#i should really start putting that tag first

[chancloud8]

Teach Me {5}

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series masterlist

Pairing: Changbin x Reader, Seungmin x Reader

Word Count: 3,7k

Tags: fluff, kissing, smut, nsfw, dry humping, fingering, 18+

Summary: Changbin tries to help you get rid of your nerves, but when his plan goes a little different than he'd hoped, Seungmin swoops in to help out.

************************************************

A movie is playing on the TV, but you've stopped watching the silly k-drama Jisung and Hyunjin chose a while ago as your mind keeps drifting to the conversation you had with Chan and Jisung.

The thought of one of the guys giving you your first orgasm makes you nervous. Who will be the one to do so? What if it doesn't work? How will it feel? How should you react? Do you make a lot of noise or should you keep quiet? 

A nudge against your thigh stops the train of questions in your brain and you look up to see who's trying to get your attention. 

'Wanna help me get some popcorn?' Changbin asks when your gaze meets his. 

You look around the living room of Felix and Seungmin's apartment, but everyone is either focused on the movie, on their phone or in Jeongin's case, asleep. 

'Sure,' you nod, carefully getting up from the couch to not disturb Jeongin's sleeping form. 

The youngest member is curled up against Felix, his head resting against the older's shoulder as he softly snores. The sight is so cute you nearly take out your phone to take a picture, but you refrain and quietly pat towards the kitchen where Changbin already disappeared too. 

'Salty or sweet?' Changbin asks, holding up two packages. 

'Both,' you grin, moving past him to grab two bowls from the cabinet. 

'Mhm, good choice,' Changin agrees as he puts the first bag into the microwave. 

You lean against the counter and close your eyes, waiting for the sound of popping to fill the kitchen. It doesn't take long before you feel the heat of another body next to you, gently pressing against your side. 

'What has you thinking so loud?' Changbin asks softly. You open your eyes and find him looking at you with a worried frown between his eyes, and when you don't reply immediately the frown gets deeper. 'Did someone do or say anything?'

Your eyes widen at the suggestion and you shake your head, a blush spreading over your neck and cheeks.

'No, not really. It's just-,' you swallow and lick your lips nervously. 

Are you really going to talk about this now? 

'What is it?' Changbin asks softly. 'You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I want to help you if I can.' 

You smile at him and turn your body a little to face him. Changbin really is one of the sweetest guys you know and while it might feel embarrassing for you to talk about, you know he would never judge you or make you feel silly about anything. 

'I had a conversation with Channie and Sungie,' you start, lowering your voice. 'About, uhm, how I've never orgasmed before.' 

Changbin's eyes widen and his ears turn red, but he doesn't say anything, he just waits for you to finish speaking. 

'And, uhm, it got me thinking about when that will happen,' you let out a little cough and lick your lips again. 'And with who.' 

Changbin clears his throat and shifts from one leg to the other. 

'And?' He presses. 

You sigh and stare at your feet, faintly registering how the corn in the microwave is starting to pop faster and faster. 

'And then I started overthinking it, I guess,' you shrug. 

Changbin nods and purses his lips, his fingers tapping against the counter as he thinks for a moment. 

‘What's the loudest question in your brain right now?’

You blink at him and feel your cheeks heat up once more. Is he asking so he can answer your question or? 

‘When it will happen,’ you admit, your voice barely audible. ‘The waiting is making me nervous.’ 

‘And it gives you time to overthink it,’ Changbin adds, giving you a small smile. 

You nod and move to the microwave to remove the first bag of popcorn and replace it with the second. ‘Exactly.’ 

Changbin hums and when you turn around again he’s grinning at you, a mischievous grin you know all too well. It usually means trouble. 

‘What are you up to?’ you ask as you cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him. 

‘I have an idea, do you trust me?’ Changbin holds out his hand for you to take and for a moment you just stare at it. 

Of course you trust him. You trust everyone currently in the apartment with you, but that doesn’t mean that what he’s saying isn’t making you nervous. Especially considering what you just talked about. Is he going to offer to take care of you now? Here? With everyone in the house? Are you okay with that?

Looking up and into Changbin’s soft brown eyes causes you to make a decision and you take a hold of his hand. He smiles down at you reassuringly before pulling you away from the microwave where the second bag of corn is just starting to make popping sounds. Changbin leans over to turn off the device and with a gentle squeeze to your fingers he starts to pull you with him towards what you think is Seungmin’s room. 

When the door closes behind you, he only gives you about two seconds to look around the room. There’s a guitar in the corner and on the bedside table there’s a glass case with a baseball in it. It’s definitely Seungmin’s room. 

‘Y/N,’ Changbin whispers hoarsely as he pulls you against his strong body. 

‘Binnie,’ you whisper back. ‘What are you up to?’ 

‘First I really want to kiss you.’ 

A warm feeling spreads through your entire body as he slowly moves his fingers over your arm, staring at your wrist and going up and up until he reaches your shoulder. His thumb slides under the sleeve of your shirt for a moment before he moves up further and cups the back of your neck, pulling your face closer to his. 

‘And then?’ you breathe out just as his lips are about to connect with yours. 

Changbin chuckles and touches your nose with his. ‘Don’t think too much baby and just try to enjoy the feeling. If anything gets too much or you want to stop, pat my thigh or arm or anywhere you can reach two times, yeah?’ 

He waits for you to nod and then he crashes his mouth against yours, his lips soft but urgent at the same time, like he’s been wanting to do this for a while now. You smile against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing even closer against his chest. He feels warm and solid against you and you like the way his arms around you make you feel safe. 

You’re the one to deepen the kiss and a thrill of excitement goes through your body when Changbin groans into your mouth. He tilts his head a little to create an even better angle and his thumb caresses the side of your neck. Your entire body tingles deliciously and if you weren’t standing up you’d be crawling into his lap to get even closer. 

As if he read your mind, Changbin slowly starts to move backwards. He never stops kissing you and you cling onto him so you won’t fall, trusting him to catch you if you do. When he sits down on Seungmin’s bed, you waste no time climbing on his lap, your legs resting on either side of his thick thighs. 

‘You okay?’ Changbin pants as he pulls back, leaving only a millimeter of space between your lips. 

‘More than okay,’ you say, nuzzling your nose against his like he had done before. ‘If I knew how much I’d like kissing I would have never freaked out two weeks ago.’ 

Changbin hums and presses a kiss against your jaw before slowly trailing his lips towards your neck. ‘It’s only natural when you don’t know what to expect. I for one, am glad you came to us.’ 

‘Me too,’ you whisper, baring your neck to give him better access. 

You let out a soft moan when he sucks on the skin just below your ear, his tongue soothing the bruised skin afterwards before he continues exploring your neck with his mouth. Your stomach flutters and your eyes fall closed as your whole body seems to light up, feeling hot and tingly. 

‘Binnie,’ you gasp, when he bites down on the skin between your neck and shoulder. 

More heat seems to explode in your belly and your body jolts forward a little on its own account, causing your core to rub against Changbin’s and it creates a delicious friction that you want to feel again. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters against your neck, his hands moving to grab onto your hips. ‘Do that again, baby.’ 

You roll your hips forward and gasp when it feels even better than before. 

‘How does that feel?’ 

‘Good,’ you pant, closing your eyes. ‘So good.’ 

‘Good,’ Changbin echoes and he attaches his lips to yours again. 

Your body feels like it's on fire and when Changbin’s hands slip under your t-shirt at the same time as you push your hips forwards again, it’s like your insides are turning into liquid. Your skin erupts in goosebumps and you shiver with the combined feeling. 

‘Hmm your skin is so soft,’ Changbin murmurs against your mouth. 

You want to laugh, but your body has a mind of its own, so instead you just chase his mouth and move your hips forward again. Your eyes roll back at the intense good feeling that’s starting to build in your belly. It kind of feels like a knot is tightening and you can’t help but chase the feeling, moving your hips again and again until you create a rhythm. 

Changbin’s chest is heaving against yours and his legs start shaking beneath you. 

‘Fuck, slow down baby,’ he moans, throwing his head back with his eyes squeezed shut. 

The sight of his bared neck does something to you and while your hips try to slow down, you can’t help but lean forward to latch your lips against his neck, nibbling and licking on the skin like he’d done with you. 

Changbin lets out a grunt and his whole body tenses for a moment before it seems to stutter and then relax again. His hands move from your back to your hips and he clamps down to stop you from moving. You immediately lean back in confusion, your eyes searching his face for any clues of what’s happening. 

‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do we need to stop?’ you ask, taking notice of his red cheeks and dilated pupils. 

Changbin groans and drops his head on your shoulder. 

‘Fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘This is so embarrassing.’ 

‘Why? What is?’ you comb your fingers through his hair, your mind racing at what could have happened that made him feel embarrassed. 

‘He’s come in his pants.’ a voice speaks up behind you. 

You startle and a loud squeak leaves your throat as you whirl around to see Seungmin lean against the doorframe. He has an amused smile on his face, but his neck and cheeks are red. 

‘How long have you been there?’ you ask, your own cheeks heating up in embarrassment as well. 

‘Long enough to see Bin come in his pants,’ Seungmin says and he pushes himself off the doorframe to step closer to you. 

His words finally register in your brain and you turn back to look at Changbin who has his eyes closed in mortification. 

‘You– you did?’ you softly ask, moving your fingers through his hair once more as if to soothe him. 

For some reason the thought pleases you. It doesn’t matter to you that you haven’t, you like the idea of Changbin enjoying himself so much that he couldn’t hold back. 

‘Yes,’ Changbin mumbles against your neck. ‘I’m so sorry.’ 

Your fingers leave his hair to cup his face and you gently force him to look up at you. 

‘Don’t be, I actually like the idea of me making you feel so good that you–’ you clear your throat. ‘That you came.’ 

Changbin blinks up at you in surprise and slowly the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss on your lips. 

‘You’re something else, you know that,’ he whispers as he pulls back. 

You giggle and place your hands on his shoulders to support yourself as you get off his lap. You bump into Seungmin as you do so, your back colliding with his chest and he quickly grabs onto your waist to keep you steady. 

‘Easy,’ he mumbles, his hot breath tickling against your ear. 

You shiver and bite your lip as the heat seems to reappear in your belly, like it suddenly remembered how you were feeling before Changbin stopped you. 

You don’t notice the look the two men share over your shoulders, but you startle when Seungmin speaks up again. ‘Why don’t you go clean up, you can borrow some sweats.’ 

For a moment you’re confused, but then you realize he’s talking to Changbin. 

‘I should–’ you start to say, but Seungmin’s hands tighten around your waist and pull you even closer against him. 

‘You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,’ he says, his voice sweet like honey. 

Your eyes widen when you feel something hard twitch against your ass. Changbin chuckles and gets up from the bed, softly pinching your chin between his thumb and forefingers. 

‘Minnie has got you now, baby. Remember what I said and try to relax and enjoy the feeling,’ he winks and then he turns around and disappears into what you think is the bathroom. 

With bated breath you wait for Seungmin to do or say something, the anticipation nearly driving you mad and your breathing is already quickening. It’s a bit pathetic really how your body reacts to him while he hasn’t even done anything but press his body against your back. 

Just when you start to lose your patience and open your mouth to say something, Seungmin twirls you around. You only get to glance at his face for a second before his lips are on yours, stealing your breath away. He kisses you like he’s starving for you, like this is what he needed all along.

His hands glide down your body, lingering on your ass for a moment before his fingers slip under the hem of your skirt. You shiver against him and arch your back, pressing your breast closer against his chest. You want him to make you feel good, to feel that pressure against your core again, the delicious friction. 

‘Minnie,’ you whine against his lips. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and his hands find your panty covered ass, squeezing the flesh and pulling your hips flushed together. A gasp leaves your mouth when you feel his hardness against your belly now. 

‘You feel that?’ Seungmin whispers. ‘That’s how you’re making me feel most of the time and you don’t even know it.’

You whimper, your brain feeling fuzzy with need and you stand on your tippy toes to try and rub your core against him somehow. You roll your hips like you’d done with Changbin and while it doesn’t feel as good as before, it still sends a rush of heat through your body, especially when Seungmin lets out a soft groan. 

‘Getting needy, are we,’ he mumbles, pressing an open mouthed kiss against your neck before he’s slowly walking you backwards until the back of your knees hit the back of his bed. 

He gently lowers you to the mattress and climbs on himself, his body hovering over yours for a moment before he sinks down next to you, leaning on his elbow to keep his upper half popped up. You frown at him, not understanding why he’s laying down next to you. How will that create the friction you need? 

‘Relax, I got you,’ Seungmin smiles, leaning forward to capture your lips in a kiss again. 

Your body immediately melts and your skin seems to hum when Seungmin once more lets his hands wander underneath your skirt. His fingers are tickling against your inner thighs and when he gets teasingly close to your panties, your legs fall open on their own accord. Seungmin pulls back from your lips to look at you, his pupils are so big that you can barely see any brown anymore. 

‘You’re doing so good, baby,’ he whispers, moving his hand up to slide his fingers over the soft fabric between your legs, only applying a light pressure. 

An ecstatic feeling bubbles up in your tummy again and you moan, bucking your hips up to chase his finger. Seungmin chuckles and repeats the movement, watching you respond with another loud moan, with lidded eyes and parted lips. 

‘Hmm you like that?’ his voice is hoarse. 

‘Yes, more,’ you pant. ‘Please, Minnie.’ 

Seungmin leans forward to kiss your neck again, his hand moving away from where you want him to touch you most. Just as you’re about to protest, his hand dips underneath the waistband of your underwear, his finger slipping through your wet folds. You gasp loudly, your body jolting at the feeling. 

‘Fuck, you’re so wet,’ Seungmin groans against your neck as he continues to slide his finger up and down, gently brushing your clit. 

‘Oh,’ your voice pitches high and your eyes widen. 

It feels like electricity is moving through your veins, like you're on fire and ready to explode. It feels so much better than when you touch yourself and you just know that you’re ruined forever now. Nothing will beat this feeling of flying high in some cloud of pleasure. 

Seungmin is breathing heavily against your neck, his finger still moving up and down, collecting moisture before circling your clit in an eight motion. Your mouth is starting to feel dry from all the panting you’ve been doing and without thinking you move your hand to grab onto Seungmin’s hair, pulling his head towards your mouth. He comes willingly and when you open your lips for him he licks into your mouth without hesitation, tangling his tongue with yours.  

‘Hmgh,’ you groan, bucking your hips up to create even more friction. 

Seungmin slides his finger further down and gently presses against your opening before moving up again, brushing against your clit. He repeats the motion just like before and then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he slips his finger inside. 

Your mouth falls open at the sensation and Seungmin pulls back to look at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he curls his finger inside of you. 

‘So tight,’ he mumbles. ‘So perfect.’ 

You whine and claw at his shoulder with the hand that's not in his hair, needing more but not knowing how to tell him when it feels like you can’t speak. Pleasure crawls up your spine and your legs are starting to shake. 

‘You’re doing so good, baby,’ Seungmin says. 

His thumb starts drawing lazy circles around your clit and he arches his finger in just the right way every time he pushes in again. More moans and pants leave your throat and for a moment you wonder if the others can hear you. 

The knot in your stomach tightens then and your vision is getting blurry when a feeling of ecstasy floods your body. It feels incredible. 

‘You can let go now, baby, it’s okay. I got you.’ 

With the loudest moan you’ve ever heard yourself make, you do just that. You let go and the tight coil in your belly snaps. Your eyes roll back into your head and you feel like you're floating and floating as your muscles spasm and shake. 

‘That’s it, baby, so good for me,’ Seungmin whispers, pressing soft kisses against your neck as he moves with you through your orgasm. 

Your very first orgasm. 

Fuck. 

You get it now, why everyone is always going on and on about how good it feels. 

‘Fuck,’ you whisper when you get down from your high. ‘Holy shit.’ 

Seungmin chuckles and pulls you against his body, kissing your temple. It’s only then that you notice the both of you are still fully clothed, but it doesn’t really matter right now. 

‘Are you okay?’ he asks. 

‘More than okay, that was-,’ you think about it for a moment and giggle. ‘Mind blowing, really.’ 

Seungmin laughs and presses another kiss to your head. ‘I’m glad and I can’t tell you how happy I am to have been the first to make you feel like this.’ 

Your mind wanders to Changbin and you wonder where he went after changing his pants. Did he go back to the living room with the other or did he stay in the bathroom, waiting for you to finish?

‘Wait,’ you pull away from Seungmin’s chest to look up at him from underneath your lashes. ‘How did you know what Bin and I were up to?’

‘Well, you weren’t exactly being quiet, sweetheart,’ he grins. ‘No one else seemed to notice, so I went to investigate the sound by myself. Imagine my surprise when I find you humping against Binnie on my bed.’ 

You dip your head and giggle, your cheeks heating up. ‘Oh my god.’ 

Seungmin laughs again. ‘Don’t worry about it, I didn’t mind. The others are going to be so jealous though, especially Channie.’ 

‘Why?’ you ask, frowning. ‘I thought you were all okay with this?’ 

‘We are, I promise,’ Seungmin strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. ‘I guess it’s just because we all love you–’ 

Your eyes widen and so do Seungmin’s. He quickly clears his throat. 

‘I mean, we all care about you a lot and we just get a bit competitive. It’s all friendly though, so don’t worry okay?’ 

You nod at him, but can’t help the nagging feeling that there’s more to it than that.

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a/n: thank you so so much for all the love on this series!! I'm so so happy to see so many of you enjoying this silly little fic <3 I'm sorry it takes me a bit longer to write, but with life being busy and flu season i have less time than before and my brain keeps getting distracted with other blurbo's as well..

Please let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in this series and I'll try and make it happen ;)

Big smooch <3

-

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[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Baby Got Back

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: T Word Count: 3933 Tags: Human AU, gym meet-cute, lust at first sight, call that a meat-cute, supporting appearance by Death, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, Hob puts the 'ass' in 'exercise class', Dream of the Endless (Sturridge Edition) has no cake to serve, embarrassment, exercise, Death is the worst (best) wingman

Notes: This happened bc @dragonnan shared this video in the Mr Sadman server and the scene Would Not Leave my brain. The meat-cute tag is also courtesy of Dragonnan. ❤️ Title is of course borrowed from Sir Mix-a-Lot's song of the same name. I physically could not call this anything else.

Summary: Dream's sister drags him to the gym. Will the instructor and his assets be enough to convince Dream it's worth his time?

On AO3 Dream is pleased to see, as he begrudgingly follows his sister into the exercise class she'd signed them up for, that at least the instructor isn't the bodybuilding jock type that has historically put him off going to the gym entirely. Dream gets only a glance at the back of him as they enter the space, but he is slim and athletically built—neither thick-necked nor thickly-muscled, nor is any part of him built like a tree trunk.

That is a relief.

Dream still does not want to be here.

But he loves his sister, and is ultimately not immune to her dogged persistence.

"Come on, Dream, just one time, please? I'm sure you'll find something you like about it!"

Months, she has been cajoling him; it is his hope that she will drop the subject now that he has finally given in.

"Hello, welcome everyone!" Mr. Not-a-Musclebound-Jock speaks up, drawing attention to start the class. "My name is Robert, but you can call me Hob, and I'll be your instructor for this undertaking! Good to see some of you back, and nice to see all these new faces too! Now, today we're going to start off slow; I'll demonstrate some techniques and we can all try them out one at a time before we really get going, alright?" He claps his hands, rubs them together. "Those of you who've been here before, please feel free to help out the newcomers if they need it. Especially if you brought them." He glances at Dream and Death with a tiny nod, as Death is one of those returning students, and Dream.

Well.

He is hearing the words—"quick stretches", now, and "warmup"—he is paying attention, truly, but he is also.

Staring.

Which is not so terrible; all eight of them in the class are watching the instructor and following along with the warmup, as they should. But Dream does not think his thoughts are in line with anyone else's.

Because the instructor, Hob—he is gorgeous. Arrestingly so. Beautiful in a very ordinary way; average height, the previously noted slim build, brown hair greying slightly at the temples and pulled into a messy bun, dark eyes, strong nose, friendly smile. Nothing individually remarkable, but together? Oh. That smile lances straight through Dream in a way that makes his stomach curl up giddily. Hob is wearing a white t-shirt that is tight and thin enough it can't quite hide what looks to be a lush thicket of chest hair, and the amount of hair on his arms and legs further supports that hypothesis. He's wearing mallard green spandex shorts that show off, well, everything, and it's all very nice.

Perhaps this class will be tolerable, after all.

"Okay, the first thing I want to tackle is a modified squat form," Hob says once they've finished the warmup stretches, and Dream is immediately reassessing his optimism. He hates squats; hates most sorts of physical exercise, to be honest, which is why Death had had to wheedle so hard to get him to join her. But squats, of course, were particularly loathsome. And Hob sounds far too cheerful about them.

"This modification is pretty simple; you'll just need to find a pole, here, and do like this." Hob turns so his back is mostly to the class, grabs an upright bar on the nearest weight machine—Dream has no idea what any of this equipment is properly called—then plants his feet far apart and leans back, bending his knees into a beautifully right-angled squat and Dream?

Dream nearly swallows his tongue.

Hob's green spandex shorts and everything they contain have gone from 'nice' to 'scandalously on display' and Dream is absolutely mesmerized. The way Hob's body drops, the wide stance of his legs, the way his cheeks spread as he sinks low—Dream is having capital-T Thoughts, none of which are in the bible, as Desire is fond of saying. Hob's thighs, while built slim, are well-muscled and incredibly toned and every contour of quads and hamstrings is straining into beautiful prominence beneath those shorts. His arse is likewise presented, every curve and dimple beautifully highlighted by shiny green fabric, and Dream is very sure he can see the imprint of individual hairs beneath the stretched spandex. The material is rendered slightly-sheer by the position and, unmistakably, there is a distinctive 'whale-tail' flaring above Hob's shapely cheeks.

Dream's mouth goes dry. Is he—?

There is a telling lack of lines under the spandex.

He is. Hob is wearing a thong.

Dream is ridiculously grateful for the Extreme Support jock strap he'd put on before coming here; he is having a most unfortunate reaction to every aspect of Hob's demonstration, but his shorts are far more forgiving than Hob's and the underwear beneath them is keeping things decent enough for the public environment.

He hopes.

"See the problem so many people have with squats is the knee strain," Hob is saying, as he straightens up again. He lets go of the pole. "Most of the time when we do squats, we're leaning forward a bit for balance, right?" He bends into position, demonstrating; his arse and thighs are on display again and it is no less arresting than the previous example. "And that's where that knee pressure comes from, trying to keep that balance."

Dream can think of several ways to help Hob keep his balance in such a position, all of which involve their bodies in intimate proximity and none of which would be particularly easy on anyone's knees.

"But like this"—Hob takes hold of the equipment again and leans back, drops slowly into his squat—"it's easy to keep your chest straight, get all that nice core support and this ninety-degree angle here"—his free hand strokes the curve of his own arse from hip to thigh and Dream inhales sharply—"and your anchoring pressure is all in your heels. No knee strain!" He sinks deep, presumably in demonstration and Dream is so full of lewd thoughts he genuinely fears he might burst. He watches the flex of Hob's thighs and arse as the man raises himself and lowers back into another squat; he bites his tongue to still the whimper rising in his throat, watches Hob perform another slow controlled bounce, is painfully aware of all his blood rushing south.

"This keeps all the working power in your glutes, which of course helps you build a nice tight round arse—and that's what we're all here for right?" Hob grins over his shoulder as he sinks down again.

A smattering of laughter answers him, including a chuckle from Death, but Dream cannot stop staring at Hob's arse. Which is indeed. Round. And tight. Chiseled. Contoured into sharp relief beneath the stretch of spandex shorts. And the texture of his body hair on top of all that? The thong? The way his cheeks flex and spread as he sinks low, clench beautifully as he rises up again?

Dream is utterly lost.

His sister bumps him with her shoulder. "Alright there, Dream?"

He makes a tiny, strangled noise that he hopes she will take for assent. He can only imagine what color his face is at the moment.

"You can do this at home, too, by the way, if you happen to have a pole—or a sturdy door jamb to hang onto." Hob demonstrates one more deep squat and straightens up, turning to face the class again. "Alright. Everyone find a support and try it out!"

Dream cannot. He cannot fathom duplicating the exercise with the vision of Hob's arse in his head, performing those same motions—supportive underwear or not, he is going to embarrass himself.

"Here we go!" Death singsongs next to him, indicating the nearest weight machine—which does in fact have two upright supports that will serve their purposes. She steps over and takes hold of one, leans herself back with feet planted wide and performs a squat.

Which does wonders to clear Dream's head; it's not titillating when his sister does it and he finds he can refocus appropriately.

"This feels ridiculous," he mumbles, joining her and reluctantly taking up position. "This looks ridiculous."

"Didn't look ridiculous when Hob did it, right?" Death's tone is entirely nonchalant, not even teasing, but Dream seizes up all the same. He knows she's sharp, that she can't have missed the way he was staring nor what, precisely, he'd been staring at. But her words are entirely innocent. "Just need a bit of practice and you'll make it look that good too, little brother."

He is about to reply as he lowers himself, something scathing and devastatingly witty, surely, but another voice cuts in first.

"Ah, so this is your little brother, DeeDee?"

Hob.

Dream, having just reached the lowest point in his first squat, finds quite abruptly that his body has decided to forget how to move.

His sister is answering. "Hey Hob! Yeah, this is Dream. I finally convinced him to come in with me."

"Wonderful! Always glad to have new friends join the fun!" Hob holds out a hand.

As if Dream is in any position to shake it.

His eyes are nearly level with Hob's chest and it takes every fiber of willpower he possesses to keep them up on Hob's face; in his distraction, he lets go of the pole to shake hands anyway.

Inevitibly, he falls flat on his arse.

"Oh god I'm so sorry!" Hob reaches to help him up, looking alarmed.

His sister is stifling her laughter.

"Thank you," Dream manages, pride bruised, face aflame, but he takes Hob's hand and pulls himself quickly to his feet. He does not dare look around to see who else in the class has borne witness to his bumbling ignominy. Besides which. Hob is no less attractive in close proximity and Dream's brain is replaying all those squats in quick flashes while also gibbering about the chest hair showing through that thin white t-shirt, none of which is at all conducive to keeping his composure. Desperately, he tries to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Yes. I am Dream. DeeDee's brother."

He never calls Death DeeDee. And she had just introduced him, by name, as her brother.

He needs to stop talking before he embarrasses himself any further.

But Hob only grins brightly, shakes his hand firmly. "I'm Hob, Hob Gadling. Teach the class, obviously." He drops Dream's hand, clears his throat. "Didn't mean to interrupt your practice—or drop you on your arse, apologies! Let's try that form again?"

"What? Yes." Dream tears his gaze from Hob's mouth and the dimple in his chin, and then again from Hob's chest, turns to blindly grab at the pole he'd been using. "Like this?" He moves on instinct, dropping into a squat, trying his hardest to remember what Hob had demonstrated without fixating on how his arse looked doing it.

He is not successful.

And he still hates squats.

"That's a good start," Hob says, encouragingly, and Dream is mortified by the way something in him warms to it. "Now let's try straightening up a bit more—may I?"

Dream is nodding assent before he realizes that Hob's hand is hovering over his back, that Hob is asking permission to touch.

He barely stifles the sound in his throat as Hob's fingers skate down his spine, offer firm pressure just below his waist while his other hand guides Dream's shoulders back. "There we go, see? Let the pole hold your balance so you can get this ninety-degree angle, right here"—his hand moves from Dream's back to his hip, a professional touch that nevertheless sends Dream's brain up in smoke—" and takes the strain off your knees. See?"

"Yes," Dream manages, barely aware of what he's agreeing with.

"Now, when you push yourself up, you've got to make sure you're using your legs," Hob cautions, as Dream rises. "Don't pull yourself up using the pole; you want the work happening in your thighs and your glutes." Thankfully (regrettably), his demonstrative touching seems to be done, and Dream does not have to cope with Hob's hands on his arse. He does not know how much more of this he can handle—the proximity, the images still burned in his brain. The touching. That voice.

That smile.

He just needs. One moment. A chance to compose himself, to remember how to behave like a normal human being.

He lowers himself into another squat, muscles already beginning to protest, making sure to keep his form as Hob had instructed.

"Good!" Hob says, sounding genuinely pleased, and Dream's insides turn to goo. "Use those glutes, excellent!"

"Because that's how you build a nice round arse, right?" Death says—how did Dream manage to forget that she is literally standing right beside him through all of this—and Hob chuckles, pats Dream briefly on the shoulder.

"That's right! And it looks like you could definitely use a little help in that area!"

Dream face is aflame. He is aware of the aesthetic deficiencies of his own backside. He does not need them commented upon by a man unfairly blessed in that regard, in front of his sister, particularly not while he is struggling through a horny crisis over this same man. He seizes desperately for the thread of escape glimmering in the comment.

"You dare offer such insult to one who has come to your class for its benefits?" He stands upright as he says it, letting go the stupid pole and drawing haughty arrogance around him like a cloak to hide the tatters of his pride and composure. "How disappointingly unprofessional. Excuse me."

And he flees.

Technically, he strides from the gym area at a reasonable pace. But inside, he is running. He ignores Hob calling after him, ignores the voice in his own head screaming about how rudely he just treated the pretty man with the beautiful arse, ignores the other voice in his head that sounds like his sister scolding him and ducks into the nearest restroom.

He just needs. A moment.

He braces both hands on the sink, grateful there is no one here to see, hangs his head and lets regret wash over him.

He has ruined his chances, he is sure of it. Chances at what, he can't quite say; it's not as though he was planning to proposition Hob nor ask him out. Just. Quietly suffer through classes with his sister and silently ogle Hob for an hour three times a week, perhaps. If he is honest with himself. But Hob is certain not to want him in his class again, nor will his sister likely bring him back after how he has behaved today.

That's one problem solved, he thinks, bitterly.

He should apologize for his rudeness. But he will not interrupt Hob's class to do it. He must wait for Death regardless, and the fact that she has not stormed into the men's room after him means she thinks he needs time to nurse his wounds and pull himself together. So he will do so.

He turns on the tap, splashes water on his face, dries it with the length of paper towel the motion-sensitive dispenser offers him. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, his pale face splotchy and gaunt and sour, mouth pulled into an easy frown, and sighs.

No, he had no chances to ruin in the first place.

With a sigh, he turns away and leaves the washroom, retrieves his phone and wallet and Death's as well from their locker, then finds a seat at one of the little round tables in the juice bar area to wait. He checks his watch; the class is scheduled to run for another forty minutes.

It is a long time to sit alone with his thoughts; he opens the sudoku app on his phone, mindlessly working through puzzle after puzzle while he waits.

It has been just under thirty-five minutes when his brooding peace is disturbed.

"Dream, oh good." Incongruously it is Hob's voice, not his sister's. "DeeDee said you'd probably be here. I wanted to apologize."

None of these words are the ones Dream might have expected; he opens his mouth to reply but instead of something normal what comes out is, "But your class is not over?"

Hob blinks, looking as nonplussed as Dream feels. "Er. Not quite, no, but your sister offered to run everyone through cool-down so I could come find you."

"Why?" Why can he not stop his mouth running ahead of his thoughts, that is the true question.

"Like I said. I wanted to apologize." Hob shifts his weight awkwardly, drawing Dream's attention unhelpfully to the way his thin white shirt has gained additional transparency thanks to the half hour spent sweating in front of his class. "My comment was entirely unprofessional, you're right. And I'm sorry."

"It is not untrue." Dream's backside does indeed leave much to be desired in comparison to others. "But. I appreciate the apology." He appreciates the view of Hob's chest as well, but mercifully manages to hold his tongue on that count.

He does not quite manage to keep his eyes from flicking down to Hob's shorts, to the smoothness of the bulge artfully contained by the spandex.

Thong, he remembers, and his mouth again goes a little dry at the thought.

"May I sit?"

"Please." The rote answer is out before Dream can puzzle over why Hob wishes to join him.

Hob pulls out the other chair and drops into it, leans forward just a little. "Really, I'm sorry. I picked up the vibe of your sister's teasing and ran with it but I haven't known you long enough for that to be welcomed or appreciated. I was very much out of line. And I apologize."

"I. Apologize, as well. For speaking so harshly in front of others and making a scene." Dream is trying very hard to ignore the way his insides are wibbling at Hob's words, Hob's voice.

"What? Oh. No, no, it's forgotten, don't worry about it." Hob waves a hand dismissively. "My fault in the first place."

Dream lets the matter lie.

There is a moment of awkward silence.

"So. First time to class, huh?" Hob flashes a bright smile at him, quick and awkward and terribly endearing. "What did you think?"

"It was. Brief," Dream says, before he can think better of it, and Hob laughs.

Dream's stomach swoops helplessly, flutters in consternated delight. Oh. Oh, but he is utterly gone on the sunshine this man exudes.

"Sorry, sorry. Of course. You'd definitely need a full session before you could answer that; stupid question." Hob shakes his head, grin fading, hesitation creeping into his demeanor. "Do you think you'd want to come back again?"

"I am. Undecided," Dream admits, honesty seeing him through as he stumbles over the possibility—does Hob want him to come back? Is Hob hoping to see him again?

Is he willing to suffer a regular gym appointment for the possibility?

"Ah. Well." Hob sounds downright nervous now. "It would probably be…good if you didn't?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dream is so affronted at hearing it stated so plainly he forgets that he has earned the rejection.

Hob startles. "Crap, no, sorry! That didn't come out right." He laughs, a nervous awkward laugh, but his smile is still bright. "Let me try again—sorry. Sorry." He takes a deep breath. "I'd like—I'd like to ask you out. But if you're in a class that I'm teaching then ethically I probably shouldn't do that."

Dream is, metaphorically, knocked in his aesthetically-deficient arse yet again. "You wish to ask me out? On a date?"

"Yeah. Yes." Hob reaches to toy with his earlobe, head tilting into the unconscious motion adorably. "Your sister has told me a lot about you, been talking you up for months and you're very pretty and I would love to get to know you under more comfortable circumstances? If you're interested, of course. No hard feelings if you're not I know we've barely met and I've already put my foot in it many times over but. Could I possibly convince you to let me try again?"

Dream is impressed by the flood of words just tumbling freely forth, and a bit gobsmacked yet unsurprised at 'your sister's talked you up' even as the pieces begin to click into place—but most of all he's delighted that Hob seems interested in him, and charmed by the earnestness with which Hob's asking for a second chance.

As if Dream's little tizzy in the class had been anything more valid than a cover for his own embarrassment. As if Hob has anything to apologize for.

He will have words with his sister later, though.

"My sister. Is setting us up."

"I do believe that was her intention, yes." Hob looks hopeful. "I'm far from opposed, if you're alright with it?"

"Then. All things considered. I will not be returning to your class, Hob." He offers a smile that he hopes is friendly with an undercurrent of coyness, and not off-putting. He glances up from beneath his lashes to catch the way Hob is blinking, his grin broadening in delight.

"Really? Okay! Are you—are you free for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I am. Where would you like to meet?"

"Merv's is a lovely quiet little pub not far from here—do you know it?"

"I do not."

"I'll text you the details then; it's relaxed and low-key but very nice, nothing terribly fancy but amazing food. And they accommodate allergies and dietary restrictions if those're a concern. Can I give you my number?"

"Of course." Dream opens a new contact and presents his phone; Hob types in his info with impressive speed and hands it back.

"Send me a text so I've got yours? My phone's still in the other room."

"Of course," Dream repeats, already composing the message as Hob stands from the small table. This is Dream—I look forward to our date tomorrow. Simple and to the point. Truthful and sincere. Nothing embarrassingly forward like the thoughts running rampant in his head. I want to rub my cheek in your sweaty chest hair like a cat. Or I would like to peel your shorts from your magnificent arse with my teeth. Surely that is too much for a first text preceding a first date. He will refrain.

"I've got another class to teach so I've got to run," Hob is saying as he pushes his chair back in. "But I'm delighted to have met you and I'm glad I won't be seeing you in class again, heh." He winks, an actual genuine wink that charms Dream all over again.

"As am I." He leaves it at that, never mind how badly he wants to say something smoky and lascivious about Hob giving him private instruction in whatever techniques he cares to demonstrate; he thinks that one of them might combust if he could deliver the line correctly, and possibly it would not be him. But he will save it for tomorrow evening, should the date go well. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." Hob flashes his sunny smile again and turns, striding quickly back to the gym proper.

Dream watches him go, tight round arse and toned hairy thighs on perfect display, and shifts a little in his seat.

He has a feeling the date will go very well indeed.

= Started: 1/10/25 Drafted: 1/15/25 Posted: 1/20/25

It should be noted that I cannot vouch for whether or not the squat modification used herein is legit or safe. The validity of the exercise was obviously not the point of this fic, but, y'know. Just in case.

[elenasalvatore1]

First of all, the hinny tag does not mean that only the praise of hinny should be used. Everyone has their own idea of Hinny and can give any opinion to this ship. ( canon fans often do it to non-canon ships)

Ginny has plenty of time in the book to show her interest I Quidditch earlier. But she didn’t do it. We don't see her among the fans, she doesn't even support her brothers who play Quidditch. We learn about her training from the words of Hermione, who learned it from Ginny. Where is any evidence that Ginny did not say a lie?

In the fifth book, Ginny just plays well, and in the sixth book, she just becomes an athlete. So I can’t say that Ginny was too busy with her trainings.

Yes, I really think Quidditch is Ginny's way of getting closer to Harry. Ginny is just an ordinary stalker. She's a fan of Harry. In her own words, she "never gave up on the idea of being with Harry," she asked Hermione's advice on how to be with Harry. And then, all of a sudden, she becomes interested in Quidditch. It looks like a very cheap way to win over Harry, especially after his infatuation with Cho. So yes, this is an attempt to become interesting for Harry. And it is Rowling's attempt to make Ginny at least a little interesting for readers (which did not realise , so Ginny remained a gray, selfish, boorish mouse).

Hinny's book version is described as teenage hormonal lust, and Ginny doesn't deserve more than that. This will last at most until the end of school.

My favorite thing of the post is an attempt to start putting pressure on Harry and Hermione's lack of interest. Unfortunately, this statement only shows that the text is not being analyzed. There are a ton of essays of the potential of Harmony with a lot of quotes from books. But canon fans prefer ignore any critique.

Firstly, Rowling forced an unhealthy relationship as much as possible by fulfilling her wishes, so Harry's affection for Ginny's character in the sixth book looks very strange, especially when he was being bullied during all his childhood. Secondly, relationships tend to change. Many supporters of harmony come from the development of harmony relationships during and after the war. So many of us think that hinny is possible as short school romance. However, the text of the books shows the closeness between Harry and Hermione, their story, experience, the trust, the devotion, the understanding between Harry and Hermione, their acceptance each other that Ginny cannot dream about something similar in books, movies, or even hinny fanfiction. There is lust in hinny, and there is love in harmony. Ginny is for the first, Hermione is for the second.

And finally:

usually it is said that Ginny has a lot of advantages, but it is exaggerating of her fans.

Ginny is “stubborn”- it’s funny, because Ginny couldn't even stand up to Molly before the battle. Harry is stubborn there. she could be a bit stubborn only with her brother Ron. Ginny has a good sense of humor - Ginny has a sense of humor built on insulting and ridiculing others (this is a bad sense of humor),

she has a big heart - it's just ridiculous, since the only moment is her support of a girl in battle, where Ginny showed at least some kindness. But in other cases, She insults, casts curses, uses the opponent's vulnerable sides in an argument, she is quite indifferent to Malfoy's injury with a Harry”s curse (she justifies Harry), calls Luna a loony behind her back and makes faces to Fleur, calling her phlegm.This is not a kind person. Ginny is just a rude, selfish girl who wants to appear cool at the expense of others.

Ginny Weasley could have been a good background character, I wrote about her potential, but JKR turned her into bad person.

just saw someone say that ginny’s interest in quidditch is only an attempt to get harry to like her… like are we being for real right now..? saying ginny didn’t show interest in quidditch until book 4…. yeah bc girlie was barely in those books we didn’t know shit about what she was interested in bc harry didn’t have that much to do with her, and as the books are from his perspective, obviously we’re in the dark about a lot with regards to her, her interests, her hobbies etc. by book 5 it’s clear she has been flying since she was 6 years old??? breaking into the broomshed at home and flying when her brothers in secret, and she’s darn good at it too. just because she doesn’t vocalise this interest in front of the boy who she’s got a huge crush on and who saved her life (as a result is very shy in front of him also), doesn’t mean those interests don’t exist. the way ginny is set up is never to discredit hermione’s personality/accomplishments (unless you can’t comprehend the text, and shipped hermione with harry even tho it’s clear neither party were interested in each other). the two of them have very different goals, personalities and interests. i don’t think the text tells you to put ginny above hermione at all.

ginny is a sporty type with a stubborn nature, great sense of humour and a big heart. reducing her to someone who only likes a sport because her crush does is so degrading to her as a character. also get this sh*te out of the hinny tag.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Could you do a one-shot where alastor is super nervous when meeting reader, not really on his face but more his body language where when she shakes his hand he continues shaking it or doesn't let go immediately. nervous smile too lol, thanks love your stuff!!

Heeey I wrote it hope you don't mind some interpretation on my part! You didn't mention why Alastor was nervous so I just did whatever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Tags: Oblivious Alastor, Cartoonist Writer, Humor, awkward affection, Alastor is either oblivious or in-denial, Nifty is Nifty and you should all love her

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

Alastor’s introduction to you was not a willing one. Charlie had started a bit of a bookclub at the Hotel as some odd attempt at bonding. Alastor wanted no part of it, but after the 532nd time Charlie asked him he said something particularly scathing and the princess was cruel and told Vaggie, and the ex-exorcist would NOT stop stabbing his door until he finally relented.

Of course, his choice of book was one called ‘Blank’. It was a notebook with nothing written in it. Very easy to discuss at a bookclub.

Charlotte was not impressed and Vagatha once again starting throwing vague threats in his direction. How tempted he was to just kill both of them, but alas this hotel has been the greatest form of entertainment he’s had in years (is what he tells himself.)

Darling Nifty came to his rescue, offering up a variety of different light-reading to be discussed in the future. Most of which were….not to his taste. Nifty’s interests highlighted most definitely, but Alastor quickly chucked the books out the window when the story turned to ….that.

As the number of books dwindled, he was just about prepared to give up on this stack entirely and fetch something meaningless to pretend to read (who’d check, anyway?).

He picked up one, a flimsy comic-book like thing and rolled his eyes once before giving it a go. The story wasn’t anything particularly interesting. The plot was just two bunnies going to get some ice cream. But the wordplay, the exaggeration of all the smallest obstacles, how self-aware and absurd it was gave him a good laugh. The Radio Demon’s first introduction to your work.

Although the bookclub idea ended up going nowhere, Alastor found himself seeking out more of your works. Another about a man just making a taco, one about a woman folding her laundry. So many little, day-to-day situations amplified to a ridiculous amount. Clever one-liners and humorous puns sprinkled throughout kept it intelligent enough for him to maintain interest despite the absurdity of it all.

Eventually he got a cartoon you drew that seemed just the same as the rest. Some random cute cartoon raccoon drawing some random little cartoon things. There was a scene in it though that stuck to Alastor’s mind (and dare he say, heart) like glue.

In it, the raccoon was confronted by a shark. “Why do you bother making these?” the shark sneered “No one reads these but you, no one looks at them but you, there’s no point.”

“Why does there need to be a point?” The raccoon said. Alastor’s ears straightened up on their own accord as he read “Even if no one sees it, it’s something I made and it’s some I enjoyed making.”

“Even if you put it out there, no one will care about it.”

“Someone will. They might not say anything but there’ll always be at least one.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound? No one gives a crap about your ‘passions’!”

“I do.”

“Do you know how stupid you sound-“

And then the raccoon pressed a button and an anvil fell onto the shark, comedically turning it into a pancake. “Your argument doesn’t have any depth.” The raccoon said. The story moved on from there.

It struck a bit of a chord with Alastor, he could admit that much to himself. And the raccoon’s way of dealing it was something he’d keep in mind for his next encounter with an annoyance. He didn’t put much stock in it, as storytellers and their stories don’t always agree on all things.

Your comics were a little joyful distraction when he needed them, that was all. Nothing deep and profound.

“BOSS!”

Alastor slammed shut the book he was reading, his grin never faltering though his twitching ears indicated a slight nervousness. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Hello, Nifty! Did you need something?”

Nifty scamped up his chair and onto his lap, settling down andstaring up at him with her one big eye. “BOSS BOSS BOSS BOSS I MET THE DEMONESS WHO DRAWS THOSE CARTOONS YOU LIKE”

Alastor’s eye twitched “Oh? Well, that’s neat.”

She stood up, squishing his face between her hands and stared more as her grin grew wider and more manic “Did you want to meet her?”

Yes

“Now, now, Nifty.” Alastor said as he removed her hands from his face “There’s better ways to waste one’s time.”

Nifty tilted her head, staring at him as though it would allow her to see into his mind. Her expression shifted into….One he hadn’t seen on Nifty, admittedly. The best way he could describe it was ‘smug’. But what would she have to be smug about?”

“If you say so, Boss!” She chirped, hopping off his lap and trotting off “But yeah I was at the Evermore Book-Store and she was there working ‘cause I guess that’s what she does for a livng….” Nifty’s voice faded away as the little maid walked off, not caring her rambling were being said to no one.

After Alastor had finished his errands for the day, he happened by that very store…for…Reasons. Upon entering it, he realized he had no idea who- what- he was looking for. The store itself wasn’t large. A couple patrons, one large hulking demon with tiny spectacles at the desk and a much smaller one organizing shelves.

One of the workers, then?

Not that he cared.

“Pardon me!” Alastor chirped to the desk demon. Their big eyes seemed to move in slow motion to him, a low grunt accompanying the acknowledgement. “I’m looking for someone, yes? The author of some silly comics?”

The demon slowly narrowed their eyes, lips curling up into a snarl as a growl emanated from them.

“Ah, so she is here?”

The demon planted their very large hands on the desk, pushing themselves up to stand at their full height. They were taller than Alastor by a good three feet, and much more muscular as well. Their nostrils flared, blowing hot air into his face.

Alastor wasn’t the slightest bit phased. (He found it funny, actually). “So may I speak to her?”

The large demon opened up their gaping jaw-

“That’s me, hi! How can I help you?” The shelf-stacking demon interrupted, getting between Alastor and the clerk demon. A nervous little lady with a wobbly unsure smile and bags under her eyes that looked like they could carry the entirety of Hell in them.

Alastor held up one of your comics- a book that has been very obviously well-read “You’re the creator of these splendid little things?”

“Splendid…?” You repeated him, trailing off into an amused snort “Er. Yeah, I wrote and drew those.” The Clerk behind you closed their mouth, setting back down on their chair and adjusting their spectacles. The glare didn’t leave Alastor.

“Well, my dear, I find I quite enjoy them! It’s quite a pleasure to meet you.” Alastor said, not paying the larger (glowering) demon any mind. He found himself wondering why you were so tired and so timid. A woman like you should be so much more cheerful! Alastor was a tad offended….Because you weren’t smiling like he did. That’s it. Really.

“Well. I’m glad you like them.” You said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You offered your hand for him to shake.

One of his ears twitched. You must be fairly new to Hell, to offer a handshake so easily. Or perhaps a bit sheltered or on the naïve side. Alastor briefly considered making a sly deal to take your soul, but�� Well, there was no need for that.

He took your hand and gave it a firm shake. Your hand was so much smaller than his own, but it felt as though it warmed his entire body. This was strange. Perhaps you were casting some spells on him? Why was he finding it so hard to focus- why did he feel like he didn’t know what to say next- why-

The Clerk gripped Alastor’s arm in between two fingers, gently but assertively pulling it away from you. You took half a step back, cradling your arm to your chest as if he burned you. Alastor glared up at the Clerk “Is there a problem?”

The large demon growled. You intervened again “Er….You were just. Holding my hand for a while. It was……kind of weird.”

“Ah.” Alastor cleared his throat, straightening his posture with a flourish “My apologies! Mind was elsewhere, you know how it is with us creative types.”

You blinked. Then your timid smile turned a bit more confident. A bit more…like a smirk. “Er. Yeah, I guess so. Well. See you around, I guess?”

“If I have the time, I suppose!” Alastor grinned “Well then, I must be off! Ta-ta!”

You watched as the strange demon disappeared into shadows and slivered off. As soon as all trace of him was gone, you laughed quietly into your hand “Well, I can certainly say for certain I know someone ‘awkward as hell’ now.”

Your friend groaned, gently pushing you over as they continued their own work.

[twddixonn]

Good Boy

Daryl Dixon x Reader one shot

Warnings/Tags: not proof read!!!, sfw, some swears, shane.

this is my first fic on this account, my first time attempting to write a fic in 4-ish years and my first time trying to write a twd fic. honestly it’s probably not great but I hope it’s at least somewhat decent. :-)

(also written and posted mobile so not sure how it will appear on browser, hopefully not too terrible!)

“Leave me the hell alone.” You harshly whispered, turning on your heels and storming away from the scene in front of you.

Your best friend reuniting with his wife and son. Alive. Not dead. This whole time he had you believing that Rick was dead and gone, never coming back. Yet your eyes were seeing a whole different story to the one Shane painted out for you a couple months prior.

Shane followed pursuit, ignoring the former comment you had made and put a firm hold on your wrist before pulling you behind Dales RV to conceal you from the others.

“Hey, hey . I swear to you Y/N, he was dead when I left that hospital room. He wasn’t breathing. Th- the monitors, they all stopped. Everything went dead. He was dead.” Shane iterated, time and time again.

You feel the anger bubbling up inside you, just like all those other times when Shane had told you Rick was dead and to get it through your head he isn’t coming back. Your hands curled into fists, your nails stabbing into your palm leaving crescent shaped indents.

“Except he wasn’t. Is this why you didn’t want me to go there? Didn’t want Lori to go there? Because you knew if you swooped in and saved her and Carl when Rick couldn’t that what- she’d become your damsel in distress? Is this why? Just so you could get your leg over and fuck your partners wife and become Carls daddy? You’re pathetic Shane.” At this point your head was swarming with thoughts and ideas of what you wanted to do to Shane but better judgement got the best of you.

You began to walk off when a hand reached for you again, this time rougher. Shane pushed you against the RV, his brows furrowed and sweat dripping off his temples- smoke nearly coming out of his ears at this point.

“I don’t know what you think you know but you’re wrong either way. I think you’re forgetting that I didn’t just save Lori and Carl, I saved your sorry ass too. I didn’t have to. That was on me Y/N, That was on me. An’ I ain’t ever looked at Lori like that before, she was Ricks wife and he was my best friend. It happened because I thought he was dead.” He all but growled at you in a hushed whisper.

You remained quiet and stoic for a few moments, registering your thoughts before smirking slightly and speaking again. Pushing Shane’s hand off of you, you began to walk away but not before turning and giving one last snide remark, “I think I know right. And, by the way.. really interesting use of the past tense in those last few sentences there.”

Dickhead.

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“I’ve been here for quite a few hours now and yet, still no hello?” You looked beside you to see Rick crouched with a smile on his face, placing an arm around your shoulder which you leaned into graciously.

“Sorry Grimes.. just- a lot to take in y’no.” You said.

“Na’ I get it. Shane told me what happened.” Rick remarked whilst kissing his teeth and shaking his head.

“He did? Really? What did he say?.”

To say you were shocked was an understatement, Shane had really gone out of his way to-

“Yeah.” He breathed out, “Told me how it started, he tried to get me from the hospital but I wasn’t breathing and he thought I was dead. How he saved you and Lori n’ Carl and got you all here.”

“He told you that huh.” You should have known.

Rick started to stand back up, giving you a pat on the back and a kiss to the forehead first “I’m gonna go get some shut eye, you need too aswell. Talk more in the morning Y/N.” Rick turned to walk back towards camp, not before turning and speaking again, “Y/N.. go nice on Shane though ok? He’s a good guy, you just gotta give him a chance.”

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You wake up the next day to the sound of what you thought was - for once - peace and quiet. Until you hear the shouts outside and a woman screaming stop.

Debating between laying back down and just going back to sleep or getting up and out of your tent to see what was going on, you went with the better judgement and begrudgingly dragged yourself to get changed and step outside.

Shielding your eyes from the rays of light beaming off the Atlanta sun with a sigh escaping your lips at the slight breeze that hit your clammy skin.

“You’d best let me go!”- what the fuck was happening this time?

Walking closer you take sight of Shane with his arms wrapped around Daryl’s neck. A fuckin’ cop getting someone in a choke hold the minute they raise their voice? New worlds maybe not as different from before.

“I’d like to have a calm discussion on this topic, you think we can manage that?” Rick spoke calmly whilst he crouched in front of Daryl, his chest heaving with rocky breaths as Shane’s tight grip didn’t let up just yet.

“You think we can manage that?” Rick repeated.

You zoned out at this point, eyes boring into the side of Shane’s skull with anger.

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“I’m coming.” You didn’t hesitate to jump at the opportunity to get away from camp for a while. The rising tension taking over was beginning to grate at you.

“That’s five”

Shane piped up “It’s not just five, you’re putting every single one of us at risk.” “Just know that Rick”

“Come on man you saw that walker. It was here.

It was in camp.

They’re moving out of the cities.

They come back, we need every able body we’ve got.

We need em here, we need em to protect camp.”

Staying focused when Shane’s voice is droning on for what seems like eternity is quite the mission lately. Listening to him is beginning to seem like nails on a chalkboard.

“-Shane is right. Merle Dixon? He’s not worth one of your lives, even with guns thrown in.”

Hearing Loris voice made you gain attention again.

“If someone left Rick behind-“ you began to join the conversation, maybe with the words aimed at Shane slightly. He clearly picked up on it as his eyes shot to you, if looks could only kill, you’d be six feet under.

“Would you want them to go back for him? Or would you let him stay handcuffed to a roof to die slowly?” Your eyes landing on Lori.

“That’s different. Rick.. he.. he isn’t like Merle. He wouldn’t get himself into that position in the first place.” The stern mom tone coming out as Lori tried to keep her composure and not snap in front of Carl.

“You think Merle purposely got himself into that position? He’s an asshole yeah, and he may have deserved it. But he didn’t expect to be handcuffed and then left behind. Not knowing if anyone was going to go back for him. It may have been an accident. But he shouldn’t have to sit there wondering if he’s just going to die from thirst and hunger or if he’s going to get torn to pieces at the hands of walkers. He may not be your family, but he’s someone’s family. You have your husband, your son. You have Shane. Merle is all Daryl has.” You’re not sure if you were even breathing during that, your chest rising up and down at a rapid speed. You felt rage. How could anyone justify this bullshit?

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Sitting in the back of the van was a bit more awkward than you anticipated. Glenn and Rick up front. You, Daryl and T-dog in the back. Maybe the tension in the back of this van was worse than the tension at camp?

You looked up smiling at T-dog as he avoided Daryl’s intense stare, before he got up and headed to the front to talk to Glenn and Rick.

Daryl kept shooting you glances whenever he thought you couldn’t see, a grunt leaving his mouth every so often as if he was about to talk but decided against it.

Just as you looked up at him, he was already staring with his open yet no words seemed to come so he just scoffed and averted his eyes anywhere but at you.

You began to grow a bit frustrated at him. “What?”

“Nothin’” he all but murmured.

“Stop grunting and scoffing at me like a dog who didn’t get enough treats, be a good boy and just say whatever it is you’ve been wanting to say for the last 15 minutes.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at yourself.

You could have sworn you saw a light tinge of pink cross his cheeks before his head dropped down facing his lap.

His mouth opened and closed, before opening once again “Why’d ya stick up for me.. for Merle back at tha’ camp?”

Oh. That’s what this was about? The intense looks he gave you before this made you think it was about anything but this.

“What do you mean?” You had to admit you were somewhat confused at this.

“Ya said it y’self, Merle, he’s an asshole. So why’d ya go out of ya way to defend him? Why didn’t ya just side with the others and leave him?” Head dropping once again as his thumb found its way to his lips as he gnawed on the nail.

Silence.

You were stuck for words. “He is an asshole. Maybe one of the biggest assholes I’ve ever known. But he’s your brother, maybe not the greatest one but still your brother no matter what. He’s all you have left. The others may not understand, but I do.” Taking a deep breath in and thinking about your next words carefully, “I honestly couldn’t give a shit about him. Doesn’t mean I want him to suffer up there on that roof. No one deserves it. Well I mean maybe some people y’no? Really bad people. And maybe Shane. Merle, he’s not necessarily one of those really bad people. He makes mistakes, says things he definitely shouldn’t and has actions that match, but don’t we all in one way or another?”

Daryl was slightly overwhelmed. Not expecting you to be so honest and caring? Somewhat caring anyway. He didn’t know what to say.

You hummed and tapped your fingers against your legs, “Nothing to say?”

“I dunno what you want me to say.”

A grin made its way to your face.

“How about a thanks?”

“Thanks.” He grumbled trying not to scoff afterwards to avoid being called a dog again.

The van began to come to a stop, Glenn saying something about walking from here.

You stood up whilst stretching your arms above your head.

“That’ll do. Good boy.”

You smirked at him before opening the back of the van and climbing out. Leaving a blushing Daryl in the back trying to hide his face as he groaned standing up.

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authors note: it’s not the greatest, I am very aware. but I really wanna get back into writing in general and I thought starting with twd would be the best place to start as it’s one of my comfort shows. there’s not much happening, it’s very heavily based on s1 e3 obviously but it’s mostly just to try and get back in the swing of things! if you have an constructive feedback or any comments you’d like to make, please feel free as it will be much appreciated :-) I’m hoping to improve my writing skills more and more. It will probably take a while (I’ve literally had the first half of this thing in my notes app since June 2024) but I hope to get to the point of making some good fics! thank you for reading if you managed to make it this far!:)

[goose-24-7]

the best part about making a post you know people will hate is seeing that little number next to your inbox pop up mere minutes after you've posted it. reminder to all anons that your negative energy merely feeds my extreme egocentrism and i am thriving off of your pointless anger

[imerian]

Vr46 academy keychains

Set of five charms that all match in different ways

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 . ✦　　˚　

Open for detailed pictures of each one

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

˖⁺‧₊˚⭒✮⭒˚₊‧⁺˖

. ݁₊ ✶. ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

I ran out of tags so I'll say it here but i would greatly appreciate a reblog, especially if you share your thoughts on these pieces in tags (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(Also i forgot that bez have matching part with luca so I didn’t add that to tags sorry

[jovieinramshackle]

So um

Jamil fans be nice to me

Why was he so hard to draw Azul is arguably harder god save me

Did yall know I used to be a jamil yume bet you didn't ahaha omfg why is he pretty I need punch him

I'm not tagging anyone if you find this post good for you 🫡

[babychosen]

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

8pm, Friday. Red dress. Booth near the end of the bar, by the dart board.

She forgot how demanding the text felt, but it had only encouraged her to want to show up even more.

[sisterdivinium]

Cosmogonies

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, Gen Fandom: Warrior Nun (TV) Relationship: Jillian Salvius/Mother Superion Character: Mother Superion (Warrior Nun) Additional Tags: Character Study

"Violence is the one element always present at the start of every incarnation — the violence of childbirth, of a mother's symbolic or real death, of bleeding out into oblivion herself, every new life tied to destruction… Except for the one Jillian grants her, reaching the spirit despite the mortal shell." Mother Superion has experienced many deaths and many lives throughout a singular existence, rewriting her origins by others’ hands: it is the beginning that defines the end, so origin stories must change to fit. Someone, however, might just be the one thread to weave them all together…

AO3

[charlunday]

Painted him too, because why not! (I have a disease called "make all boys pretty" and it's terminal)

[calamitydaze]

long tag ramble below u have been warned

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Three — Shadow Play

“I see the mark on each affront to God, now. The Mark of the Beast. It burns in their chests like the pits of hell, it’s on their hands anytime they use their powers. They’re all branded. All marked, even me. But I see it now, I see why God has made me what I am.”

7k word count | 2 spacers provided as pause points | TRIGGER WARNINGS: a lot of words, possible claustrophobia [they are UNDERGROUND please remember that!], human experimentation, military mention. ONE imbedded link.

Our footsteps echoed back a thousand times as we walked along the crescent-shaped dais on the other side of the room, Dad the first to step up onto it. “How far back do you think this goes?” He asked, shining a light down the rounded archway of the hall he was standing in front of. ADVANCED SYSTEMS. The last words of his sentence reverberated in the chasm, Brent joining him to look down it. 

“Hey!” He hollered, his voice overlapping Dad’s as the single syllable hopped around again and again. Brent turned back to face everyone, motioning down the hall. “It’s gotta be long.”

“Has to be some sort of tech lab,” Dad muttered in agreement. 

Brent smirked at the thought. “Think we have enough time to go look? Maybe they have, like, ray guns back there,”

“If we’re talkin’ Vermaak,” Zeke started, looking over my head at Dad, “We should probably start here. Advanced systems has gotta mean power transfer device, right?” 

Dad, though, wasn’t listening, not really; his phone’s flashlight had traveled along with his stare, looking across the dais to the hall on the other side, brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed a bit like he was trying to decipher something in the shadows, and he stayed quiet long enough for me to share a worried glance with Brent. “Dad?” I eventually asked. 

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

He blinked hard, coming back down to earth from wherever his head had dragged him as he looked over at me, then to the other men. “Y-yeah, sorry,” he stammered, giving the hall at the other end one last look before turning fully to Advanced Systems. “We should see what’s down there.”

 Everything looked insane, so futuristic, and I felt bad for laughing at Bertrand when he said he was amazed by what he saw because I couldn’t help but agree. This place was amazing. 

Dad blew past the unmarked doors in the hall, moving deeper into the hall as he sensed something I only caught onto the further we traveled; there was something at the end of the hall echoing our footsteps back just a little too loudly, the sound coming back like an irregular heartbeat as it tried to match the loud drumming in my ears. Zeke stayed behind Brent and I as Dad held up a hand, light sweeping the rounded ceiling and noting the strange change: “It’s getting taller.”

“The entrance was wider too,” Brent muttered, shining his own against the wall. “Means there’s something at the end, doesn’t it?” 

“Probably.” Dad agreed. 

And they were right; as the ceiling widened like a maw, it spit us out into a rounded room littered in broken glass and severed wire, the walls lined with pods built into the walls. It looked like the shattered glass came from there, rained down by nearly a hundred of something escaping. A raised platform stood in the middle of the room, the perimeter circled by computers while the center held some excavated hole, something ripped up out of the ground and the concrete remains left strewn among the glass. 

And hanging from the ceiling were two cuffs, and a thick dangled wire with its copper ends sticking out. 

“Jesus,” Zeke muttered, shining his light behind him at one of the pods. They also had wires dangling from their enclosure, the ends looking like the pasties of EKG machines and some still holding catheters for veins. Zeke came to the conclusion I did, first to verbalize it: “They look like experiment pods.”

“Think this is where the Vermaak were?” Dad asked, stepping up to the platform. The computers stood on metal podiums with no visible wires, some with broken screens. “Wish Eugene was down here…”

“Could be,” Zeke hummed, messing around with the electrodes. 

Brent followed Dad up onto the platform as I slowly walked around it, shining my light at the base. There was no gap or welding or something that connected the platform to the floor; the ends simply bent out like the platform had been molded from the ground on a pottery wheel, no actual bolts in sight. It was so sleek, so unnaturally smooth and perfect.

There was a flash on the side and I glanced over to see Brent taking pictures of the pit, probably just as much for his own files as Dad’s. ‘Course. But the shine was enough to distract me, and I didn’t know there was something in my path until I could feel it under my ankle boot.

I lifted my foot to peel off the little thing off of it — it looked like a tag? Like the sort of paper tags I’d put on my gymnastics bag before going to a meet. It was in near-perfect condition, having been untouched since it was dropped.

Date and time of capture. Circumstances. Weapons, physical conditions, name rank, all duplicated three times on a page that signified needing to be cut. I flipped the page over, the sections on the back more for the holder than whoever the form was supposed to be attached to, the top titled ENEMY PRISONER OF WAR (EPW) CAPTURE TAG (PART A). “I found something,” I announced. “I think it’s some sorta…some sorta army thing?” 

Dad’s head snapped up. “What?” 

I didn’t bother answering, instead following the rounded edge of the platform again to where he stood and handed him the page. He breezed over the front before flipping it to the warnings on the back, huffing. “‘DA Form 5976,’” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at Zeke. “Direct Action form. The military raided this place."

“Oh yeah, more than likely,” Zeke agreed. “New Marais was under martial law for a bit as they dug around for information on the Beast and the First Sons. Guess they got here first.” 

Dad made some sort of dissatisfied noise in his throat, flashlight going from the form back to the computers — and then to the divot in the floor. “If this is where the Vermaak were…that had to be where the power transfer device was. They came in here with the intention of detaining anyone they found.”

Zeke left where he stood to join Dad on the platform, his light adding to the one shining down into the pit. “Guess now would be a good time to tell you they didn’t get the original device, huh?” 

Dad perked up, looking at Zeke. “Really?”

“Yeah. Bertrand tried shipping out the device, the original one meant for one-on-one transfer, when I was spyin’ on the Militia for Cole. He was trying to get it outta there before Cole got to it. You know the whole story about that gang fight at Fort Philippe?”

“Yeah,”

Zeke nodded once. “It was for that. We captured the place from the Militia, got the device, and Cole used it right there with Kuo. It exploded after.”

“What happened to it after?” I asked. Sure, it exploded, but it had to go somewhere, right?

Zeke shrugged. “It was basically scrap. Even if they got it, they wouldn’t have found anything useful in it.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “So they never actually got the power transfer device?” He asked Zeke. 

“If it’s what was in this hole? No. Most the military coulda done was download whatever was on the computers.”

“And probably wipe them,” Dad added, more a complaint than an observation. “I’m surprised they didn’t rip these things out of the ground.”

Brent stared thoughtfully at the computer we were standing in front of, finger tracing the pole of steel that was holding it up. “We could.” 

I blinked. “What?”

Brent looked up, glancing between Dad and I. “You can recover deleted stuff from computers, right? Even if you’ve done everything to scrub it off. If we take the computer up to Dr. Sims, maybe he can find something.”

Dad rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the pedestal and the defunct computer on top of it. “We’d have to find its hard drive,” he eventually mumbled before looking back up at Brent. “We can’t just take the monitor, that’s useless.” 

“Wouldn’t the army take the hard drive?” I asked. It seemed illogical that they’d sweep the First Sons base and leave behind something so crucial. 

Brent’s eyes traveled down the metal pole, all the way to the floor and along it. “Maybe they didn’t know where to look,” he muttered, following some line we couldn’t see. His eyes raised to follow the wall and I saw all green was gone, replaced with a silver that reflected the light like…well, steel. He tracked whatever he saw to the wall next to the atrium’s entrance, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Hold this,” Brent asked Dad, not even looking at him as he passed over his phone and causing Dad to almost drop it on the ground. Brent stalked over to the wall and ran his hand along it, looking for some bump in the smooth texture and cursing under his breath when he couldn’t find it. “There’s something…under this…” Brent growled under his breath, sounding sure. “But the wall isn’t steel. I don’t see any…any bolts either.” 

“Think it’s welded straight on?” Zeke asked. 

Brent shrugged. “No idea. Either way it’s way too smooth to get through, unless I…”

Brent stared thoughtfully at the wall for a beat before bringing up his fist and turning it to steel, some extra metal shavings layering against the ridges of his knuckles as he reared his fist back and slammed it against the wall. 

Whatever metal was there instantly gave away, revealing a hidden server farm sitting stagnant behind it, all ziptied servos wires and electrical tape. “Oh, shit,” Zeke muttered as Brent moved to grip the second panel and rip it off, more of the server bank being revealed. He looked over to Dad. “That’s gotta be for every pod in here and these computers."

Dad nodded slightly. “Alright. Okay, Zeke, you’re our best bet for this, so salvage what you think might be useful,” 

Thirty minutes later, Zeke was zipping up the sling backpack and Dad sighed, turning to look back in the room. He looked absolutely displeased at how much nothing there was in this room. “The ice Conduit, Kuo — you said she was activated down here, too?”

Zeke nodded. “She came outta here cold as a corpse. Said they injected her with something to get her goin’.”

Dad mulled over those words. “We should try Bio-Science, then.” he decided unilaterally, voice making it very clear that this wasn’t up for discussion. “Whatever activated her here had to be made there.”

It was unsettling how loudly our footsteps echoed back at us as we walked out of the hall and back into the atrium, across the floor to the space where the Bio-Science hall stood. Dad was leading the pack, steps sure the entire way to the hallway before he faltered, staring down the hall with reservation. 

“You okay?” Brent asked. 

It took Dad a moment to even register that Brent spoke, glancing back at us. “Yeah, yeah, I just…” he drew off, attention going back to the hall. “You ever get a really weird feeling, like something’s wrong?”

“It’s probably the shitty horror movie lighting,” Zeke joked. 

“Not like that,” he chastised. “I mean, there’s just…there’s something wrong here. In this hall. I don’t know what it is or…”

He drew off, growling under his breath as he failed to translate just how wrong it felt to him. I could sort of relate; I’d get a bad feeling in situations that did turn out to be bad, and there was whatever that gut feeling was when the ice soldiers appeared on the Sound. Maybe Dad was getting that weird sixth sense right now too? “Do you want to leave?” I asked. 

“No,” Dad answered almost immediately. He flexed his shoulders, and that unsureness left him. “Come on,” He decided, “Let’s go see what we can find.”

Our footsteps rang out sharply like slamming gavels as we walked into the wing. God, how huge was this place? The hallway seemed to go on forever, large spaces in-between the labeled and rounded doors. And those labels didn't exactly help. Once we passed the basic ones that said things like 'Laboratory Supplies' or 'Restroom', the placards began to list off actual project names: Project Emerald, Project Mirage, Project Fracture.

I wasn't feeling very hopeful about much, especially when Dad just blew past the doors to keep walking down the hall. “There's...a lot of rooms to go through,” I mumbled, shining my phone light at another door that said 'Project Helix'.

“I know,” Dad replied. “Try to remember all the names. Let's get to the end of the hall, see if there's anything there,”

The end of the hall came swiftly after that conversation, the placard reading 'Project Metamorphosis'. The door…it was scratched to hell and back, chipped away like someone took an axe to its front and failed to take it down. Dad’s hand traced the edge of the door, that pensive look still on his face. He stayed unspeaking for so long that I finally cracked, saying, “Dad? Are you okay?” 

Dad nodded. “This is it,” he said with so much assurance. His phone light traveled around, inspecting the weirdly shaped door. 

“You sure?” Zeke asked. 

Dad nodded slowly. “Yeah, I…” his brows came together, like he was confused by his own knowledge. “I’m sure. Let’s go.”

“Looks like someone else tried getting in, too,” Brent pointed out. “Think the military tried taking down the door with no luck?”

No one answered. If that was true, it meant we probably wouldn’t have a chance to get in, either. 

Dad stepped up to the door and tried opening it. Tried. He pushed against the door, he fit his hands in the linear grooves to try and pull. Brent put his hand against the door only to flinch away at the attempt to drain it, and I crouched, running my hand along where the door met the floor — or, more accurately, where the recess was. “It lowers,” I said, looking up at them two. “Goes down, like a car window,” 

“Without electricity, it’s basically useless,” Zeke said as Dad got to my level, looking at the recess. “Delsin, I know you’re intent on this, but it doesn’t look like we can get in—”

“No.” Dad snapped a bit. “This…there’s something in this room. I need to see it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before turning his head to look at Brent. "Well, any advice from the architect?"

Brent huffed, humored at the recognition but unable to answer. “Couldn't tell you. Haven't really looked into how to tear down buildings, yet. I don’t even know what kind of metal this is.” He hit the metal with his knuckle, the metallic ping that reverberated back high in pitch. 

Zeke’s eyes narrowed at the sound, and before long he was digging in his pockets for something, pulling out his keys. He held a little flashlight-shaped thing on it up to the door, sliding it around its face. “It’s not magnetic,” he declared, shoving his keys — with the magnet on them, apparently — back into his pocket. 

“So then, what’s that mean?” Dad asked. 

Brent was the one to speak next. “Means it’s probably titanium,” he said, pushing his own hand against the door. “Which means it’s strong.” 

“So we’re not gonna be able to get in?” I asked, standing. 

Dad’s face darkened. “No. We’re getting in.” He said, determined. “How do you break titanium?” 

“You don’t,” Brent said, almost sounding offended at the idea. “Do you know how strong it is?” 

“There’s…” I drew off, unsure how to ask what I wanted to. “There’s rankings or classes or something for metal strength, right? Are there any stronger metals?” 

“Steel,” Zeke hummed, looking over at Brent. 

Brent shook his head. “I don’t know if it’d be enough,” he admitted. 

“It's worth a shot,” Dad said, standing straight. “We throw enough steel at this door and it’s bound to break,” 

“Yeah, and it could also take down the entire hall.” Brent stressed. “We have no idea what’s load-bearing in here and what’s not. Most doors are connected to one—” 

“The door sinks into the ground,” I interrupted. Not only that, but this one was round. Didn't load bearing walls have to be vertical? “What’s the likelihood of it being one if it does that?”

Brent’s words faltered as he looked down at the rubber flaps on the door’s edge. “I…” he drew off, thinking hard. “Less…less likely, but still—”

Dad seemed to think that was enough. “Then we just aim for the door,” he decided. “And try not to bring anything else down.” 

Brent’s eyebrow cocked. “‘We?’” 

Dad nodded, saying, “We should use our powers together. Steel and concrete.”

“What about Jean?” 

Dad’s eyes broke from Brent’s to glance my way, and he dedicated all of seven milliseconds to the thought before saying, “Jean, you and Zeke move back, be ready to help if something happens.”

I tried not to let the request get to me. My water probably couldn’t help here, anyways. 

Dad and Brent passed me their phones and Zeke pulled me a good eight feet back as they both positioned themselves in front of the door, Dad hovering over Brent’s shoulder. I hadn’t realized they were nearly the same height before now. “You prep, I’ll add, we both throw. Okay?” He asked Brent, who nodded. 

The steel Brent produced caught the light from the phones, little beams bouncing around and the very large and very threatening looking beams Brent was making grew over his shoulder like some magical spear being materialized from thin air. I guess, in a way, it was. But what was different this time was Dad putting his concrete-laden hand through the shrapnel cloud to reach for the bars and touch them, the black rock on his arms sloughing off and onto the steel to make a jagged battering ram. 

“Now!” Dad yelled, moving to cross his arms over his face. Brent’s arms flinched as Dad threw his out and the battering ram went flying, the sound it made as it slammed into the titanium door something unpleasant I could feel in my bones as it screeched in protest, making me cringe so hard I accidentally bit my cheek. The door jolted hard, but stayed standing. 

“Again!” Dad yelled over the echoes of the grinding metal. Brent built up another large spear, Dad touching it with his gravely grace before they both threw it at the door a second time. This impact came with sparks and a divot in its center that exposed a way darker metal beyond the painted surface, a bullet hole in the kevlar the First Sons gave the door. “Come on, almost,” Dad encouraged. 

They ran the same race, Brent putting his entire upper body into this next throw, and the way the entire hall shook as the battering ram made impact with the door frightened me so badly that my water was reacting before I even saw the shrapnel, phones falling to the ground to instead let my hands shoot out to weave a wall of water between them and the wall they took down. The remains of the bent circular door shot back, taking out multiple desks in the room behind it and careening into a wall as my water caught whatever rubble it tried to throw back at the two men. The shaking stopped and the horrible sounds died off soon after, and within a beat, everyone breathed. 

And then immediately groaned as the broken door slowly fell forward, revealing the hallway it couldn’t fit through. “God, it's neverendin', isn't it?” Zeke muttered, glancing at me. All I could do was sigh in return.

I let my water fall and we all entered the lab dedicated to whatever Project Metamorphosis was, shining our flashlights around the room. God, even the furniture was white, pure metal desks laid in rows in the center — well, minus the ones Brent and Dad sent flying — with standing laboratory tables lining the walls, the expo marker on the white boards posted on the wall above them faded out but still legible.

Zeke beelined it towards some leftover lab equipment while Dad moved to shift through the contents of the first desk. Brent and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shrugged, moving to the edge of the room and exploring on our own.

With no luck at my station, I moved back towards Brent, him not even looking up as I moved. “This is insane,” Brent murmured, looking down at some files. “It looks like they were trying to do something with inactivated Conduits,”

“What, like what the DUP did?” I asked, looking around his shoulder at the document. Or, trying to — the font was so small that it looked like gibberish to me.

Brent shook his head. “No, different than that. Not sure how, though...” His flashlight left the laboratory counter to shine on the board screwed to the wall — which we only then realized wasn't a board at all, but one of those x-ray lightboxes. There were still some x-rays attached to it, but Brent's phone light wasn't hitting the picture right to make it show.

“Here, hold this,” he said, passing me his phone so quickly that I almost dropped it on the ground. After throwing a quick glare my way, Brent leaned forward, ripping the x-ray from off of the board and holding it in his hands, elevated a bit. “Okay, shine the flashlight under it,” he requested.

I did — and immediately cringed after. God...what happened to this person? Their jaw simply wasn’t there anymore, shatterings of bone protruding out of the open orifice in ribbons. I've seen brain x-rays before in health class, and while you're not supposed to see every nook and cranny, it's also not supposed to be foggy white, almost like it was riddled with infection or melted to mush. “Jeez,” I murmured, shining the light farther down the x-ray. It stopped just after the clavicle — not that that was one anymore, either. It was riddled with extra growth, as if wrapped up in solid tumors. “What the hell happened to them?”

Brent opened his mouth to retort when Dad, in the center of the room, called out, “Found some stuff on the Ray Sphere!” looking up at Zeke.

Zeke turned, in the midst of wrapping a stoppered glass vial with his sock while handlessly shoving his foot back into the tennis shoe. “What's it say?” He asked, taking off the sling bag so he could store the vial away.

“A lot of big words I don't know,” Dad started, holding up the rather thick file as Zeke and Brent's light landed on Dad's form, illuminating his tall shadow against the wall. “But it has a beginning note — apparently, the Ray Sphere can corrupt a person's powers?”

Zeke's head tilted to the side as he slipped the sling bag back on, looking at Dad curiously. ""Corrupt?'” he repeated. “Corrupt how?”

Dad looked back down at the file, phone light traveling across it in tandem with his eyes. “Says it makes a person's power stronger, but more volatile. Harder to control.” He looked up at Zeke. “Were Cole's power like that?”

Zeke shook his head, almost seeming offended at the accusation. “No, he was in control of what he could do.”

“And his power didn't affect his daily life? He wasn't having issues with—” Dad looked down at the file in his hands, “—his 'enhanced capabilities exceeding the threshold of practical applicability in routine activities, leading to the unintended manifestation of his powers in a potentially disruptive or uncontrolled manner?'”

“What does that even mean?” Brent scoffed.

Zeke's eyes, though, went wide. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Then repeated it, louder. “Son of a bitch!” With a foot stomp, like he just made the world's biggest breakthrough.

Dad glanced back up, eyebrow quirking. “So is...that a yes?”

Zeke nodded fervently. “Cole couldn't do anything with electronics 'cause his power would short circuit the wires. He couldn't sit in a car or hold a gun 'cause he'd make 'em explode. You're telling me that's why he couldn't do that? The Ray Sphere corrupted him?”

Dad looked back down at the document. “More like made him too powerful for his own good. Which I mean, did help with the Beast, but he would have had a horrible time trying to live in the Age of Technology.”

Zeke nodded. “Yeah, you've got that right. Had to create a double insulated phone pouch just so he could call me whenever we were off doing stuff,”

“These powers,” I interjected. “The, uh, corruption. Would it be enough to turn someone into a monster?”

Dad looked over at me like I was insane — but Zeke just nodded sagely. “Guess that would make sense. Bertrand, his power was...well, it was somethin'. He could turn himself and other people into these things, buncha fucked up looking creatures.”

Brent held up the x-ray, and we both immediately shined our phone's flashlight behind it to brighten up the image of the jawless person. “Like this?” Brent and I asked in unison.

“Jesus Christ,” Dad muttered, looking at the image as Zeke nodded.

“Exactly like that. Well, one of them, at least.” He replied.

Dad looked equal parts confused and bewildered. “So there was a Conduit that could turn just anyone into monsters?” He asked Zeke.

Brent let the x-ray fall, turning back to the table. “Not just anyone,” he said, grabbing his own stack of documents. “People with inactivated Conduit genes,”

“That's somehow worse,” Dad's murmur echoed easily to us. He raised his voice. “But if someone's able to manipulate a Conduit like that, we need those notes. Anything that can affect their powers is close enough to what's going on with your sister.”

We nodded, Zeke motioning for us all to come here as he took the sling bag off once again for us all to put our found documents in. As I worked on rolling up the x-ray and slipping my hair tie around it so it would fit easily, Brent muttered, “You don't think you're gonna turn into one of those, right?”

I could feel the blood leave my face as I thought of the possibility. “Oh God, I hope not?” I said. “I mean, the notes said it was nearly instantaneous, right?”

He nodded. “They did, they did. Just wondering, 'cause it seems like it would be a great cosmetic improvement for you,”

My smack against his head rang out loudly through the room and into the adjacent hallway, his yelp bouncing around just as vibrantly. Asshole. 

As Dad tried to find a way to fit the large x-ray into Zeke's bag, I watched Brent turn, shining his flashlight across the room and to the gap in the wall where the vast hallway stood. “What do you think is back there?” He asked me.

“I don't know,” I shrugged. “Probably more human rights violations.”

“Was there anything else over by that x-ray viewing box?” Dad asked us. We both sorta shrugged, giving him some noncommittal sounds that had him huffing hard. “Alright, I'll go double check. Do me a favor? Go check out the desk we flung next to the hall.”

We nodded, separating from the group as Zeke moved to fiddle with the other desk that was thrown to the side when Brent and Dad broke in. Brent put the flashlight on me like a spotlight as I tried to shift through the contents of the desk despite the weird angle it was at, pulling out nothing but useless to-do notes and nicotine gum foils.

“Anything good?” Brent asked me.

I scoffed, “Unless you wanna count old McDonald's receipts as loot, then no,”

I sat back on my heels and looked up just in time to see Zeke straighten, holding his hand up triumphantly like he had found gold — but whatever was in his hands was too small to see. “Got something!” He declared. “Some sorta recording chip.“

Dad turned to look over his shoulder. “Any idea what's on it?” He asked.

“Not yet,” Zeke hummed. He grabbed at a little pouch on the strap of his sling bag and there was a quick snap as he unbuttoned something. “But luckily, I brought Cole's old phone. I had tinkered with it a bit way back when — gave it a chip reader.”

Dad's eyebrow raised, and he 100% looked like he was not buying whatever Zeke was saying. “And you're sure a 25 year old piece of technology will work?”

Zeke snorted. “I modified a Nokia. I'll die before this thing does.”

Dad began walking over to Zeke as he fiddled with the old phone and the chip reader. The beam of light above me slowly started to move, and I glanced up to see Brent's attention — and inadvertently his phone — begin pointing towards the hallway again. “C'mon,” he finally said as I rose to my feet. “Let's go check out what's back there,”

Brent was already walking away by the time I called out to Dad to tell him what we were doing. “Okay, just shout if you find something, alright?” he requested as I jogged to catch up to Brent.

The hall was squared, which was different from the others — it felt like a normal hallway. Brent flashed the light everywhere; the high ceiling, the floor, where they met. He had this studious look on his face that left me wondering if he was taking notes for his own build down the line, or if he was critiquing the place and thinking of how he could have done it better. “Wonder if every other room is this big,” he hummed, light jolting to shine behind us. I couldn't blame him; I wasn't really a fan of treading through the dark underground, either. It felt like there was always something breathing over my shoulder. This entire place was freaky enough even without the fact that it was entirely powered down.

“Well, it's going to be a very long night if they all are,” I murmured back.

We turned forward simultaneously, just in time to see the light of the phone catch in the reflective surface of a pane of glass. It was as long as Brent was tall, following the curve of the wall in a slope. “What the hell...” Brent muttered.

The closer we got, the more I realized it wasn't a window, but a door, some large and super thick plexiglass thing that had five separate locking mechanisms on the outside. None of them had a keyhole though. There was a screen the size of a small television on the side, and a laminated piece of paper above it haphazardly taped to the wall like it was an afterthought, the 'TEST SUBJECT 0409' in giant bold.

There was nothing else about the corpse in the viewing room. No name, no demographics, no gender. Just a set of numbers the First Sons only bothered to throw on the wall after the fact. Barely cared about, barely human.

“What the fuck…” Brent drew off as he looked into the chamber. I couldn’t say much, I was too shocked. 

The glass was iced at the edges, patterned spreads of white frost that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. There wasn’t a bed in the room, no sink or anything. There was barely something that constituted a toilet — but it was all frosted over. The corpse in the corner of the small observation room was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees as if she was trying to keep every little bit of warmth she had left contained to her core until the very end. She was perfectly preserved. That’s what was worse; I could see her frosted eyebrows still screwed close together, how she seemed to have froze in the middle of chattering her teeth. The folds of the thin scrubs she was in were stiff with icicles, her lips softly blue. 

“They froze her?” I whispered, the reminder of that feeling making shivers run down my spine.

Brent moved his phone’s flashlight around, up and down, trying to get a good look inside the chamber. “Look, see that?” he asked, pointing to the corner of the room. I looked up where he was pointing; it was one of those old flip signs, the kind they’d have at super old airports that would flip to say if a place was boarding or whatever. The white on it was damaged from the frost, but the dark black lettering showed through with ease; PRESERVATION ENGAGED.

“Do you think it was something to keep her body…” I drew off, unsure of how to even say what was going on, “...mummified?” 

Brent flashed his light around the room once more before letting it settle on the 5 locks. “That, or keep her from squealing.” he sighed hard, turning. “C’mon, let’s look at the others.”

I threw one last look at 0409 before letting my eyes fall to my feet, following Brent. 

There was a cshchsk that echoed into the hallway from the main room of the lab, like a walkie talkie was receiving interference, and then that same sickeningly sweet voice from the other dead drops came back, the voice of the Bertrand guy. 

“At first, I questioned His choices,” Bertrand’s voice echoed down the hall, the gross drawl of his accent making another shiver go down my spine after the one wracked up it by the cold hallway. There was another testing room, this time a man in it, hands frozen to the wall as he died trying to claw through the frost. I couldn’t help but hold my arms close to my core and Brent noticed, dragging me along. “Why would God turn me into such a monster when all I’ve done is follow His word? I never strayed far from His grace,”

Brent scoffed. “Isn’t this the same dickwad that was a fascist?”

I shook my head in disbelief at this asshole’s words, looking into the next testing chamber — and pausing when I did. In this chamber, there was definitely…someone, but I couldn’t see them well. Not when they were buried under the frost like that. But there was something off about the lump in the frost that I couldn’t put my finger on, like they were misshapen in a way. 

I mean, of course, that could have been a side effect of being frozen alive. 

“I prayed for days after I used the Ray Sphere to ask God why. Why turn me into this beast, this monster?” He asked no one. I’m pretty sure it was just to hear himself talk. “Why would He damn one of His most loyal soldiers to be a demon for the rest of his life? But I don’t believe that’s it anymore, no. I think I finally see what He has planned for me.”

Brent stopped dead in his tracks, making me run into his side. “Wh–, dude!” I snipped, rubbing where the bridge of my nose hit his hard bicep and blinking back the tears from the impact. 

Brent didn’t react. He didn’t even really care. He was too busy staring wide eyed into the next testing chamber, face a bit paled even in the dim light of my phone’s flashlight. I followed his stare, my own eyes widening as I looked at what was in the room. 

There was a human…I think. It was definitely the remains of one, at least. Their skin was leathery, grayed out in the way you only expected corpses to be. But the color darkened to match the texture the further it crawled down their arms, the skin growing and hardening to become these scythes of a pollex crab claw. It looked shelled, too, just like a crab’s would be. There was still a face to the person, still a mostly human body…but those claws…

“I understand what the auras I see are now. Marks of the Beast, of the devil’s influence. I’m branded with my own, and that’s why the Lord has made me what I am. I must atone for my sins.” Bertrand’s voice said from the other room as both Brent and I looked at each other and then rushed to look in the next cell. This one had the same claws and grayed skin, but there was more. Jagged frills of shell climbed up their — its — arms, clubbed claws where its feet used to be. It laid curled, back to us, so I couldn’t see its face — but I could see how its back seemed larger than humanly possible, like there was an extra set of muscles along its spine. 

“What the fuck?” Brent murmured again, more aghast this time. 

“I see the mark on each affront to God, now. The Mark of the Beast. It burns in their chests like the pits of hell, it’s on their hands anytime they use their powers. They’re all branded. All marked, even me. But I see it now, I see why God has made me what I am.”

 I followed Brent as he walked briskly down the hall, glancing into each chamber before quickly moving on. God, they were all the same; the huge claws long enough for them to use as crutches, the bent backs. At some point we got to see the horrors of that x-ray in all their fucked up glory; black bled through their abdomen and up their spines like something was poisoning them from the inside, their jaw shattered by the force of those thick appendages that jutted out of their jaws like tentacles. I guess the only solace I could cling on to when looking at these monstrosities is that they looked tranquil, curled up in the frost. Hopefully the people they once were passed peacefully. 

“He is giving me a chance to repent. To be more. His son was betrayed by one of his own, yet through that betrayal, we received salvation for our sins. That sacrifice is what He is expecting of me now.” Bertrand said, sounding so sure of himself. “I’m to be His sword and His might. I’m to cure the world of these demons by turning them into such and exposing them to the world.”

Brent’s steps slowed as the phone’s flashlight moved to face forward again and started traveling up, higher and higher as it caught the red and black exoskeleton of whatever that was in front of us. The chamber was at the end of the hallway and double the size of the others with the little crab-guys — but it needed to be to hold that creature. It was doubled over, reinforced arms being used as forelegs as it glared forward, three eyes on each side of its elongated head. It looked like something out of a horror movie, especially with its mouth open like a lotus, three long pincers coming together over a row of razor-sharp teeth. You could barely see the skin of the human it used to be under the exoskeleton of its hard shell, just as grayed and veined as the other crab-guys only an evolved form. Was this the end stage? Two segment claws as long as my arm and knees facing the wrong way?

“I’m meant to be the cure to the monster Kessler saw in his visions, the Beast that will burn the world to the ground,” Bertrand affirmed to himself. “I’ve done it, and watched them be hunted like the vermin they are. I’ve built the Militia to help track them down. These Conduits are not human, and they won’t be when I’m done with them. We are in the end times, and I am one of the disciples God intends to help salvage the world.”

Brent and I stepped closer to the frosted glass, standing on either side to get a look at just how tall, how wide this thing was. It had blades that ran up its elbows like knives, one elbow nudge away from spearing through someone. “Let them devour New Marais like a swarm of locusts. Let them see the monsters that are hiding among the meek, and let me be their savior. Let me lead them away.”

As I was looking at the jaw ripped open with tendrils of tissue holding the bones together, a volt of electricity shot up my spine when I realized the thing was staring back at me, blinking ice off of its translucent eyelid. 

“Let them ravage the world and get rid of the sinners, and may God help those that fight against them.”

“Jean,” Brent warned when he saw the head of the creature, the ‘Ravager,’ snap sideways to look at him.

We both took a half step back as the Ravager’s elbows flexed and it stood straighter, looking down at us from behind the glass. The three pincers on its mouth flexed open so it could give off a garbled scream that even the thick glass couldn’t keep silent, making me flinch and move to cover my ears. Its limbs moved lazily as it awoke from whatever hibernation the frost had it in before its super thick and long claws slammed into the concrete ground, shattering it with each rake. 

It was trying to dig its way out. 

“Run,” Brent said as Dad’s voice yelled something from the lab. “Go, run!”

[kateis-cakeis]

people are really so weird and so fatphobic huh

(and oops most of my commentary is in the tags XD)

[starpros-sunshine]

OK FOLLOWING UP ON THE BARD THING i think eichi definitely invited wataru to perform at a noble party before. because they'd usually have musicians and so? so ok picture this. it's eichi's birthday so his parents want him to hold a ball and he usually thinks those are annoying but then he gets an idea. make it a masquerade (for the drama). invite wataru as both a performer And his partner for the ball. he's an actor! and everyone is of course impressed by wataru's performance but they're even more impressed because the always polite but unreachable tenshouin heir is expertly dancing with a masked stranger (i love the fact that eichi's specialty in his profile is ballroom dancing). and then they're annoying and overdramatic in public together but no one can figure out Who That Is

and also i know you said that shu was a tailor but i think it would be funny if he also were a noble (his family is also of high standing in canon i think) so he can be there to judge eichi. harshly. i havent figures out yet how to make him besties w wataru but ! it can work

!!!!

This got soooo long again so this is once more put under read more I am so sorry

The idea with the Masquerade comes up while Eichi complains to Wataru about his parents pretty much forcing him to throw a ball for his upcoming birthday (they already planned the whole thing and didn't reallly give him a choice in the matter) and how much of a hassle he thinks that is because of all the superficial politeness between people that everyone knows are gossipping about each other behind each others backs and how sick he is of the pretending to be well acquainted with these people he's talked to maybe once or twice and all the ladies that wish to dance with him and that want to suck up to him because of his families wealth and how really this is all just one big farce to "save face". So Wataru suggests "why not make it a masquerade ball" to spice things up a little bit maybe, take some of the stiffness out of it. And Eichi says he wants to invite Wataru because what's a public event without proper entertainment? Wataru agrees of course and they come up with all of these overly grandiose ideas and scenarios (most of them are utterly absurd. One they genuinely consider involves Wataru pretending to kidnap Eichi and causing a scandal (Eichi woud miraculously reappear the next day and they'd gaslight everyone into thinking that never even happened and all the people are just imagining things)).

Wataru mentions that he'll be gone for an evening to play at the noble's ball to the elderly inn-keeper couple over dinner and they make a really big fuss about it and tell him to dress nicely and to watch his manners because "Remember, you can't just drop from the ceiling with those high society people like we let you do it here they're very sensitive about manners you have to make sure to watch your manners!" and for a minute he wonders how it got to the point that his landlords started to treat him like they personally picked him up from the street when he was a child.

I like to think he met Shu when he was out on the street doing a little street performance to earn some extra money for himself and Shu, the way that he is, came by, looked him up and down, and then started a conversation with him about music as an art form and that somehow turned into a philosophical discussion and at the end of that they each went their own ways with the knowledge that there was a new friendship formed that day.

And maybe he's the one that sews Watarus clothes for the ball because if you spent most of your life as a traveling bard living hand to mouth from your music you won't really have the money for fancy clothes (Eichi still insists on paying for Wataru here because he wouldn't need to spend so much money on fancy ballgowns if it wasn't for him in the first place and also he just wants to treat Wataru to something nice and sees this as his chance seeing as Wataru declines most gift offers me made before). Wataru tells him about the entire thing and Shu scoffs because dislikes Eichi (still need to come up with a way to explain that disdain but I will come up with something trust me!) but his parents force him to be there too so "he might as well" (it's obvious he still puts in a lot of care "because of his pride as an artists" (because Wataru is his friend and he wants him to have something nice)).

Shu only has to be there because his family guilt trips him into going and he doesn't see the point in opening that can of worms again ("We already let you pursue your foolish dream of sewing clothes like a commoner this is the least you could do for your family.")

And then at the actual event he's in some secluded corner together with some other people who only attended as a mere formality because they also do not like the Tenshouin family but they have to be there because they're important and aristocrat politics are weird that way I suppose.

Meanwhile Wataru does his usual thing and charms everyone with his beautiful beautiful voice and his elegance and charm and oh he is so agreeable as a performer. Eichi has to handle the usual "pleasantries" (nothing pleasant about those tries) and he exchanges the one or the other suffering glance with Yuzuru when nobody pays attention that just screams "God when will it end". Yuzuru shoots him back a look that conveys the exact emotion of "my condolences" and then he goes on to look for Tori who's 1.53m figure has disappeared in the group of people and when he finds him he's talking to a gentleman that's about a head taller than him and the mask obscures his face but judging by the hair and the slight "animosity" between them he's talking to Tsukasa, so Yuzuru decides he's in good hands and leaves to do his own thing. (do they know they're talking to each other? Who knows! But they'd probably manage to start bickering either way.)

And eventually it gets to the actual Ball bit of the Birthday Ball Event where they actually dance (there's an actual orchestra there now and they play very lovely music). And almost everyone asks to dance with Eichi at least once. Eichi does not want to waste his time and energy on these people who are just interested in him for his money so he always makes up something about being preoccupied or a little tired or something that gives them no other choice but to back off. Suddenly Wataru appears behind him and does a little "boo!" and Eichi didn't expect that so he startles and almost drops his glass and tells Wataru not to do that anymore at public eventshas while Wataru has to stiffle a laugh because he thinks Eichi is cute when he pretends to try to be firm with him. After he's done with his "scolding" (you can barely call it that. he was very soft on Wataru.) Wataru asks him for a dance this time and he's very chivalrous about it - he goes all out really - he kisses his hand and offers him a rose while he does a little bow and asks if he "may have this dance with the lovely star of the evening" (and oh Eichi wants to kiss him so bad right then and there but in a room full of people that are worse than a committee of vultures that is very much not an option). Of course he agrees and they move to the dance floor and suddenly a Lot of eyes are on them because Eichi Tenshouin, whom a good chunk of pursuers have already given up on - because let us be real. It will never happen. The man hasn't shown interest in anyone at any moment in time and lives together with the Himemiya heir and his butler as far removed from the rest of the aristocracy as one would be able to - is waltzing with this masked stranger and it becomes very obvious very quickly that Eichis constant declining of dance offers was not for a lack of expertise because those two look breathtaking together.

Eichi actually dips Wataru once and some people wish they had hired an artist to paint the scene (because I'm a sap and wataei is beautiful I don't care I'm being self indulgent here)). And they talk but nobody can understand what because of the loud music and they curse the orchestra - which is still playing very lovely music (it's heavenly really) - for it.

After their dance is over Eichi goes back to declining every dance offer he gets with the excuse he's exhausted and needs to rest a little before he can dance again (the "I don't wish to dance with you" is implied and in the room but most people chose to ignore it to spare their ego and decide to take him at face value) and Wataru disappears to somewhere, nobody really knows where but somehow he's nowhere to be found. Until he sneaks up to Eichi a second time and does the whole "Boo!" thing again and Eichi almost drops his glass yet another time and as he turns around to "scold" Wataru again Wataru shushes him and takes Eichis, who is more confusedd than anything by now, hand and sneaks out of the ballroom with him.

Eichi asks where they are going and Wataru doesn't answer he just keeps walking and Eichi decides to just trust the process and suddenly they're on the Balcony again, not a cloud in the sky and the only sounds to be heard are the muffled instrumentals from the orchestra that started playing their next piece. The only lightsource being the moonlight reflected by the new years snow. And Wataru turns around, he's not wearing a mask anymore, and he does his little bow and kisses Eichis hand, hands him a rose he had appear from nowhere - a white one this time - and does his entire "May I have this dance with the lovely star of the evening" spiel again. It's the same routine really but it's different somehow. More intense. Because he says it with more sincerity than he did when they were around more people. And Eichi doesn't even have to reply before he finds himself whisked into this waltz yet again, somehow in the leading position. And then they dance and they dance and it's just the two of them, the stars as their only witnesses. And as the orchestra finishes their piece and the music fades out Eichi dips Wataru again and they kiss and it is so sappy and they are so so so so sappy.

They stay out on the balcony a little while longer but they retreat back inside rather timely seeing as it is still january and the night and as the following consequence of those two circumstances actually pretty cold and they'd both rather Eichi not get sick (he already got Watarus coat but then they'd also both like it very much if Wataru also didn't get sick either so they migrate back into the empty, dimly lit hallways of the mansion rather quickly)

(meanwhile at the actual ball people have noticed Eichi missing and started to ask questions, poor Yuzuru has to repeatedly tell people Eichi probably retreated into his quarters already, seeing as it is rather late and he was rather tired "Please excuse the young master for his failing in notifiying the other guests, he told me he didn't wish to interrupt the nice atmosphere and preferred to leave unnoticed".)

After the festivities died down Yuzuru and Tori go to check up on Eichis room because he's been gone without any notice and it would probably be useful to know if their kind-of-roommate just went away to fool around with that strange bard man they've been seeing sneaking around their mansion from time to time that Eichi seems to be oddly fond of or if the should actually be worried about his well-being. After they knock and get no reply Yuzuru just opens the door and he and Tori are both greeted with the view of Eichi asleep in his bed and next to him the also seemingly fast asleep figure of Wataru who's braid got considerably more lose during the course of the evening and who's also seemingly wearing some of Eichis sleepwear.

They both decide they have seen enough they do neither need nor wish to see more. Yuzuru, who has been in this situation before doesn't even have it in him anymore to react in a specific way. He just lets out this big sigh because he doesn't get paid enough for all of this as he directs Tori out of the room. Tori who has not been in this situation before has a Lot of questions now because he doesn't know this man but he's apparently closer to Eichi than most other people and he doesn't know how to feel about that but happy is probably not it.

(The following day Eichi has to listen to a (rightfully) disgruntled Yuzurus passive-agressive-yet-somehow-still-very-polite-sounding-Yuzuru-complaints about him just disappearing like that and leaving it to Yuzuru to take care of his mess (Eichi promises him to make up for it and that if Yuzuru has any favour to ask he's very welcome to come to Eichi about it). Tori really wants to ask about the strange man Eichi was so involved with but between not really getting a word in while Eichi and Yuzuru are talking and not really knowing how to take the exceedigly good mood Eichi is in (he's had "A very nice evening". With utmost certainty it was for reasons other than him actually enjoying the mingling witht the high society at social function he was obligated to host, Tori guesses), he kind of clinks out here and decides to simply take matters into his own hands when he gets the chance.)

[rosiefairlands]

vivienne medrano drew a kid having sex with a snake, why are you supporting her work?

Hey anon! I did some research on that and apparently she later apologized for that. Said it was an old drawing of hers that she realized was bad.

Look, I’m not defending her or anything because I know she’s definitely done some questionable stuff, but in my honest opinion? I don’t really care.

And if she was really that bad, separation of art and artist is a thing! I genuinely like the characters from both HH and HB, and while the stories are subpar at best, it’s something I can watch with no brain cells because it’s fun lol.

Yeah that’s all I wanted to say. You are free to dislike her and all, but it’s going to be hard to change my opinion on the series when I tbh don’t care much about their creators lol.