between tree trunks.

You paused to take a moment to ground yourself, trying to place your train of thought back onto a more rational track. That was when you heard footsteps that were not your own. You whipped around, attempting to locate the source of the noise. Maybe one of the others had noticed your absence and come to take you back. You hoped they knew the way better than you did. Yet as you looked around, you did not find another survivor.

You saw him before he noticed you.

The misshapen, knobbly silhouette of the Hillbilly lumbered through the trees. His crooked gait and uneven steps caused his movement to be even louder than your own had been, crashing through the forest with reckless abandon. The closer he got, the more you could hear his labored, gurgling breathing as it rattled through his chest and out of his open mouth. You looked for the chainsaw and cattle hammer that you had learned to fear through repeated exposure to the acute pain they caused, but found him empty handed. You should run, you thought, but for some reason you were rooted to the spot. As you continued to watch him, you realized that there was no purpose in his steps as he limped along, he was not a predator stalking prey, but merely someone out for a stroll. He meandered past you, seemingly without a care in the world.

Once his back was to you, whatever spell it was that had frozen you released its hold. Not taking your eyes off of him you took a few steps backwards, intent on heading off in the opposite direction from where he was headed. One, two, three-- crack! The sound of a twig snapping under foot was louder than a gunshot, and unfortunately you weren’t the only one to hear it.

He stopped suddenly, straightening up as best as his distorted spine would allow before turning in your direction. His glowing eyes were visible through the mask-like coverage of his own malformed skin, and they sought you out in the gloom. You expected him to come flying at you when he found your form, to run you down like he did in trials, carving through you with the teeth of the chainsaw between the whispering stalks of corn. But he seemed just as frozen as you were. He did not move, he hardly seemed to breathe as the two of you were caught in each other’s gaze.

Finally, after a few seconds that each felt like an eternity, he began to move. You mentally began to count down the moments until he would fall upon you and tear you to shreds or bludgeon you until you were little more than a pulp of mangled flesh and bone, but instead he turned tail and ran off into the forest, as fast as his crooked legs would allow. You blinked as you watched his retreating form meld into the shadows, leaving you achingly alone once more.

He was afraid of you, you realized with a jolt.

It was mindboggling to think that a creature with the capacity to murder in such excruciating ways could possibly be scared of someone so blatantly solitary and defenseless. Even without the tools of his trade at his side, he was bigger and stronger than you, and would have no trouble bashing your head in with a rock or against a tree. He had proven time and again that he could hoist you over his shoulder with one arm like you weighed little more than a sack of potatoes, and yet you had just witnessed him flee from you in much the same manner as you and your fellow survivors had run from him in a trial. It was a puzzling turn of events to say the least.

You eventually managed to stumble your way back to the campfire. You mentioned your misadventures to noone, and none of them asked. Yet as you sat within the comforting ring of light surrounding the undying flames, you could not stop turning the nature of the encounter over in your mind. You found a dangerous sort of curiosity building within you, and it bubbled and clambered to be satisfied. Ever a servant to your own inquisitiveness, you found that you could not deny yourself.

You began to venture out into the darkness with increasing frequency in the downtime between the pain, torture, and dying. More than once, you encountered him as he meandered with the same lack of intent as he had the first time, but each time he spotted you, his demeanor changed abruptly and he ran. It was frustrating because each time you emerged with no more answers than you had entered, but more than anything these brief chance meetings were perplexing.

Finally, you decided to be more than a quiet observer, filled with a need for an explanation. As the Hillbilly turned his back on you once again to flee, you realized that you had had enough of whatever cyclical exchange (or lack thereof) the two of you had been engaged in. You were putting your foot down.

“Wait!” You cried, shattering the stillness of the darkness.

You weren’t sure how effective your plea would be in halting his retreat, but you were pleasantly surprised when his getaway was stalled. He glanced over his shoulder at you before hurriedly looking at the ground, like he wasn’t supposed to see you. But still, he remained.

You were struck momentarily by an unsureness. You honestly hadn’t expected to get this far, and suddenly all of the burning questions you had seemed to vanish from your mind. You stumbled over the multitude of possible words and phrases you could string together, finally settling on a question you had not thought to ask originally.

“Can you talk?”

His sloped shoulders were stiff as he shuffled around to face you. A sharp nod left him after a beat.

“Why do you keep running from me?”

He shrugged noncommittally, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the ground.

“What’s your name?”

He remained silent for a moment, and you thought perhaps that he either did not want to tell you or did not have a name to give.

“Max,” he said finally, voice surprisingly fragile in comparison to the rest of him. It sounded brittle, and almost as if it was painful for him to form the word.

“Okay, Max,” you felt breathless, adrenaline and excitement pulsing through you as the reality of your situation set in. You were talking to a killer! And he wasn’t trying to end your life or sacrifice you to the Entity! “I’m (Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he repeated, and it sounded even more pained than his first word to you.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you wanted to say next. “You don’t have to run, you know. I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me.”

He seemed to consider your offer before shuffling a little closer to where you had planted yourself. You offered him a broad smile, and that was that.

It was strange, indulging your darker more morbid desires and seeking out companionship with one of the creatures set forth by the Entity to take your life in new and torturous ways again and again and again. Still, there was something undeniably honest in your time spent with Max. He didn’t say much, preferring to listen to you tell him stories about your life before all this. You asked him once why he didn’t speak and he had merely shrugged and said “Hurts.” When your memories failed and you ran out of things to talk about from your old life, you began to supplement with new stories about your fellow survivors. You told him about the time that Jake had somehow stolen one of the Trapper’s-- Evan’s, Max had corrected you-- bear traps and then goaded David into trying to disarm it by punching the pressure plate and pulling his arm out really fast. It went about as well as could be expected, but the story seemed to delight your new found friend.

Friend. It wasn’t a word you thought you would come to associate with a killer. Hell, it was a word you were hesitant to use for the other survivors. The significance of it flitting into your subconscious thoughts was not lost on you as you smiled up at the twisted, crooked man sitting next to you on a fallen tree trunk. You realized that you had begun to harbor soft, tender feelings in the hidden part of your heart that were reserved exclusively for him. Max was awkward and unpractised in the art of friendship and human interaction, but he tried his best and it was endearing. You felt a warmth flood your chest any time he made an effort to say your name, or when you saw the way that his disfigured face would light up and he would attempt to mimic your smile when he saw you. It was a slippery slope between friendship and something more, but you were happy to dive into it headlong. 

You had not encountered Max in a trial since beginning your relationship. You tried not to think about what would happen when you did. He would have to kill you, you supposed. You doubted that the Entity would take kindly to its killers playing favorites in trials. Still, the thought of feeling the chainsaw carving through your flesh and bone was not one you took comfort in, even if it was wielded by someone you cared about. No, you concluded, that would probably make it worse.

The Entity apparently was capable of monitoring your thoughts, and as always loved a cruel sort of irony. The next trial you found yourself partaking in saw you coming to in the center of a seemingly endless sea of gently shifting and swaying cornstalks. The air smelled of freshly tilled earth and distantly of smoke. All was still for a moment, but the harsh mechanical sound of a chainsaw suddenly tore through the silence and bore into your skull.

Your chest tightened with an unfamiliar dread. It wasn’t the same as what you felt at the outset of every trial, this wasn’t colored by terror but instead a sort of despair. Max had cut you down any number of times in the past, but it was different now. Before you hadn’t known him. Then he was simply the Hillbilly, one of the monsters whose only defining feature was that he was there to kill you. Now he was Max, your friend, someone you cared about far more deeply than you had admitted even to yourself.

It seemed like no time at all before you heard the first unmistakable sound of a survivor meeting a gory, ghastly fate under the bite of whirring metallic teeth. You tried to block the sound from your mind, but the screams pierced you to your core, rattling your resolve and sending your thoughts into a tizzy. The growling of the chainsaw never seemed to cease, and you could not steady the trembling of your entire body as you tried desperately to finish the generator you were working on near the horrific Sacrificial Tree beneath which you imagined you could still hear the mournful mooing of cows. You heard a grunt and the thick, meaty sound of a hammer striking someone, and chanced a glance over the top of the machine.

Jake dashed forward, limping distinctly as he headed for the crumbling stone walls surrounding the tree. He could stall Max there, you knew, if he could find the right number of turns and leaps, and time when to drop the pallet perfectly. However, you were working diligently on a generator right here, could Jake have taken him nowhere else?

“Come on, come on,” you urged yourself under your breath. If you could finish the generators and get out, you wouldn’t have to worry about Max catching you. You wouldn’t have to face what would undeniably be a dark spot in your relationship, even if you did understand why he had to do it.

With a triumphant cry, you connected the last wires that caused the generator to spring to life. You stood quickly despite the stiffness in your knees from crouching for so long. As you did, you looked towards where you thought Jake would be only to make eye contact with Max. Time slowed to barely a crawl as you held his gaze. You fancied you would have been able to see the turning of the chain on his favored weapon if you had bothered to look, but as it was your eyes were affixed firmly upon his. For a moment, he forgot about Jake entirely as he kept looking at you. You wondered if he had considered what he would do if he encountered you like this in a trial. Something in the way he looked at you told you that he hadn’t.

“Run!”

The sudden cry from Jake startled you out of the moment in time that you had almost allowed yourself to believe you were sharing with Max alone. You turned around and fled much in the same way Max had done to you all those times, and you heard his grunt of pain as Jake dropped the pallet on his head. You felt guilty for being glad that Jake had stunned him, but you would have felt guiltier for celebrating if Jake had been caught.

Another generator clicked on a considerable distance away. You wove between corn stalks, searching for the flickering of lights that indicated an incomplete generator. You heard someone working on one before you saw the lights. You burst through the corn to find Nea crouched, elbow deep in the mechanical guts of the generator. You stumbled up next to her and immediately got to work.

“I finished one,” she said by way of greeting. “He already got Feng Min, and the Entity took her before we could get to her.”

“I did the other, last I saw Jake was looping him by the cow tree.”

It felt normal, routine to talk to a fellow survivor so matter-of-factly. You could almost forget how heartbreakingly different this trial was from normal. You put your head down and got to work, repairing as quickly as you could. You thought back to what it had been like before all of this, before the trials and the running and dying. You had known nothing about repairing anything. Now it all seemed second nature. How long had you been here? You weren’t sure.

The generator sputtering one last time before beginning it’s consistent put-put-put as it ran on its own scared you, nearly causing you to fall backwards onto your butt. Nea looked unimpressed as you staggered to your feet, and she grabbed your sleeve to drag you forward. 

“Let’s go,” she commanded, ushering you forward.

Your entire body tensed as you heard Jake scream in agony. Max had apparently finally caught up to him. You looked to Nea and she clucked her tongue as she realized the implications. The two of you had just been nearing the next generator.

She dragged a hand down her face and sighed as if the whole trial was just one massive inconvenience. “I’ll go get him,” she said, sounding none too thrilled about the rescue mission at hand.

You knew it was an act. She was skilled at avoiding killers and smart when rescuing other survivors. She wasn’t about to put forth a half-assed unhook attempt. She stalked off into the fog and corn with all the grace of a cat, leaving you alone once more.

You had trouble focusing on the generator. It had been some time since you had heard Max’s chainsaw, and there was no sign of Nea or Jake. It was quiet with the exception of the occasional crow call or the artificial wind whistling through the stalks. Your objective felt as if it was of secondary importance when compared to watching your surroundings, and on more than one occasion you caught yourself right before you were about to make a critical mistake and set back your progress. You hoped the others would emerge from the corn to join you, but they never came.

Finally you felt more than heard the burst of energy as the Entity tore its way through the sky to bear down on what must have been Jake still on the hook. How had Nea not made it to him in time? That was when a shrill scream of pained despair rang out, drowned out only by the grinding growl of the chainsaw. That wasn’t the scream of someone about to be hooked, no that was the undeniable scream of someone dying in agony. It was only you and Max now.

Since you had gotten to know him, you had never felt disquieted by the knowledge that you were alone with Max. Most of the time, you took great comfort in the solitary dynamic that the two of you had built, but in that moment seeing him was the last thing you wanted. 

You had to find the hatch.

You broke into a sprint, pushing yourself to run as fast as you could through the field, listening for that strange, otherworldly hum that the Black Lock always emitted. You craved the darkness that would swallow you whole only to deposit you back in the light of the campfire. You couldn’t bear the thought of dying at Max’s hand. You needed to escape so that you could run off into the forest afterwards to sit with him in that same aura of comfort and companionship without your blood on his hands to taint it.

Of course, nothing could be easy. Soon enough you heard the telltale grinding of chain and gears and felt your heartbeat kick into overdrive as Max sprinted at full tilt towards you. He was too fast, and there were no walls or windows for you to duck behind or jump through. Phantom pains sparked through your body as it prepared itself to be reacquainted with the exquisite torture it remembered. You dared to look at the speeding bullet of twisted skin and muscle barreling towards you, and it was hard to reconcile in your mind that this was the same Max that liked to sit quietly and listen to you tell stories.

As he closed the final few meters between the two of you, you screwed your eyes shut and waited for it to all be over. You didn’t want to see his face when he did it, didn’t want to know if he took any joy in cutting you down and carving you up. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Although at this point you think whoever “they” are, they’re fools.

You heard the whirring come to a stop with a clunk and a grind, and after a couple seconds of silence, you dared to crack open one of your eyes. Max stared at you almost expectantly, chainsaw and hammer lowered, and posture unassuming and passive. He was waiting for you to do something, apparently just as unsure of how to deal with the situation as you were.

You opened your eyes fully and immediately felt them begin to water, a cocktail of varied emotions sweeping through you, relief and affection for the large man standing before you being the foremost. You wiped fruitlessly at the tears that now spilled over your eyes and streaked down your cheeks. Max shifted uncomfortably, obviously unsure of how to deal with your crying.

“Oh, Max,” you blubbered.

You tried to think of what to say to tell him how happy you were, how grateful. The Entity surely wouldn’t take kindly to him not harming you. It wanted a full meal of survivor souls, and Max had just denied it dessert. Words failed you, and you were at a loss, so you settled for throwing yourself bodily at him and wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

Max went stiff in your arms, clearly not expecting your display of affection. In the past, you had only been so bold as to hold his hand once, and even then only fleetingly. Max had never been hugged, had never experienced this kind of genuine, tender human emotion. He didn’t know how to respond, what was expected of him, so he froze. You would have liked for him to wrap you up in his arms in return, but you had learned enough of him by now to know that he probably had no idea that that was what he was meant to do. Max wasn’t unintelligent, but he was ignorant to many of the intricacies of human interaction.

You released your hold on him slowly, allowing yourself to lower back down to your feet. You cupped his face in your hands, smiling brightly up at him through the tears. Your heart fluttered happily when he returned it with his own crooked smile. God help you, you thought, you might just love him.

“Come on,” he prompted in his strangled, guttural voice that you so rarely got to hear. 

He led you through the corn and you were more than happy to follow. He limped just ahead of you, and you wished that he didn’t have his weapons so that you could hold his hand. You heard the hum that you had been so desperately searching for only a few minutes prior, and a fresh wave of tears gathered in your eyes. Max saw the waterworks when he turned back to present the hatch to you, and you saw the confusion and concern in his body language. He thought he had done something wrong.

You shook your head vehemently in response to his unvoiced question. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Max. I’m so happy and grateful.”

Not knowing how better to reassure him of your sincerity, you grasped the front of his ruined shirt in your hands and pulled him down to you. He could have easily resisted, but he allowed you to tug him towards you so that you could pepper his face in kisses. His skin was warm and leathery beneath your lips, but you didn’t let that faze you. In the face of your overt affection, he froze again, a reaction that was not unexpected.

The loud thunk of the chainsaw and hammer hitting the ground simultaneously startled you, but did not deter you from your continued assault of his cheeks and forehead with a flurry of hurried pecks. You could not help the joyful giggle that bubbled up in your chest when he wrapped his arms around you in the first hug he had ever given anyone. His own gurgled laugh came in response as he lifted your feet from the ground and spun you in a circle. You wrapped your legs around his hips to anchor yourself, and feeling bold, planted your lips squarely against his.

The action gave him pause. This was a new form of affection he hadn’t expected. Your lips on his face had felt nice, they kind of tickled with their feather-light brushes, but this felt entirely different. You had closed your eyes despite the way his widened, and your arms were locked firmly back around his neck. You made a sound in the back of your throat and he was suddenly acutely aware of how warm his body felt and the way you were pressed against him. He wanted to reciprocate, to let you know that he very much liked this feeling and wanted more of it.

For your part, you were enjoying kissing Max as much as he was enjoying being kissed. You would be lying if you said that you hadn’t considered what it would be like. What would his lips feel like? Would it be very difficult with the way his mouth was formed? Would he even want you to kiss him? In one moment of throwing care to the wind, you had answered all of those questions. His lips felt very much like the rest of his skin, leathery and slightly twisted, but not unpleasant in their warmth. It was not too hard, just required a slightly abnormal approach. And if the way his arms tightened around you was any indication, he definitely wanted you to continue kissing him.

You shifted against him, pelvis grinding against his, and you could not contain the gasp that left you when he whined at the feeling. There was no mistaking the heated hardness you had felt against your sex despite the separating layers of clothes. Much like your initial interaction, you found yourself at a loss, never planning for a moment such as this. You unwrapped your legs from around him and lowered your feet back to the ground. He made a sound of displeasure somewhere between a moan and a whine at the loss of friction, and looked near distraught when you pulled your lips away from his. He kept his arms wound tightly around you, unwilling to let you go just yet, not with the way his whole body was burning. The way you made him feel.

“I need you to trust me,” you whispered breathlessly, despite the fact that no one was around to hear you.

You pushed on his chest just enough to create enough space for you to maneuver. Your fingers worked quickly to unbutton your shirt and then you slid it off of your shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Your bra was next on your list of clothing that needed to come off as quickly as possible, fumbling with the clasp behind your back and sighing with satisfaction when it finally came loose. You slipped the thin straps off and you watched it tumble down to mingle with your shirt in the dust and dirt. Glancing up at Max, the best word you could think of to describe the look on his face was “awestruck”.

He had an unfamiliar desire to be the one removing your clothing, but he was loath to put a stop to what you were doing. As more and more of your silky skin was revealed to him, he felt more and more of that all consuming heat building under his skin and settling in his groin. His pants were far too tight suddenly, and he wanted them off almost as much as he wanted to peel the rest of your clothing off of you.

You felt a bubbling sort of embarrassment at the intensity with which Max stared at you, but along with it came a sense of pride. He wanted you, quite badly apparently, and that knowledge was accompanied by a warm feeling and a whole new confidence. You halted your stripping before you came to your pants, wanting to get Max out of some of his clothing. You started with the shredded tank top that hardly even qualified as a shirt anymore, coaxing him to raise his arms and allow you to divest him of the ruined garment. It was another piece added to the rapidly growing pile of clothing you were accumulating.

His exposed chest hardly appeared human, little more than a twisted mass of flesh with hardly anything you would be able to identify as anatomically natural musculature, but that did not stop you from running your hands over the expanse reverently. You glanced up at him from beneath your eyelashes, looking for any sign that he wanted you to stop. When you received no objections, you followed your wandering hands with your mouth, pressing opened mouth kisses across his chest and torso. He tasted like salt and sweat, and reacted extremely positively to this new treatment. You allowed your hands to drift lower, fingers dancing across his torso and teasing at the edge of his pants. You heard him suck in a rattling breath, and you watched him clench and unclench his hands at his sides.

“Do you want to keep going?” You asked, marveling at the husky tone of your own voice.

Max nodded sharply, a needy sound erupting from the back of his throat and surprising you both. You could not help the grin that overtook your features as he raised his hands to tug at your jeans. You obliged him, unfastening the button and sliding the zipper down before wiggling the denim down your hips with your underwear. You gave him no time at all to take in your nudity before your fingers were back at his waistband, undoing his belt and tugging it through the loops. 

As you worked at the fastenings on his dirty, distressed jeans that were just a little too big for his hips, you considered dropping to your knees and taking him in your mouth. You wondered if his cock would be as rough and irregular as the rest of his skin. What would it feel like to drag your tongue up the underside of it? What would he taste like? You could tell that he was already hard beneath the barrier his pants provided, you were willing to bet that he would be leaking precum when you finally freed him, and the thought of collecting its saltiness while lapping at the head of his length left your mouth watering.

You knew that you didn’t have the patience to follow through with that plan, and you doubted that Max would last that long considering what your admittedly tame kissing had done to him. You were fine to put that fantasy on the backburner, already wet and aching for him to fill you up. You released a shaky breath that you hadn’t known you were holding when you finally dragged the jeans down his legs and his hardened length sprung free, already twitching with precum spilling from the slit of his swollen head. His cock looked surprisingly normal, with the exception of some extra skin bunching around the base and some interesting discoloration along the shaft. The most noticeable thing about it was how big he was. Max was a large man, and his member was more than proportionate.

You wrapped your hand around him as best you could and gave him a few quick jerks with a flick of your wrist. He keened, panting under your touch and curling forward to lean his forehead against the top of your head, burying his face in your hair. You watched with nothing short of fascination as his abdominal muscles rippled and his cock twitched in your grip.

You wanted to feel him inside of you immediately.

“Max,” you cooed, prompting him to look at you.

He whined when you took your hand away from him, but was intrigued when you wrapped your arms back around his neck and pulled him down with you to the ground. You reclined backwards, ignoring how strange the dirt and soil felt against your bare skin. You parted your legs and prompted Max to kneel between them. Your hungry eyes soaked in the way his cock bobbed as he settled himself between your spread thighs. He in turn studied the way your pussy dripped with arousal, the heady scent overwhelming his senses and sending his thoughts scattering. His heart beat loudly in his chest, and he thought it might just stop when you took his hand that wasn’t supporting his weight as he loomed over you and brought it to your folds.

You were so warm and wet beneath his rough, calloused fingertips. You guided his fingers on where to touch and how much pressure to use. Your breathing came out in harsh, heavy puffs of heated air the rolled across his neck and chest. You gasped when he found your entrance and slipped one crooked finger inside. He was nearly stunned by the feeling of your silken walls clenching down on his finger. You were so tight, it was thrilling to imagine that feeling on other parts of him. Every instinct he had was telling him to bury his cock as deep as he could into that dizzying heat between your legs and to not let you go until he had filled you with everything he had.

Your instincts were apparently driving you to the same conclusion, because he had barely just began his exploration of your body before you were pushing his hand away and pulling his hips closer to the cradle of your own with your legs around his waist. You spread yourself for him and wrapped a hand around his length to guide him in. You both moaned as his head dragged along your slick, spreading his fluids across your lips and becoming coated in your arousal. His hips bucked of their own accord at the feeling, and all of his senses were suddenly screaming that it was absolutely imperative he be inside of you. You couldn’t agree more, moaning wantonly at the unbearable friction caused by the drag of his sex against your own.

“Max, please,” you begged, wiggling your hips towards him.

He didn’t need any convincing, but the sound of your pleas tumbling from you pretty lips sent a jolt down his spine and straight to his cock. With a little less delicacy than was probably due, he thrust forward, pushing into you and drawing a high-pitched wail from you as the head popped past your entrance. It took all of his self-control not to lose himself in the feeling of being wrapped in the tightness of your walls. He forced himself to still his hips in order to check on you.

Your face was flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat. He watched a bead of it form on your forehead and drip down your reddened cheeks. You hair was slicked with it already, and your lips were parted to allow your heavy breathing and intoxicating moans to escape. Your chest heaved with each panting intake and exhale of air. Your eyes were half lidded, pupils blown wide as you took in the sight of him above you. He looked down to where the two of you were joined, and the sight alone was nearly enough to make him come undone.

He felt even better inside of you than you had thought he would. The stretch was unlike anything you had ever experienced, leaving you feeling more full than you knew you could. Every twitch and pulse of his cock was like electricity sparking through your core. You knew that he had paused for your sake, and the gesture was appreciated, but you thought you really would go insane if he didn’t start moving. You knew that anything you would try to say would come out as nothing more than garbled nonsense, so you took matters into your own hands and rolled your hips into his.

That first undulation of your pelvis grinding into his had Max seeing stars. He never knew he could feel anything like this. He must have done something very right for the Entity to allow this, to allow him to have a chance to experience this. You had to be a gift, a reward that he couldn’t imagine he could possibly deserve. He was frozen by the immense pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.

You cupped his face in your smaller hands and forced him to look at you. “Max, I need you to move.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His first few thrusts were stuttered and jerky, but he soon fell into a rhythm that rapidly pushed you both towards your ends. His hips pistoned into yours, drilling his cock into the most sensitive parts of your eager cunt. The sound of skin against skin and varied grunting, moans, and gasps comprised the soundtrack of your coupling. Your hands gripped his biceps as you clung to him for dear life, fingers dragging over his twisted skin and feeling the metal staples embedded into parts of his flesh.

Max looked down at your body beneath his with a sort of disbelief. Each sharp slam of his lower body against yours sent a jolt through yours. Your breasts bounced tantalizingly, and he had the sudden urge to capture one of their rosy peaks in his mouth. He lamented that your current position didn’t allow for him to fulfill that fantasy comfortably, and saved such an idea for if he should be so lucky that you would allow him this again. You gripped him so well, your body tight and wet and warm around him. He felt a sort of tightening in his lower body and was spurred on to thrust faster into you, causing your staccato moans to turn into unintelligible mewling.

You knew Max was close, his thrusts were becoming sloppier and more disjointed, and his breathing was harsh and strained above you. You were quickly approaching your own climax, but you knew that you wouldn’t come before he finished. That didn’t stop you from meeting his thrusts as best you could with what little leverage you had. The fire burning in your core was white hot in its intensity, and you were so close to what you wanted-- no, needed.

Max’s hips slammed into yours one final time as he hilted himself in your cunt. You couldn’t help the gasp that was ripped from you as his head bumped up against your cervix right before you felt a rush of warmth flood through you. The groan that accompanied his release was borderline inhuman, and you wanted to hear more of it. You felt cum leak from where you were still joined and drip down your ass. You were still right on the precipice, but your pleasure would wither and die if you didn’t maintain some kind of stimulus.

You tried to continue rolling your hips into his, but Max was stock-still above you, basking in what you were sure was the warm glow of his first orgasm. You wanted desperately to join him in that paradise, but you needed some assistance first. You gripped his forearms harder.

“Max, honey, I need you,” you pleaded, voice low and sensual despite your desperation. “I need you to touch me like I showed you. Can you do that for me?”

He shifted his weight to one arm in jerky, pleasure-addled movements. He did not withdraw from his place inside you, but he allowed his thumb to fall to the little nub you had shown him before, above where the two of you were still joined. You whined as he circled your clit just a little too lightly for your liking, and instructed him to use a little more force. He listened to each of your words with an eagerness, he wanted to do everything just as you said. As luck would have it, he learned quickly enough and soon you were dangerously close to tipping over the edge.

You thrashed beneath him as finally, blessedly the tightness in your core shattered and electric shocks of ecstasy danced through your body. They burned away and left you buzzing with an all encompassing satisfaction. You gently guided his hand away from your oversensitive sex as you came down from your high. Max withdrew his rapidly softening length from inside you and it was followed by another gush of your combined fluids that dripped messily down to the ground below. He thought he had never seen anything better.

“That was perfect,” you sighed. “Was it good for you?”

Max nodded, but when he realized that you couldn’t see the motion through your closed eyelids he added, “Perfect.”

You wanted to lay in Max’s arms forever, but you soon realized that if you didn’t appear at the campfire soon, the others would start to wonder what was taking so long. In most cases, after this much time you would already be dead or have escaped. It wasn’t normal for a lone survivor to last for so long.

You slowly disentangled yourself from him. He didn’t want to let you go, but he did. He watched you stand and gather your clothing, wiping away would you could of the dirt that clung to the sweat on your back. You looked down at the mess that was your pussy before resigning yourself to a few minutes of discomfort as you slid your panties back on, delicate fabric cradling the cooling cum against your lower lips. You quickly redressed yourself before turning back to Max.

“I can still have the hatch?” You asked as you handed him his clothes, only half teasing. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Max nodded while struggling back into his jeans. After all that, he would have happily taken a thousand years of punishment from the Entity.

You smiled before leaning in to kiss him lightly, chastely on the corner of his crooked mouth. You let your hand linger on his arm for another moment before heading to the place where the Black Lock hummed continuously. “I’ll see you at our normal spot,” you promised.

With a hop, you dropped into the blackness beyond the opening of the hatch, leaving Max alone in the cornfield. He waited eagerly for the darkness to settle over his vision that meant the Entity was removing him from the trial. The sooner he was out, the sooner he could get back to you, and the thought of you waiting for him filled his heart with warmth. Letting you go was the best idea he had ever had.

[elphenfan]

Nesting (Good Omens) Chapter 8/9

Chapter One I Chapter Two I Chapter Three I Chapter Four I Chapter Five I Chapter Six I Chapter Seven I Chapter Eight

Almost at the end now :) Finally, eh?

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Shit! Where the bloody heaven had that come from? He’d never meant to reveal that, under any circumstances, and yet, the words had just slipped out.

Perhaps he could play it off as though it was just a casual remark, an observation of what others did from time to time. Divert and deflect from the fact of his own unacceptable and discarded attempts.

There was one thing that thankfully popped into his mind, surprising himself somewhat with how far it’d have to have travelled from the depths.

“Well, you know,” he said, trying for nonchalant, “the first time you try, it might not come out anything like you imagined or you think the recipient would like. I know that when first Lord Beelzebub tried – “

“Beelzebub has never tried making a, a nest!” Aziraphale didn’t look horrified or even scandalised but his eyes were almost comically wide at the very idea, the original question pushed out of his mind for the moment, it seemed.

Crowley, who’d taken his hand from the nape of the other’s neck with reluctance when they’d parted, held it up. “As I live and breathe. We didn’t find out until they threw the remnants of it out onto some unsuspecting demon, right smack in the forehead. There was no doubt what they’d thrown out was for a nest, though, even if it was completely unfit to present to anyone – and nobody found out who they were nesting for.”

He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Come to think of it, I don’t know whether they tried again or if they were succesful later on. Huh. That’s…well…”

“Beelzebub?” Aziraphale almost spluttered. “The demon? The Lord of the Flies? Are you telling me that – but they can’t!“

“Why not? Because they’re a demon?”

It wasn’t meant to be needling or pointed, even though that perhaps at another he would’ve meant it that way. Right now, however, it was just a question, but Aziraphale reacted to it as though it had indeed been a needling.

“No!” he cried, quickly, almost urgently, his hand in Crowley’s tightening. “Not at – that was not what I meant at all. Of course demons can nest as well as angels can, if they are so inclined. Of course. But Beelzebub, that’s – that’s as unfathomable as thinking of Gabriel nesting for someone or have someone nest for him!”

Crowley would have to agree the point – and then his mind made a connection he wasn’t prepared for and had no idea how to handle. In fact, he couldn’t help but recoil from it somewhat.

“Crowley? What’s the matter?” Aziraphale asked, worried.

“I, ah, eh – can’t – it – Gabriel and Beelzebub!” the ginger managed to get out.

His expression was now mirrored in Aziraphale’s.

“No!” The tone of voice sounded more scandalised than horrified, though. “You don’t really think – but that, surely – “

“I don’t want to think about it,” Crowley exclaimed, emphatically, interrupting the angel, “not now nor ever. It’s just mindboggling and – eurgh. But especially not now. Not here.”

He pressed, lightly and carefully, down on the hand underneath his, which in turn pressed on the feathers, to make a point, possibly unnecessary, about the situation.

“No. Of course. Most definitely not.”

There was emphasis in the last sentence that went beyond Aziraphale’s normal range but why it was there wasn’t entirely clear, at least to Crowley. It did relieve something inside of him, though, a nasty little part, to hear Aziraphale talk about Gabriel that way.

Silence ruled for a bit after that, a comfortable, warm silence that was spent just looking at each other and, for Crowley’s part, basking in the tangible reality that had only ever been the loveliest castle in the air.

He was just about getting properly settled into that quiet enjoyment when, so quiet that others probably wouldn’t have caught it, Aziraphale said something.

“When did you…how many nests have you started to build then demolished?” he asked, green eyes scanning Crowley’s face, as though he needed further confirmation than he could get from the spoken answer itself.

Crap. It hadn’t worked! Or perhaps he could still salvage it, somehow. Could he lie? He supposed he could, but not only did he not in any way feel confident Aziraphale would believe him, he didn’t want to lie to Aziraphale. Not that he hadn’t, because of course, but this…

This really wasn’t worth lying about, was it? It would be embarrassing and he didn’t want to but…he would.

“I haven’t actually counted how – ” he began, then stopped. No, still wrong.

“…at least half a dozen, probably more over the centuries,” he corrected himself. Then he swallowed, forcing himself not to look away or try to play it off as nothing.

“And how many…” the angel licked his lip, quite unconsciously, it seemed. “Who were they for?” he asked, his voice somehow even quieter, to the point it almost sounded small.

…Did he not know? How could he not – hadn’t he figured it out already? At least after Crowley had admitted to…well, everything. Wasn’t it then more than obvious?

Though if he was honest with himself, was he really in any position to make that sort of judgment?

“For you,” he said, voice coming out a little hoarse, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the other’s face. He wasn’t aware that he’d tightened the grip, which had been slackened, on Aziraphale’s hand considerably. “I’ve only ever done it for you, angel. All of them were for you and then they weren’t good enough to…but even if they were, I was so scared of…and I’m sorry. So terribly sorry. I should’ve told you. Shown you.”

Though it might not make too much sense, he needed to say something, to combat the hurt and slightly dejected expression that had kept lurking behind those warm eyes ever since he’d mentioned he’d made nests, too. He hoped it would explain that it was nothing that Aziraphale had done or hadn’t done. It was all down to Crowley and his fears.

It looked at least to some degree as though he had managed to do so. Though the face remained unchanged in expression the emotion lurking in the eyes lessened considerably.

However, he wasn’t done yet. He had to make sure that he communicated the next part. “There’s never been anyone else for me and there never will be. You are my everything.”

He didn’t say anything about having mentioned something to that effect earlier, and not only because he didn’t really remember it, what with everything else that had happened.

It didn’t matter in any case. He’d say it a thousand times if Aziraphale wanted to hear it, really, or more, and mean it just as much every single time.

Aziraphale stared at him, seeming to have gone completely still.

Crowley would’ve worried – if he’d had the time.

Before he could, there was another noise as of a flock of birds taking off and the movement of air.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley breathed as he watched them unfold.

His yellow eyes threatened to take over the sclera, as they did when he forgot himself, while looking at the wings he hadn’t seen in their full glory – and they were a glory to behold, almost iridescent in their soft whiteness, highlighted perfectly by the glow of the light in the bookshop – since…well, really since the same day the angel had last seen his. The day they’d met.

Six thousand years and they were as beautiful as he remembered them.

So why did Aziraphale look slightly embarrassed? More than slightly, really, and not in a good way, if embarrassment could ever be positive.

“I’m so – I just couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he said, and it sounded like an apology, which was both puzzling and ridiculous.

“Keep it –? “Crowley began and his disbelief was clearly audible, “angel, were you – have you been keeping them in check until now?”

He got a nod, slow and reluctant. “Yes. Since you said, ‘I love you’. Well, longer, really.”

“But – why?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer.

“Aziraphale, why would you ever keep them in? Unless – you did lock the door?”

Another nod, emphatic, and Crowley relaxed a bit. “Okay. Right. But why, then?” Surely, if there was one time it would be okay to let them out, it would be for this occasion?

Perhaps he could persuade his angel – his angel! – to have them out occasionally, just for him to gorge himself on, on a both visual and tactile level.

Aziraphale seemed to have a different opinion on the matter.

“Because they’re…they’re not – yours are so exquisite!”

Wait, what? What did that have to do with anything?

“Angel are you seriously…?” he said, incredulous to say the least and entirely missing the compliment, as he reached out with his free hand.

At first, he went slowly but the blond tried to pull his wing back out of reach. So instead, to make sure he got a hold on them, the demon shot his hand out and grasped hold of, not a primary as he thought, which was frankly probably just as well, or he might’ve pulled it out unintentionally.

What he got hold of instead was the metacarpal, what would in a human hand be the bones of the hand itself, not the fingers. His grip wasn’t hard, not really, but he was out on the edge of the sofa by then and he probably used it unintentionally for balance.

Aziraphale gasped loudly at that and his wing shook. Surprised, and worried that he might’ve caused damage, Crowley let go, but that upset what little equilibrium he had, and he fell off the sofa.

Thankfully, he hit the floor with his knees first and managed to stay upright but before he’d had much chance to really comprehend what had happened – or think on why the heaven he hadn’t used his own bloody wings to keep himself upright – warm arms closed around him, underneath his wings, and he realised his torso was sprawled across a lap. His head was pressed into the lovely soft tummy to some extent.

But right then, he couldn’t spare the thought for it, since if Aziraphale’s arms were both around him and he could feel the hands on his back, then where was –

His head snapped up immediately. “Where -?”

“They’re – oh, my goodness, I think – “Aziraphale stopped but then he breathed a sigh of relief. “No, they’re here. Fell on the floor but I do believe they’re okay.”

With one hand still on Crowley’s back, as though wanting to make sure he stayed where he was, he reached down and when he rose back, he held up the four feathers for the demon to see, handling them as though they were made of glass.

There wasn’t a vane out of place.

Crowley made a face that he wasn’t sure what was, exactly, or was meant to communicate but he hoped that it was something positive. He tried to right himself so he could get back up on the sofa. Being this close to Aziraphale’s body was doing things that – was such a thing as spontaneous combustion possible for a demon?

The hand still on his back pressed harder for a moment as if to prevent him getting up but it relented almost immediately afterwards, allowing him to sit himself back on the sofa.

“Sorry,” Crowley murmured as he did so, with a guilty look at the wing he’d demon-handled, however accidental. “Didn’t mean to…is it alright?”

“Alright? Is what alright?”

“The wing! You gasped loudly and the wing shook, I assumed I was gripping it too hard or something! That you were in pain!”

“What? Oh. No, that’s not – I’m perfectly alright, my dear. I was merely…surprised. But thank you for the concern.” He gave a smile that looked genuinely grateful.

However, the pause before ‘surprised’ was just a fraction too long to be believable and in any case, it hadn’t sounded like a gasp of surprise. Pursuing that line of enquiry, though, didn’t seem the right move then and there, so he let it go. For now.

“Oh. Okay. Still, sorry for grabbing it like that. I didn’t – I just wanted to…your wings are beautiful and beyond lovely, Aziraphale. To look at and to feel. Just like the rest of you.” To be honest, his fingers itched to reach out again and run over the bone, following it from base to tip.

It was a statement of fact and wasn’t meant to be leering or even smirking. He could’ve done it like that, of course, but it didn’t feel right.

Regardless, it seemed to have shocked the poor angel more than a little.

“Crowley, I – do you really think so?” There was no coyness there but an honest question, which tore at something inside the ginger.

“Well, obviously. Always have, always will.” He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow but at the same time, he was smiling. “I’d be a bloody shite nestmate if I didn’t think so, wouldn’t I?”

The smile turned suddenly into a full-blown grin. “Nestmate. Nestmate.”

“Yes, indeed, “Aziraphale confirmed, and his beam was back in full force. “We are. We are, aren’t we?”

It was said with wonder in his voice but also something that was wavering and asking for confirmation that this was indeed the case.

Crowley knew exactly how he felt. In an odd way, though, that felt reassuring and made it more real and tangible. He could honestly not see how he would ever believe his imagination would cook up Aziraphale being uncertain and needing confirmation.

Before all of this, he would’ve said his little fantasy was about as perfect as it could be. He’d spent literal ages creating, tweaking and replaying it, after all.

Now, though…now he knew that even with all the little bits like the misunderstandings, the uncertainties, and the fumbling, both metaphorically and physically, this reality was a hundred times better and more perfect than his fantasy ever could be. It was better because it was reality and it did contain all of those little imperfections.

“We are,” he confirmed. Reassured. “We are! Finally!”

The word was out of his mouth before he was aware of it and he blessed himself and his stupid mouth.

“Angel, I didn’t – “he immediately began, trying to fix what he’d messed up, but, decidedly unexpectedly, the blond didn’t seem upset.

Putting the feathers which he was still holding down on his own thigh for the moment, Aziraphale gathered Crowley’s hands in his. They’d held hands in various ways a few times by now but even so, it sent a pleasant thrill through the ginger. He hoped that would never ever stop being the case.

“You can say ‘finally’ when you’ve waited – oh, Crowley, I am so sorry – “

“If you didn’t reciprocate, then you didn’t,” Crowley cut in.

He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. That was to say, to as much an extent as he could manage and not factoring in that persistent and resilient hope. Which wasn’t a very great extent, to be honest, not at all, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that.

“You’re not obligated to reciprocate,” he continued. “Never. You can’t control your feelings nor should you.”

“Well…no…of course not. But you can be better at realising that what you were feeling was indeed what you were feeling, and I failed quite miserably at that.”

“You got there. Fuck’s sake, you were the one who started the ball rolling on all of this.”

“Well, yes, but – “There was the definite feeling that if his hands weren’t occupied, then he’d be wringing them slightly, “– oh, how are you so calm about all of this?”

“Calm? Calm? I’m anything but calm and I keep thinking that at any moment, you’ll turn into a three-headed kitten spewing hellfire or something and prove I’m dreaming.”

That made Aziraphale giggle, the sort of giggle that you’re surprised is coming out of your mouth, often because what was said wasn’t that funny.

“Why a kitten?” he asked when he could make himself stop.

“That was the part you picked up on?”

“Among others, yes.” There was a small pause. “Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Could – can I please touch your wings?”

Oh, G-, Sa-, fuck, yes. Please. You don’t need to ask, angel, please touch them. Touch them as much as you want as long as you want. I can still feel where you touched them earlier and it has nothing, well, very little, to do with you making my feathers grow back.

“On one condition.”

“And what would that be?”

“That I can reciprocate, for as long as I want to.”

Aziraphale blushed at that but at the same time, his lips puckered in what could only be described as a smiling pout, something which was utterly adorable.

A plump hand disentangled itself from a bony and reached out slowly, though not hesitantly. Crowley held perfectly still as it came closer, his breath bated. It somehow felt more intimate than the earlier kiss.

It was fingers that touched first, where the middle primary coverts enclosed the radius bone. They moved over said bone as though…as though they were stroking across the cover of a newly discovered, exceedingly rare book.

A shudder ran through Crowley at that, hard. Not just because of the touch itself, however wonderful it was, but the knowledge that Aziraphale wasn’t just touching him, he was treating his wing as he would his most prized possessions in the world.

He felt the nastily lingering, stubbornly clinging uncertainties and doubts melt away in the face of that. What more proof could he possibly want or need?

Oh, how he loved his angel.

Before he knew quite what he was doing, Crowley had grabbed hold of the soft body and pulled him from the chair he’d been sitting in into his lap. Well-manicured hands grabbed hold of bony shoulders for support, even though he could’ve easily used his wings for balance.

That was, one hand grabbed hold. The other held the given feathers, snatched quickly from his thigh and then pressed against his chest.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested but there was no heat to it.

“Do that again,” Crowley said, his voice something of a rasp, which initially surprised him. Then it clicked.

Oh. Oh. Of course.

“Please,” he said.

“Crowley, are you – “

“Yes, I’m sure. Please bloody well touch them again.” He paused and shook himself. He shouldn’t be making demands like that. “Sorry, that was – “

His sentence caught in a gasped moan as a hand ran from his shoulder down the humerus of the other wing, down over the radius and the metacarpals, all the way to the tip of the phalanges, as gently and reverentially as he had before.

That it wasn’t a one-time thing, not the novelty of touching for the first time – it could be argued that it was the first time he touched that much of his wing but that wasn’t the same thing at all and didn’t really hold water – but, it seemed, something that was the immediate reaction to touching his wings in general…

That stole his breath. Not that he’d had much of it right now, but the point remained.

“Aziraphale…” he breathed. His hands on the other tightened and he instinctively moved his wing closer, both for getting them within easier touching range and for enclosing the other somewhat. Shielding him. Protecting him.

There was a bit of manoeuvring to it, on both their parts, so as not to knock into the blond’s wings but even though their wings were the same size and not exactly small, they managed it without knocking anything over and actually, with a surprising amount of grace and ease.

What he hadn’t expected was that the angel would not just tuck his wings in a bit to assist but would make a sort of counter-cocoon inside the embrace of the demon’s wings, low where Crowley’s went high.

The hand hadn’t been removed from his wing all throughout that, though how it had managed it he had no idea.

Especially not given that the other still held the feathers, pressed against his chest, shielding them in turn.

Slowly, the ginger moved his own hand up, with the intention of taking the feathers from Aziraphale. Not to take them back, though, merely to put them somewhere safe.

The moment Aziraphale saw his hand move towards his chest, though, he pulled away a little.

“No,” he said. “You can’t – you gave them to me. You can’t.”

“You what?” Then it clicked. “I’m not going to take them back, angel. I just wanted to put them somewhere safe.”

The angel relaxed a bit. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s…that certainly puts it in a different perspective.”

If Crowley then expected to be given the feathers, he was to be disappointed or at least surprised. Instead of placing them in the still outstretched hands, or even reaching out to lay them on the table, Aziraphale chose to switch hands. This was so he could slide the feathers inside the left side of his long jacket where there might’ve been a pocket, or he might’ve created one then and there, as Crowley had never seen him use an inner pocket there before or anywhere else, for that matter. The way the hand moved was…rather tell-tale.

Given that Aziraphale bought his clothes rather than miracle them into existence like Crowley did, which included alterations, the seeming fact that he had miracled something for the feathers, that was…quite something on its own, too. Something which sent a bubble of warmth, the warmth of a hot drink sliding inside a cold body, bursting inside the demon’s heart.

Joining that sensation was the fact that his solution to the problem, which was hardly a problem to start with, was to make a place where they could stay, protected, not just close to him but right above his heart.

If he had worried about not having realised sooner and, possibly, about plucking up courage to show Crowley how he felt, then he was certainly making up for it now and then some.

Compared to that, how could he ever hope to…to show the angel the same level of caring and love? He felt it, certainly, and so much more, but how could he show it in a way that didn’t seem as though he was merely mimicking the other? Or trying to outdo him, as though…

Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about who did what, to what extent and at what time, was it?

And in any case, he had something more important to focus on right now, hadn’t he?

The hand he’d reached out with still hung in the air as though frozen there, but he started to move it forward again, towards where the feathers had disappeared.

Aziraphale tensed up again at that, though he didn’t move this time. When the bony hand settled on top of his over the feathers, he relaxed once more.

“My nestmate,” he whispered, looking the other straight in the eye. “My beautiful, loving, perfect Aziraphale is my nestmate.” He allowed his love to shine through in his voice as much as he possibly could.

“For now, and forever,” Aziraphale replied, his voice very soft in turn but no less loving for that. “As you are mine, my dearest Crowley.”

“No matter what Heaven says?”

It might have come across as a pointed or even a needling question. Petty, someone might say. But it wasn’t. At least, that wasn’t how it was at all meant.

That wasn’t to say the angel would take it that way, which Crowley realised a few seconds too late. He opened his mouth to somehow take it back but was stopped by Aziraphale’s expression.

He wasn’t smiling and there was a pained look to his face but at the same time, there was the determination and steel from before.

“Yes. No matter what Heaven says.” There was no hesitation in the voice. “Or Hell, for that matter. They do not appreciate what they have had and therefore, they do not deserve it.”

A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine at that, one of surprise and delight. Well, that was definitely new from Aziraphale. He liked it.

“Same can be said for Heaven,” the demon said. “Just even more so.”

“If that’s the case, why…why were you then so convinced that I had fallen in love with any one of them up there rather than with you?” Aziraphale asked.

[marshmallow-phd]

Innocent Intentions

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Tao x Reader

Summary: There was one thing you couldn’t stand in all your years at college: playboys. And the campus was riddled with them. So when Tao - a player with a particularly well-known reputation - inserts himself into your life, you come up with a plan to get rid of him, whether he makes your heart race or not. But the more he’s the around, the more you just might find there’s a hidden layer underneath all the rumors, including a secret you never could have guessed….

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

You tapped your pencil against the table impatiently as you watched the door to the lab. It was about five minutes past the designated meeting time with this “Z” person and yet, there you sat, alone at the workstation. Five more minutes and you were going to walk out of here. Part of you was contemplating pulling a favor out of Jace in the front office just to get “Z”’s information and give him a piece of your mind for wasting your time.

When you checked the doorway for the millionth time, your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. Tao walked into the lab, searching the room like he was looking for someone. Your instinct was to immediately sit your textbook up while slinking down in your chair to try and go unnoticed. Hopefully he’d find his tutor soon and not catch even a glimpse of you, although you weren’t sure exactly why you were hiding from him. You didn’t do anything embarrassing that night, but you still felt the need to make yourself disappear until the coast was clear.

“That engrossed in equations, huh?”

You groaned. Not even internally, you let that irritated sound out for the world to hear. With a loud, attention-grabbing slam, you let the textbook fall to the table and looked up at Tao, giving him the most unimpressed look that you could muster. “Actually, these particular problem are expressions since there isn’t an equal sign present.” Why were you being so hostile? You weren’t normally this snappy. Leaning back in your chair, you folded your arms. “Can I help you with something?”

Tao just smirked at your attitude. “I came here for my tutoring session.”

“Excuse me?” No. No. There was no way. “Last I checked, I was waiting for a ‘Z. Huang’ and I’m pretty sure ‘Tao’ doesn’t start with a ‘Z’.”

Tao slid into the chair opposite you. “Tao is just a nickname. My full name is Huang Zitao. But I’m glad to know you’ve already heard of me.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of you,” you drawled as you leaned forward. “Especially, after you dumped my friend in the middle of your date last Saturday.”

That seemed to catch the player off guard. He swallowed visibly and shifted in his chair. “I had an emergency come up.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“None of your business.”

The two of you were in a standoff, neither walking away when that probably would have been the smart thing to do. But Tao just kept staring at you, a taunting smile in his dark eyes. Your heart was beating at a pace that was simultaneously rapid and timid. You wanted to run out of there, but at the same, stay right where you were.

“So, wait a minute,” Tao said, finally breaking the silence, “were you there at the restaurant to spy on your friend while she was out with me?”

You scoffed, probably with a little much offense added in. “No. Why would I ever-” you huffed. It was way too obvious of a conclusion that he’d reached and you didn’t really have a good argument beyond the fragile “coincidence” stance. “Okay, fine. Yes, I was there to make sure that the guy whose so-much-less-than-honorable reputation precedes him treated my friend with the respect that she deserved.”

“And how did I do?” he asked.

“Not too bad,” you shrugged, hating to admit the truth. “Until you bee lined it out of there, leaving her high and dry.”

“Hey!” Tao snapped. He didn’t seem to take too kindly your description. “I paid for the meal and made sure she got home safe. I didn’t leave her stranded there with the check. Some things I just can’t control, okay?”

You sighed, a little guilty that you riled him up so much. It was plain to see that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore and you couldn’t really argue with what seemed to be a legitimate emergency. Besides, you were supposed to be focusing on math, not verbally swinging at him for not being interested in your friend. Isn’t that what you wanted anyway? For her to have a date that wasn’t notorious for getting with every other girl? “Okay, clean slate. Since you’ve signed up for all my time slots, let’s just focus on what you need help with.”

Tao pulled out his textbook from the fancy, high-end bag he was carrying over his shoulder and moved his chair so he was now next to you, elbow to elbow.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you have to sit that close?”

He smoldered at you and no amount of denial could change the fact that your stomach did a summersault right then and there. “Does it bother you if I sit this close?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned.

For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes remained steadily on you and so you continued to stare pointedly back. Tao sighed heavily before shuffling a few inches over. “Better?”

“Much.” You took control of the tutoring session once again, sliding the textbook over to your side in order to get a better look. “Okay, business statistics. Not too big of a deal.”

Tao snorted. “You some sort of math genius, then?”

You shook your head, not looking up from the textbook. “No, I struggle with some theorems and equations like everyone else. I just enjoy it a little more.”

“You enjoy math?” There was a hint of disgust sprinkled in with adoration. The usual mix you got when you voiced the unpopular opinion that you enjoyed math, but - you had to admit - the adoration seemed a little stronger in his response.

“Yes, I do,” you grumbled. “I know that makes me a freak, so let’s just move on because of one us here is actually trying to help you.” Right now, you were not in the mood to be gawked at. But the words on the page were started to squish together into illegibleness, throwing off your concentration.

Why was it such a big deal if you actually appreciated this mostly-hated subject? Everyone was allowed to have their own interests. This was a fight that you had with Wyatt, the musical theatre major, and Kendall, the human resources specialist on a nearly regular basis. They were supposed to be your best friends since middle school and yet, even they tended to cross the line of teasing into maliciousness.

Math was an essential part of society’s backbone. It’s what helped create skyscrapers and subway systems and amusement parks. If there weren’t people like you interested in the subject, imagine how drastically the many things people took for granted every day would die out or simply disappear. Bye-bye cell phones and cars and computers. You doubted Kendall would enjoy living like the cavemen.

“You’re not a freak.”

Your eyes snapped up.

The expression on Tao’s face was shocking. Gone was the teasing and the smirking. His eyebrows were pulled together, the corners of his lips drifting downwards. Slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare you, he lift his hand and reached for you. The tips of his fingers came within a hair’s breadth away from your skin. You could practically feel the heat radiating from his hand.

Before he could touch your cheek, however, you pulled away, letting your eyes fall back down to the table. What was that all about?

You heard his hand fall limply back into his lap. He adjusted his chair for a better view of the book, all hints of flirting and obnoxious gestures long gone. And yet… your breathing still wasn’t evening out. It was coming in and out as shallow as a children’s pool. Maybe if you just kept your eyes down you’d be okay.

But your eyes immediately disobeyed and flickered up to Tao’s face, studying it like it would hold all the answers for the final exam for your life. How could his profile be so sharp? You were fighting the urge to reach out and trace the outline of his jaw with your finger just to see if it would cut the pad of your finger. From his nose to his lips was one perfect smooth line. His ears and cartilage were pierced, something that you’d never found attractive on the male species, but somehow it seemed apart of Tao, like he’d look… off if he didn’t have those studs sparkling in the florescent lighting. Even though his hair had to be bleached to no end, it still seemed to keep a silky appearance, soft enough to run your hand through-

You blinked. What the hell was going on in your head? This boy was a flirt from the very second he stepped into the lab. And you hated guys like that.

Math. Math. I need to concentrate on math.

Keeping your focus on your favorite subject had never been this difficult, even when you had Kim Minseok as your GTA for Calculus freshman year. Plenty of your classmates were swooning over his youthful looks and, to be honest, you, too, were paying close attention to every word he was saying. But you could still recite approximately what the lesson of the day had been about.

Right now, though? You were barely able to interpret the words on the page or what Tao was describing that he was having trouble with. Please, let these three hours go by fast so you could get the hell out of here.

**

Tao wasn’t sure whether to be smug or frustrated.

From the way your body was reacting to his closeness – the way your heart was pounding your chest, the raggedy way you your breath was escaping your lips – he knew you were feeling the pull. The pull that was overwhelming him right now.

It was mindboggling how quickly all his feelings and apprehensive thoughts faded in such a short amount of time. Kris had described how quickly the instinct to protect and be with your mate took over to the point of being unable to fight it. Nor did Tao really want to, he discovered.

He liked the way it felt, being next to you. It was an elated feeling, like his feet weren’t touching the ground. But he wanted to know what it was like to touch you. Would the feeling be the same? Would it be even more addicting? Some of his brothers talked about a pleasing electricity that flowed when they met their mate’s skin. Would both of you feel that, too?

Apparently, Tao was going to have to take it slow. Too slow. You were blocking or dismissing every advance he was throwing your way. His usual weapons were powerless against you. It didn’t help that Kendall was still sour about that date. Tao couldn’t help it. Even if he hadn’t ended it so abruptly, all that would have happened was him dropping her off at her door and driving off.

In the present moment, no other solution was coming to his head. He didn’t know how to approach you without his usual suave aura. You didn’t respond well to it, but it always worked before. What was he supposed to do? Be himself?

He wasn’t even sure who that was anymore.

Tao watched you out of the corner of his eye, careful to make it seem like he was absorbing any of the words that were leaving your lips. He wondered what they tasted like. Not like the others he’d caught before, certainly not.

Maybe he wasn’t so lost in the water after all.

You were staring at him.

Don’t look up. Don’t scare her off.

He fought to keep his gaze down at the blurry pages. He wanted to know what was going through your head right now, what was causing you to stare at him. If only he could look at your eyes to try and read whatever you were hiding behind them.

The next three hours were torture for Tao. He didn’t really pay attention to whatever you were trying to explain he was doing wrong in his homework. It didn’t matter, anyway. He’d correct it to what he knew was right as soon as he got home.

“Welp, times up,” you smiled at him. Were you really waiting for him to have to leave so excitedly?

Tao smirked at you as he put his textbook away and stood up. “Seems like it is. See you on Friday.”

The grin on your face slipped away. “Wait. What?”

Now he had you. If you thought that this was the last you would see of the wolf, you were wrong. Leaning down so he was face to face with you, he whispered, “I signed up for all your sessions on Friday as well. I really need to get caught up on this class.” He couldn’t help it. He added a little wink at the end before sauntering on out of the math lab.

He knew he’d left you stunned in that seat behind him and that’s exactly how he wanted it. Sure, his usual tactics might be suffering, but taking you by surprise like that was a good way to make sure he lingered on your mind.

Out in the parking lot, he met Sehun, who was already sitting in the passenger's seat of Tao’s convertible. The maknae didn’t like driving himself around. If anyone refused him, he’d just shift and run around the forest with a bag on his back, getting dressed on the outskirts of town out of sight. Tao didn’t mind having Sehun ride shotgun, though. The two were best friends, even more so since they got back, and besides, he was the best wing man when it came to grabbing the attention of the girls in a bar on a Friday night. But those days were no more.

“How is the ‘wooing’ going?” Sehun asked monotonously, not even looking up from his phone as Tao slid behind the wheel.

“It might be time for a strategy change,” Tao sighed.

Sehun snickered, “Or maybe you’re just an idiot and she’s not actually your mate.”

Tao growled at that snide remark. He wasn’t wrong about this. The instincts were too strong, too… there for him to be. Besides, what kind of dumb wolf couldn’t discern random attraction from the mate pull? Tao may have his idiotic moments, but he wasn’t that stupid.

Peeling out of the parking lot, Tao sped down the road, letting the wheels in his head take a much needed break. It wasn’t an easy task. You plagued every corner of his consciousness and there was nowhere to find solace. He’d spent so long running from the idea of finding his mate that he never expected it to be this overwhelming. Or hard. He almost wanted to apologize to his brothers for giving them such a hard time before.

Almost.

After pulling into the garage and parking the car in Tao’s self-designated spot, the former dynamic duo sauntered into the farmhouse. Passed the parlor in the living room was Mei surrounded by the already-claimed mates, minus Evie. The girls must be babysitting so the parents could have some “alone time”. As if the pack really needed another pup running around here.

At the sight of the two uncles, Mei giggled and pulled herself up onto her unstable feet, wobbling to and fro as she made her way towards them. Sehun crouched down, arms wide open to scoop the baby up, but she bypassed him to Tao instead. The latter cackled uncontrollably as he picked Mei up.

“What can I say? The ladies love me.”

Sehun stood back up. “Except only one of us can accept that love now.”

Tao frowned, fighting to bite back a growl. He didn’t want to scare Mei and make her cry.

“How did the tutoring session go, Tao?” Lanie asked in a teasing voice. They all knew he didn’t need the lessons, but it was best plan to get to know you that he could come up with at the time.

He was still a little shocked that Kris had been right; he did like what he saw in you. While you were a little prickly towards him, overall you seemed to have a kind heart. And, to him, that was the most important thing a person could own.

“It could have gone better,” Tao admitted. “But don’t worry, there’s plenty more charm up my sleeve.”

“We don’t doubt it, Tao,” Dana chuckled softly. Tao always liked Dana, ever since he met her. She had delicacy about her, not as much bite as the other mates. Not to mention, she was always bringing treats back from the bakery for him.

Just then, Jongin stepped into the living room and Mei went wild, squirming in Tao’s arms until he finally let her down so she could stumble over to the baby magnet. As soon as Jongin started the baby talk, Tao made his getaway, taking the steps upstairs two at a time.

Inside the safety of his bedroom that he shared with Sehun (neither of them particularly liked sleeping in a room alone), Tao flopped down the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he put his headphones over his ears.

Through the small speakers, he allowed himself to drift through the melodies of his favorite ballads, eyes closed and cutting him off from the world, if just for a little while. The soft tinkling of the piano keys paired with the soothing voice that sang of lost love and trying to forget gave him the peace that he’d been searching for. How many times had he listened to this particular song and thought of Lyn? Where was she now? Were there any remnants of her left in his mind?

It seemed that indeed, every last piece of her was gone. Did he remember what she looked like?

Okay, it wasn’t that extreme. He could picture her eyes, her hair, the way she smiled. But its potency was gone. And he didn’t mind one bit. He didn’t feel like comparing you and her; there was no competition. Tao felt… lighter, somehow. He’d been running in the opposite direction for so long, now he was able to stop and breathe again.

When the song came to its end, Tao opened his eyes, only to find a face floating above him. He let out a yelp, crashing down off the bed and onto the floor while Luhan laughed his ass off.

Yanking the headphones off, Tao jumped to his feet. “What the hell?”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me knock,” Luhan threw his hands up innocently. “Sehun told me to go ahead and come in.”

Tao looked behind Luhan, but the punk wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Luhan must have bumped into him in the hallway. “Did you need something?”

Luhan shrugged. “Just checking on you. Heard you spent some one-on-one time with your mate.” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice, but Tao didn’t take any offense.

The poor guy was always looking around the corner for his mate. It would happen for him, someday. Tao just hoped it would be sooner rather than later. If this was how Tao was feeling, he could just imagine how high Luhan’s cloud nine would rise after yearning for it for so long.

Tao shrugged. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a success. But I’ve got time. She hasn’t outright told me no, yet.”

“Good for you,” Luhan nodded, a strained smile on his lips.

Staring at one of his favorite pack members, Tao tilted his head to the side and asked, “Is everything okay?”

The fake smile suddenly became a little too bright. Luhan was putting on a good act, but Tao had spent too many years by his side to be fooled. “Everything’s great. But I should probably be heading out. I picked up an extra shift tonight at the bar. No idea why,” he snorted. “It’s going to be dead. I’ll see you later.” Before he could be stopped, he was out the door.

Deciding that it wasn’t worthy trying to fight it out of Luhan, Tao let it go as he lied back down on the bed. For once, he wasn’t hungry and when he closed his eyes for the second time, he let the music playing in his ears drift him off to sleep….

**

Tao was doing everything he could to not break out into a sprint towards the mathematics building. His class had let out late and – while on Wednesday showing up five minutes after the meeting time had been a strategy play – he didn’t want you to think he was flaking out on you. Fifteen minutes had already gone by and he had to make sure that he didn’t miss you, but his supernatural strength gave him a faster run than even the track star and he couldn’t risk bringing that kind of attention to himself.

When he finally reached the lab, he eyes searched around frantically for you. Every table was occupied, however, none of the taken seats were being warmed by you.

“(y/n)’s sick today.”

Tao turned to the front desk where Jae was sitting. “What?”

“She called about a half hour ago,” Jae explained. There was definitely a little taunting in his voice. Idiot was still sour that Tao had swooped in and taken up his date time.

Sorry, asshole, but she’s my mate and would never give you the time of day anyway.

With a roll of his eyes, Tao stomped out of the math lab. Sick? Yeah, right. You were avoiding him. It didn’t matter. He was going to squeeze in his tutoring time today whether you liked it or not.

[icharchivist]

Something you'll probs LOVE (/sarcasm) to hear, I looked through Disney's upcoming undated movies, and they're planning on live actions for all their classics. Little Mermaid, Pinnochio, Snow White, Hunchback of Notre Dame, hell even Lady and the Tramp is getting a live action here in the next year too

this is..... so..... so..... annoying..... 

Dear lord i can’t wait until all those pesky complains about the Little Mermaid get fixed, for Snow White to have “more agency” and for Frollo to have an “humanizing moment”. 

Okay but joke aside a Hunchback remake is very risky because this is already one of the darkest Disney there is and the liveaction only have the choice to stick as close as possible (so why bother? ah, money.) or tone it down (if they humanize Frollo I riot). I really doubt they tone it up, but like. Jfc. 

For the others ones it’s about as much as I expect from “unecessary”. Lady and the Tramp takes the cake though, it was specifically imo a story that worked via the medium of animation. One of the little things from this movie for exemple was to never see the human faces because it was a dog world, and well doing a “live action” without actors... lmao that’s already out of the window. And i don’t... get.... it... it’s like the Lion King now, or The Jungle Book back then, it’s perhaps impressive CG but it will never cover the sort of facial reactions animation can cover. (I mean real life pet can that’s the worst part??? all of Simba’s expressions were drawn from real life lions. But yaknow “realism”). 

Pinnochio is getting an adaptation by Guillermo Del Toro in the coming years too (not a tie in with Disney, just, an adaptation) and that adds to the frustration tbh. bc Del Toro will more than likely make the tale his (and i’m about certain it will discuss the fascist period in Italy too) so to have next to it Disney planning to remake it is just..s ighs. 

But yeah like while all those movies have flaws, i don’t... get the point of a liveaction remake. 

and it’s even more mindboggling because.. while you’re at it, remake some of the properties that failed? The Black Cauldron had been rewritten so many times that the final product was a mess very far away from the Darker Themes it wanted to have, and it ended up being a critical failure that almost closed down the studios. Now i get it sounds risky but thereofre if you want to update something, ya got it right here Disney.

There’s others more minors Disney i see ppl often mention wanting a live version of, mainly Atlantis and Treasure Planet, and while those are two of my favorite disney and Atlantis especially would fit well with the medium of live action idk, i feel like they’re perfectly fine as they are and they have such an unique artstyle that it’s such a shame to just. Ignore that artstyle for basic human stuff.

And basically this is what’s been bothering me the most with those liveactions, a lot of the 2D Disney tried very hard to have their own visual identity, how insulting to the medium of animation to think that the artstyle is the one thing that stops people from caring.

Another thing that boggles me is that Disney has re-released in Cinema stuff like The Lion King (and added a very annoying song doing so but i’m not going to complain on that, not now, not the topic) and it worked great! People like those movies enough to want to see them back on the big screen!

jfc i would give SO MUCH to see Atlantis and Treasure Planet on the big screen!! even Hunchback - they’re GORGEOUS and HUGE movies that gain to be seen on the big screen. You don’t have to put hundreds of millions into remaking it, just put the money in advertissing and i’m sure people would be interested.

It’s such... such a waste.

gdi disney just make new movies,,,,

[philipsgaiamemories]

Gifts from a Would-be King

Fandom: Kamen Rider Zi-O

Relationship: Woz/Tokiwa Sougo

Summary: Christmas is around the corner, and Sougo has everyone crossed off his lift of gifts to buy, well everyone but one certain person

Written for:  My precious Sougo/Woz Anon

Rating: G

Smiling to himself, Tokiwa Sougo leaned into the turn on his bike, gliding easily around the corner. The crisp cold wind blew in his face as he pedaled down the concrete streets, winter obviously in full swing. But the boy didn’t mind, winter meant Christmas was around the corner.  The boys eyes danced seeing the bright hanging lights and holiday decorations all around him as he traveled back home.  It was the boys favorite time of the year, even with everything happening around him.  The attacks, the ‘Other’ Kamen Riders created by the Time Jackers; everything around him should really disturb the peaceful way of the boys life.  But yet, everyone seemed to be in such a cheery mood, giving Sougo a boost of energy.

Tucked safely in his bike’s basket were small gift bags, new tools for his Uncle, and gifts for his new friends.  It wasn’t much, but he found a little hairclip for Tsukuyomi, and a new warm scarf for Geiz.  Sougo made it a point to buy them gifts, hearing what they were going through in the future made the boy king ache to give them a taste of normalcy.

Finally arriving at home the boy parked his bike before racing inside, bags in tow. “Im home~!”

Calling out, the brunette made a beeline up to his room hearing his Uncle callback a warm greeting. Yep, Sougo was so ready for Christmas to arrive…well…almost ready.

“Ah! My King!”

Gasping, Sougo stopped in his doorway, seeing the tall dark haired boy that recently fell into his life standing up from the boys bed.  Reaching up the stranger pulled his hood down, his dark curly hair falling into his piercing chocolate eyes.  

“Woz! What are you doing here?” Sougo quickly shut the door behind him, not wanting his Uncle to hear them, “Is something wrong?!”

Woz flashed his Cheshire smile, full of secrets, but yet a strange sense of warmth.  That smile always took the boy king by surprise, making his heart skip and his cheeks warm whenever he saw it.  Ever since the dark haired boy came into his life, Sougo had felt some strange sort of bond with him.  Not the fact that Woz had insisted he was his, ‘Demon Lord’, but something else… Sougo at first was hesitant to trust the dark haired boy, everything around him happening so fast, learning about his future, the belt being thrusted upon him, and all the fighting.  But quickly that hesitation melted away, the young boy king inexplicably feeling comfortable around him. Sougo believed the boy when he spoke without a second thought; though Tsukuyomi and Geiz didn’t seem to feel the same way. 

With his skill for dramatic flair, Woz bowed chuckling to himself, “Not at all My Demon Lord! I merely came to gaze upon you!”

That laugh made butterflies flutter in Sougo’s stomach, tearing his gaze away from the handsome time traveler.  Nodding his head gently, the boy ‘hmm’, in understanding brushing loose strands of hair out of his youthful face. It was almost overwhelming how much Woz gushed over him, the amount of effort the boy took to help Sougo out, and help him gain new powers to protect people, and become a better Demon Lord.  And the way Woz looked at him...it truly made him FEEL like he was the most important person in the world.  

Shaking his head, the boy tried to push those thoughts away, crossing the room to open a small dresser drawer.  The young boy king could feel Woz’s piercing eyes following him with every step as Sougo slipped the bag of gifts safely inside, hiding them underneath some clothing.  

“My Lord? May I ask what you have there?”

Shutting the drawer, Sougo turned back to his shadow a smile dancing on his lips. “Ah, those are Christmas gifts! I got something for Uncle, Geiz and Tsukuyomi, I figured with what they lived through in the future, they might like a more normal holiday.”

An unreadable expression flickered across Woz’s face as the boy spoke, his almond shaped eyes following Sougo as he moved back across the room.  Did he hear him right? Was the sole focus of his attention buying gifts for such insignificant people?  People who didnt originally show up in his book until recently? What made them so special?!  “How kind of you to consider such people My Lord.”

“Well, a ruler has to be thoughtful towards others!” Sougo said easily, “And I did want to become a kinder Demon Lord!”

Although the boy king kept insisting that he was going to be a kinder version of himself in the future, Woz wasn’t sure what that really meant. Whatever type of ruler the younger version of his King wanted to be, he would support him.  And his insistence on caring for these two time travelers, it was all so frustrating and mindboggling.  

Suddenly, Sougo stopped in his footsteps, his gaze turning away from the taller time traveler, hearing noise coming from out side his door.  The boys dark eyes grew wide, fear creeping up on him, with the idea of his Uncle finding the two of them in his room.  Although Woz has shown up at the shop a few times with fake repair jobs to cover his unusual visits, he had no such excuse right then.  Sougo found himself holding his breath, anxiety filling him until the sounds began to disappear on the other side of the door.

“Ah…That was close Woz, I wouldn’t want Geiz or Tsukuyomi to know we meet like this...Much less Uncle…”          

Sighing softly to himself, Woz pressed his precious book to his lean chest, frustration getting to him. Again with those two… “Well if my Lord does not need me, I shall take my leave-“

Blinking, Sougo opened his mouth, turning around on his heels to stop the boy from disappearing. But he wasn’t fast enough, as he turned around, the spot that the handsome boy stood was now empty, Woz quickly making his exit into the ether.  A frown danced across the boy kings face, disappointment filling the young boy finding himself alone again in his room.  Although, they had not known each other long, Sougo felt a type of comfort with Woz being so close.  Rubbing his arm, the boy’s eyes lingered where his herald stood, loneliness creeping up within him.  This mysterious boy from the future was the only one that encouraged the Sougo to be whatever sort of ruler he wanted to be.  That no matter what type of king the boy ended up being, a horrible Demon Lord, or a kinder Demon Lord, it felt like Woz would always be there to support him, unlike the other two visitors.  They would only stick around if he turned out to be kind…  

But all of this just strengthened the boys resolve, wanting to find the most perfect gift for the attractive time traveler.  

Days passed and time was running out, Sougo had been in and out of stores, staring at coats, scarfs, journals, and a myriad of different little gifts.  But nothing seemed to click with the young boy king, nothing seemed to be a good enough gift.  The time traveler already had a scarf that he was attached too, and what would he new a new journal for? Plus, as much as he felt a bond to Woz, Sougo really didn’t know him.

Sighing, the boy ran his fingers through his hair leaving another store, empty handed and dejected. Running his fingers through his hair, the boy watched his breath turn into a small cloud, evaporating in the night air.  He only had like 3 days until Christmas Eve and still no gift for the handsome stranger. Running his fingers down the cold metal of his bicycle, the boy began pushing it down the street, passing by the small town shops. Gazing into the store front windows, the boys mind wondered anxiety creeping in on him with the deadline approaching.  Maybe he was being fickle with his gift, and over thinking it? Woz would be pleased with any gift that his so called Demon Lord gave him…right?

Suddenly Sougo stopped in his tracks, something bright and sparkling catching his eyes.  Looking over the boy blinked into the store window, watching as a worker in the display began to shift the items around, the glimmering watches catching the lights of the display case.  Wistfully, the young boy king thought about his Uncle and his shop, seeing people happy receiving their watches, walking out with a fond look as they look at their wrists.  Ah, if only he could afford one of these watches for Woz, wouldn’t that have been an amazing gift?

Then, as if lightning struck, Sougo gasped to himself, his eyes growing wide as a thought hit him. Grabbing his bike, the boy threw himself on the cold metal, turning around to head back towards his home, his mind racing.  Was he going to have enough time?      Would his Uncle help?! The student’s heart was racing as he pedaled madly down the streets, the winter air cutting into his face.  Weaving in and out of the crowd, the boy sped his way to his home, racing in the warm house with a wide smile across his lips.  

“Uncle!” Calling out, Sougo kicked off his shoes and made his way through the shop, “Hey are you home?!”

“Sougo?” Poking his head from inside the kitchen, the Kamen Rider’s guardian smiled at his nephew, “What’s with all the excitement?”

The boy began yanking at his jacket, “I need your help with a Christmas gift!”

The next few day went by in a blur, Sougo working on his project between school and homework (what little he did of course).  It consumed him, the boy pouring every ounce of energy he had into his gift, guided by his Uncles careful instructions.  It was hard work, doing this project in secret, knowing at any point his herald could show up and ruin the surprise.  Luckily, because he was with his family Woz was more careful, making himself scarce for the time being.  Until finally it was late Christmas Eve.

The young King-to-be scrambled up the stairs to his bedroom, sneaking away from the festivities. Geiz, Tsukuyomi and his Uncle were all downstairs, drinking hot chocolate and enjoying board games to Christmas music.  Sougo never had such a lively Christmas Eve, a home full of people laughing and carrying on like this. It was warm and everything he could have imagined…he was just missing one thing.

Shutting the door behind him, the Kamen Rider set one final thing up before calling out into the empty room, “Woz!”  

Silence.

“Woz wh-“

“Yes, My Demon Lord?”

Gasping, Sougo turned around on his heels, feeling the soft breath of Woz’s voice against the lobe of his ear.  Blushing hotly, the boy stared up at his tall, dark haired herald, his eyes locking with the boys mischievous gaze.  His heart was racing in his lean chest, suddenly nervous about being in Woz’s presence. Gods, when did he become nervous about being in anyone’s presence?

“I, um, have something for you!”  Sougo said shyly, an eager smile on his face.  Moving over his small desk, the young Kamen Rider slid open a drawer pulling out a small velvet box tied with a small magenta bow.  Running his fingers across the small gift box, Sougo bit his lower lip, nervousness taking over him.

Woz’s voice came out as a surprise gasp, “For...me? My Lord?”

Turning back around, Sougo watched as the ever so poised Woz, stared down at him with wide almond eyes, curiosity shimmering in them.  A rush of excitement coarsed through the boy kings veins seeing the handsome male, normally unshaken with his book of prophecies, surprised by something new. Rubbing his thumb over the soft fabric anxiously, Sougo smiled lightly before holding out the gift box to the other.

“Here you go Woz, Merry Christmas!”

Gingerly, the time traveler took the small gift out of his Sougo’s delicate hand, staring down at it in awe. He couldn’t believe that this Demon Lord had thought about him enough to get him a gift!  Trying not to show his eagerness, Woz carefully adjusted his precious book of prophecies in his arms before going to flip open the top.  

“Ah, I um, I hope you like it!”  Sougo said hopefully, watching Woz carefully as he stared at his gift.  In the box laid a shimmering silver pocket watch, securely nestled within a soft pillow of velvet.  The soft sounds of ticking filled the room as the young boy king saw his handsome shadow touch the cold metal gently over the intricate design of cogs and wheels etched onto the cover.  A similar design to the most precious possession that the time traveler had.

“A…watch, My Demon Lord?” The boys voice was soft and curious, lifting his gaze back to the smaller boy, “Its exquisite but-“

Chuckling to himself, Sougo gently cut Woz off, fiddling with his fingers, “I know, its sort of cliché right? But…”

Woz’s piercing eyes lifted from the gift, his eyes sparkling as he watched his Demon Lord squirm where he stood.  He had never seen Ohma Zi-O so flustered, the King that he knew always confident and unflinching, so seeing his younger version so…vulnerable…made his heart race.

“But?”

“But, this one is unique; this one Woz I remade the insides myself.  Uncle helped me take one that wasn’t working and we spent hours fixing it!”  Rubbing the back of his head, Sougo ruffled his chestnut har sheepishly, “It was my first time doing something like this, Uncle made it look easy…but man it was really hard haha!”

“But now it works like a dream, I hope you like it!”

Sougo watched as Woz’s finger passed across the pattern once again, the sound of a deep breath being let out reaching his ears.  “My Demon Lord, you made this? With your hands?”

Nodding, the young Kamen Rider’s lips curled up into a smile, pleased at how warmly his gift was being received.  Reaching over, Sougo moved besides his tall herald, his finger pressing the button to open up the lid.  The clocks glass cover gleamed in the light of the room, its pristine surface reflecting Woz’s face as he lit up.

“I even had it inscribed, see!”

Pulling the item closer, the tall boy’s almond shaped eyes narrowed as he quietly read, “’To my most faithful Woz: Please continue to help guide my path to becoming Demon Lord’”  

It was sort of embarrassing having heard it out loud, Sougo was never really good at writing something so fancy.  But the boy meant every word of it, and seeing how the dark haired boy’s expression softened, all of his efforts were worth it.  

“My King…Although I am nothing but a herald you got me such a thoughtful gift…”

The boy kings cheeks warmed up, plucking the gift from the boys hand putting it aside before grabbing Woz’s thin wrist.  “I wanted to give you something I worked on myself, something special.”

Although Woz seemed to be completely thrilled at the pocket watch, Sougo had something else in mind. It was time for that surprise that he had set up before he called the tall time traveler to his room.  Woz blinked at him in confusion as they crossed the room, to stand in front of the door, patiently waiting until his Demon Lord pointed up.

“Do you know this tradition Woz?”  Sougo asked shyly, a sheepish smile on his lips.

Tilting his gaze up, Woz saw a small dark green plant hanging above them, “No My-Mmm!”

Before his most faithful subject could finish his sentence, Sougo reached up, his fingers laced behind Woz’s lean neck pulling him down until their lips met in gentle kiss. For a moment there time stopped for the young Kamen Rider, reveling in the softness of Woz’s lips, as his handsome supporter kissed him back softly.  Pulling himself closer, Sougo shivered, feeling the firmness of his heralds body against him, the warmth and muscle.  

“Mmm~ “Suddenly Sougo heard a creak behind him, prompting the boy king to pull away. Panting softly, the young boy blinked his heavy eyes, realizing that they where now pressed up against the door.  Woz stared down at him with sparkling mischievous eyes, a dreamy smile across his handsome face.

“…My Lord!” Woz’s voice was breathless, as he leaned up against the door, pinned to it by the smaller boy king.  “What did I do…to deserve such attention?”

Blushing lightly, Sougo briefly wondered how they got there, not realizing they were moving as they kissed. But, after staring up at the amused gaze of the dark-haired boy, the future king decided that, none of that mattered.

Leaning in again, Sougo brushed his lips against Woz’s once again, hearing his faithful herald sigh happily, “Merry Christmas Woz…”  

[chierafied]

Prompt: SessKag Kagome has doubts about her future, when her and Inuyasha meet Sesshoumaru and her future self(plus some of their children) in present day.Who have been happily mated for five centuries, those doubts clear up. Inuyasha gets angry a lot and Kagome gets flustered when her future self says to the question why her and Sess have so many children is because it is so much fun to make them.Self-fullfilling prophecy, those events lead to Kagome seeing Sess' true self and their relationsh.

Thanks for the prompt, love! :D Hope it’s to your liking! ♥

Paradox

Kagome picked up her pace and balled her hands intofists.

“No!” she barked, her voice strained by impatience. “Itold you I needed two weeks and that’s what I’m going to take.”

“Damnit, Kagome, we don’t have any time to waste! Twoweeks is too long!”

“Like it or not, Inuyasha, I have to sit through myexams. Two weeks is non-negotiable.”

Inuyasha growled and glared at Kagome from under the billof the baseball cap he wore to cover his ears.

“And while you’re out here being examined, Naraku’sgathering more Shikon shards!”

“I know!” Kagome snapped. “But unlike you, I have a lifeoutside of shard hunting, and I’m doing the best I can to maintain a balancebetween – don’t you growl at me!”

Kagome propped her hands on her hips, indignant, butInuyasha wasn’t paying any attention to her.

He was staring fixedly down the street, his lips curledback in a snarl.

Kagome was so doneand just about to ask what the heck Inuyasha’s problem was, when she felt it.

A prickle in the air; faint, but undeniable in itsorigin. Familiar youki, somewhereclose by.

Kagome stared down the street, trying to see who hadcaught Inuyasha’s attention… and then she spotted him.

Tall and broad-shouldered. The silver-white hair wasunmistakable, even though it had been cut short in the modern fashion.

Kagome was moving before any conscious thoughtregistered.

“Oi, Kagome,” Inuyasha hissed. “What hell are you doing?”

But Kagome kept walking forward, her quick steps eatingup the distance.

Inuyasha cursed and rushed after her.

They had almost reached the youkai, when he suddenlyturned around.

Both Kagome and Inuyasha stopped short.

The demon looked hauntingly familiar.

In fact, he could’ve been a mirror image of Sesshoumaru,if not for two small details: he lacked Sesshoumaru’s facial markings and hiseyes were blue.

Blue and warm, and wide with both shock and recognitionas he stared at the two of them, equally stunned.

Then, he opened his mouth and spoke.

Who would’ve known it’d only take a single word to sealKagome’s fate.

“Mother?”

After a couple of long flabbergasted seconds, Kagomemanaged a wheezy “what?”

The youkai ignored Inuyasha – who was busy swearing likea sailor – and gave Kagome a baffled once-over. “What on Earth are youwearing?”

Kagome shook her head. What the hell was going on?

And more importantly, who –

“Who the hell are you?” Inuyasha demanded, pushinghimself between Kagome and the demon.

The youkai frowned. “Come on, Uncle Inu. That’s not funny.”

Inuyasha took a step forward, snarling. The youkainarrowed his eyes, and youki crackledin the air.

The situation might have gone very badly from there –when something even more mindboggling happened.

All of a sudden, Inuyasha and the youkai were yanked apart.

Kagome gasped, as she met the cold golden eyes she knew.

“Not here, you fools,” Sesshoumaru said, his voicethreateningly quiet, while still maintaining a good grip on both Inuyasha’s andthe other youkai’s necks. “If you want to brawl like barbarians, do it out ofthe prying eyes of the humans.”

The other youkai was looking sheepish now. “I’m sorry.”

Inuyasha, however, twisted in Sesshoumaru’s grip so hecould glare at him. “What the hell are you doing here, you bastard?”

The other youkai gaped at Inuyasha.

Sesshoumaru deposited him down. “Go on now, Masaru. Ourlunch is postponed.”

The other youkai – Masaru – nodded and left in a hurry.

Unease slithered in the pit of Kagome’s stomach. Inuyashaand Sesshoumaru looked just about ready to tear into each other’s throats, butthen, what else was new?

So she squared her shoulders and stamped down her growingdiscomfort.

“Let him go, Sesshoumaru!”

And that was when the time truly stopped.

Kagome blinked in confusion and tilted her head.

Was she hearing things now, too? Because she could’vesworn there’d just been the weirdest stereo-effect, except…

Kagome took three slow steps to the left – and saw thefigure standing behind Sesshoumaru, a hand propped on her hip.

Kagome’s head swam. Her knees buckled.

And Sesshoumaru was there to catch her, before she couldslump inelegantly onto the street.

His chest was hard, his arm around her secure and oddlygentle.

But Kagome was too overwhelmed by everything at thispoint. She couldn’t make sense of what Sesshoumaru was asking her in a soft,concerned voice. She just stared at the woman standing across from her. Foughtto get air into her lungs.

From there, things were a blur. She knew they weremoving, but didn’t know where they were going. Sesshoumaru had wrapped his armaround her shoulders and was leading her somewhere. Kagome’s numb legs obeyedwithout a question.

The next time Kagome was actually aware of hersurroundings, she was sitting in a private corner booth of a family restaurant.

Inuyasha was sulking by her side, and across the tablesat Sesshoumaru – and her.

Kagome stared at the woman for a long moment, her brainrefusing to accept what her eyes were seeing.

And when she finally remembered how to form words, theytumbled off her tongue in the quick succession of a nervous babble.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t this against the rules? Howcan we meet here like this without screwing up the timeline? Shouldn’t this belike a paradox or something? Or createone?”

Kagome wrung her hands and stared across the table. Itwas unnerving, to look yourself in the eye – even though the other “you” wassmiling in a friendly and reassuring manner.

“Don’t worry, this meeting won’t mess up the timeline,”the other Kagome said.

Was that what her voice really sounded like?

Ugh, there was just too much going on for her brain toprocess.

“How can you be sure?” Kagome demanded.

The blue eyes twinkled, crow’s feet crinkling in thecorners.

Kagome felt more at ease, seeing the lines she didn’t yethave. Something visual to mark their difference.

“Because I remember this day,” she replied simply.“Perhaps it is a paradox of some sort – I never really got the hang of theintricacies of time travel… But I remember this. Meeting an older version ofmyself. Sitting down with her. Having a chat.”

A shiver travelled down Kagome’s spine and her skinerupted in gooseflesh.

“I remember it well,” the other one said, locking her gaze with Kagome’s. “After all, looking back,that day changed my life.”

Kagome looked away and hugged herself. Cold fear wascreeping up her chest now.

In her heart and in her gut she knew.

Somewhere deep down, her other self’s words rang true.But her mind protested, shrieking its denial.

Desperate to avoid the haunting sight of two pairs ofeyes that were both familiar and foreign at the same time, Kagome’s gazefixated on the pair of hands resting on the table. Clasping each other in suchan easy comfort that the gesture must’ve been habitual.

Kagome wouldn’t have believed it possible, but the sightof those hands managed to confuse her poor brain even further.

Naturally, Inuyasha chose that moment to boil over.  

“What the hell is this shit?” he growled, gesturing wildlyat the other Kagome and Sesshoumaru, his claws flexing.

His barely contained anger showed in the tense lines ofhis muscles.

“It is as it seems,” Sesshoumaru replied calmly. “Anunfortunate crossing of timelines.”

The other Kagome shook her head and touched Sesshoumaru’sshoulder. “Very fortunate, for us.”

Sesshoumaru looked at the other Kagome and smiled. “Indeed,”he agreed, then brought their joined hands to his lips. He pressed a kiss onthe back of the other Kagome’s hand.

Kagome was pretty sure her eyes were bugging out.

Inuyasha, on the other hand, was growling again.

“The other youkai, from earlier... He was…?”

Kagome couldn’t bring herself to finish her question. Theword got stuck in her throat.

“Masaru,” Sesshoumaru replied. “Our son.”

“One of our sons,” the other Kagome amended.

The beginnings of a headache pounded on Kagome’s temples.

“How many are there?” Inuyasha asked, and Kagome wishedhe hadn’t.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Sons – or children altogether?” Sesshoumaru returned,looking Inuyasha in the eye.

Inuyasha sputtered.

The other Kagome was smoothing down her hair, lookingsheepish. “Let’s just say there are several.”

“Of each,” Sesshoumaru added, his evil grin aimed atInuyasha.

Inuyasha’s face was turning purple and Kagome wondered ifhe might be choking on his tongue.

“Several?” Kagome echoed, feeling faint again.

“Well, you know… It took the better part of fourcenturies to develop reliable contraceptives,” the other Kagome said, shruggingher shoulders.

“And abstinence was not an option,” Sesshoumaru added,his golden eyes flashing as he slanted a look at the other Kagome.

Oh dear lord. Kagomeblushed.

Inuyasha was making the choking sound again.

“Don’t worry about it,” the other Kagome said, her voicegentle, her eyes kind.

Kagome nodded.

But despite her older self’s reassurances, she was going to worry. If future had beenunclear before, it felt thoroughly muddled to her now.

After everything she had learned about today, abouteverything that might be waiting for her in the years to come… it just wasn’tphysically possible not to worry.

Because it would take Kagome quite some time to come toterms with all of this.

Although on the plus side, Kagome mused, noting the smileher other self and Sesshoumaru shared, she would have centuries to get used toit.

[icharchivist]

@azarkiem replied to your post “Something you'll probs LOVE (/sarcasm) to hear, I looked through...”

Those are really odd choices, especially just after the success of Spiderverse. The whole hype of the movie is tied to how they used animation for telling story in a specific way that wouldn't be possible in live action. So yeah, going for hyper realistic unexpressive lions that add nothing to the original animation is really an odd choice.

yEAH EXACTLY!

Tbh i was kinda hoping itsv would be Disney’s wake up call because this is the first year in... MANY years that Disney didn’t win a Best Award for Animated Picture. itsv had been praised by its use of animation to tell a story, how the animation is part of the story process, on the different sort of animations and all that get into it. This sent a clear message that “it’s what people want to see”.

Tbh it remains kinda mindboggling what direction Disney is taking especially after itsv, and it’s not even touching the mcu (that also bc i stopped caring for it after winter soldier so i can’t even start on spidey and its. *raising eyebrow* choices especially post-itsv). 

I suspect for now they are too advanced in the Live Action development to backdown - Disney is already starting to oversaturate the market, even more so with the more studio they buy, and i feel like it’s deliberate too to remind that the brand is everywhere. So it’s a “faster release” model going on and therefore less care putting into content, it’s just, gotta be quick so we have our movie out at that point. 

Like i quoted on another post, a Disney’s ethos in the 80s was “ We have no obligation to make art.  We have no obligation to make history. We have no obligation to make a statement. But to make money. It is often important to make history, to make art, or to make some significant statement. In order to make money, we must always make entertaining movies, and if we make entertaining movies, at times we will reliably make history, art, a statement, or all three. we may even win awards. .” - and this is the specific ethos that led to direct to dvd sequels. And this seems to be the same ethos that is carrying on to the Live Action remakes. And it’s so dull.

But hey emotionless lions here we go? 

It would win so much more to actively remind people that Animation isn’t just for kid than to think Liveaction would attract everyone for sure.

sighs *rubs temples* it’ssuch a mess