#Dancer!Simon au

[aristocratic-otter]

Ok, I'm determined to post today, even though I'm way behind on responding to y'all's posts. I'll get to them, I promise! I'm about to return to work, and I'm far more productive on work days than I am on vacation (weird as that sounds). So I'll catch up soon.

This week may not have been the most productive, but it was amazing nonetheless. I got to meet Rainbow! and seven lovely fandom friends! It's been a wild weekend, just in time to have to go back to work :(

Here are six-ish sentences from some of my WIPs!

First, thank you to : @hushed-chorus, @wellbelesbian, @martsonmars, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ic3-que3n, \

@thewholelemon, @artsyunderstudy, @bookish-bogwitch, @monbons, @rimeswithpurple,

@skeedelvee, @larkral, @noblecorgi, @roomwithanopenfire, @prettygoododds,

@whatevertheweather, @youarenevertooold, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @messofthejess, @blackberrysummerblog,

@nausikaaa, and @emeryhall for tagging me over the last few weeks!

Here’s one snippet from 5 of my WIPs. Cupid’s Shield and Stars, Flowers, and Children are both currently on extremely smutty parts, so there was nothing safe to share. (That probably sounds a little weird, given the most recent posted chapter in Stars has the boys at 12 years old, but don’t worry, the boys are 18+ in the chapter I’m working on, chapter 13) (chapter 10 of Stars should go up this week).

From Saving Simon Snow (also has a chapter that just needs editing and will probably go up this week) (why do I seem to finish chapters in all my WIPs at around the same time???): 

“This is not what I—I don’t—Fuck!” He stops, and closes his eyes tightly, lifting his chin towards the ceiling. 

“Simon, I—” I reach out to him. It’s a mistake. His eyes snap open, and their blue is electric. He puts up both hands as a block to mine and I snatch my hand back. 

“No,” he says, then repeats it. “Nononononono—I can’t—” He’s tearing at his hair worse than before and I want to untangle his fingers from his curls and kiss his each digit to soothe him. But he doesn’t want me. 

From Snow Fox: 

I’d say the man across from me is a snake, but that wouldn’t be fair to serpents. 

I dig my fingertips into the brocade of the armchair. Tarleton can’t see my hands beneath the folds of my dress, so I’ll allow myself that much of a reaction. My face, which he can see, is perfectly smooth and placid, like my mother’s. She’s sitting to the right of me in the other armchair from my parent’s sitting room. Tarleton has turned around one of the plain wood kitchen chairs and is sitting on it backwards with his arms folded over the wooden back of the chair. He’s smiling at us with all his teeth. And none of his eyes. 

From TikTok Dancer: 

This is not good.

I watch as Snow dips and spins, and I worry. 

He told us that he wanted to dance alone today. I didn’t question it at the time…Snow has days like that, where the dance is everything and he needs the solitude to focus on nothing but dance. I think those are the days that he mourns what he’s lost. At least, his dance always seems a little sad, on those days. We still film him, of course. The work he does on those solo days is some of his most brilliant and gets the most hits and likes on YouTube and TikTok. 

But this dance…it scares me. 

From The Rat and the River (Chapter 2 just posted! Here’s a teaser from chapter 4)

I hope that the need for haste doesn’t make them careless. I suppose it hasn’t yet. 

I try to stay as unobtrusive as I can while I watch the team prepare. I can feel the bite of worry in my gut. Snow’s done this dozens of times without the slightest problem, and I try to comfort myself with that, but my peripheral nervous system is not listening to me. My fingers feel cold and faint shivers pass over my skin in waves. 

It’s minor enough that I can hide it, fortunately. I don’t need to put the burden of my fear on him. 

And from my new project, untitled as yet, the following (forgive me…): 

Penny

Simon looks like he’s seen a ghost. Well, I guess he has, actually, seen a ghost.

I know I speculated that Basilton might be dead, but I don’t think I actually believed it. There’s no denying it now, though. Basilton is quite clearly a visitor. I wonder who he’s here to visit? His cousin maybe? Or his best friend?

But no. The whole room watches in shocked silence as he paces unerringly towards my best friend. 

Tags and zen hugs to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed,

 @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist,

 @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, 

@whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer, 

@nightimedreamersghost,  @thewholelemon, @angelsfalling16, @mooncello, @shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart,  

@cutestkilla, @theearlgreymage, @alexalexinii, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife, 

@thehoneyedhufflepuff, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @letraspal, and @facewithoutheart

[in-amor-veritas]

Hii! I hope you're having a nice day!😊

For the 5 sentence thingy I was thinking: Wilmon💜 + "Wille! Are you okay?"

hi I am having a nice day! Sorry this has taken so long for some reason I couldn’t find this one 😭 I don’t understand why the tumblr app won’t let me filter by asks but it got buried somehow but I finally found it :)

I’m setting this in the dancer au I’ve been daydreaming about recently where Wille is a ballet boy and Simon is a contemporary dance major.

…..

“Wille! Are you okay?” He sees the shock on Simon’s face as he takes in Wille’s appearance, the cast and the crutches he’s hobbling forward with, “Oh god what happened?” Simon reaches to take the bag he’s trying to precariously balance on his arm and Wille doesn’t have the energy to stop him.

“Stress fracture.” He murmurs, frustrated, embarassed that Simon is here outside his dorm unannounced and that he’s seeing him this vulnerable and awkward, “What are you doing here?”

He thinks about the disappointment in his mother’s face when he’d told her that he can no longer be the male principal in the schools summer performance, the pity he’d seen in his classmates eyes and the frown on his instructors lips.

He feels like such a failure.

“I heard you had gotten back to school—I just wanted to see you—“

“Well now you’ve seen me.” He snips, gritting his teeth and moving forward, stupidly slow, cursing his injury.

“Is it painful?” Simon asks, eyes wide and worried as he looks him over, “Can I do anything to help? Carry your stuff to class?”

Wille looks over at him, they haven’t really spoken much since the whole Valborg fiasco, “Look I don’t need your pity—I know—yes it’s terrible for my career, no I don’t know when I will be able to dance again, yes im being forced into more physical therapy than i even knew existed, yes it’s such a shame because I had such a promising principal role in the Summer ballet.”

Simon stares at him, and slowly something seems to dawn on him, he takes a step forward, “I’m just worried about you. How you’re feeling…that’s the most important thing—all that other stuff itself doesn’t matter.”

[s0fter-sin]

new poll time lads

[ebbpettier]

i would bet money that agatha wellbelove stands in turnout all the time without realizing it

[pagegirlintraining]

First chapter of Dirty Dancing AU is out 🥰

This idea has been swirling around my head for over a year now and I‘ve finally figured out how I wanna tell this story. So excited to have this first chapter out 🥹😍

Summary:

Simon’s over the moon excited for his first family vacation in years: a four week trip to Kellerman’s Mountain Lodge. Relaxation, hiking trips, family game nights - he’s ready for it all. What he doesn’t expect, though, is to fall head over heels for one of the resort’s dance instructors.

Wille is everything Simon’s dad would hate - sensitive, creative and not afraid to express himself in how he dresses (or the jewelry and makeup he wears). It’s a good thing Simon won’t ever get the chance to actually get close to Wille, right?

Except an injury and a badly scheduled surgery lead to Wille suddenly needing a new dance partner for an upcoming performance. And Simon wouldn’t be Simon if he didn’t gladly step up to save the day. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Head on over to ao3 to read the first chapter if you so please. Comments and kudos make my heart sing 😇💜

[booksandmore]

alright i have a shit ton of fics going through my head but i’m going to post this one so i can make myself finish my outline of it or something anyway this is a ballet malec au with dancer!alec and patron!magnus

magnus bane is the famous fashion mogul and one of the elite of new york society, and the only person who dosen’t know who he is probably alec lightwood, soloist at The Angel’s Royal Ballet, one of the best ballet companies in New York (which magnus is the biggest patron of). alec is more curious about the mystery person who sends him roses after his shows

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

part 1

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

summary: the year is 1312, and your fathers knight follows you to the wood.

The great hills surrounding the castle are a patchwork of green and yellows, as they always are during the summer months. Gray skies up ahead do nothing to dampen the mood of the castle; everyone is bustling about, preparing for the feast marking the new battalions arrival, as if their presence signifies something happier than impending war. 

She can see them, now, where she is perched atop the highest wall-practiced, without fear- in a way her old governesses would have certainly called unbecoming of a lady. But did not the bible speak of the virtues of a young lady- justice, fortitude, among them?

(It takes great fortitude to learn the secrets she has learned, to climb over steep walls like they were bales of hay, to listen to words she would have heard anyway, had she been born a man. Listening from the eaves and skulking about is an act of justice, not a sin.) 

The men, traversing down the trail, look like ants, she thinks- where she sits high above them, balancing on the stone, they look like children's toys. Tiny wooden figures, a small boy's idea of heroes, lined up on the yellow-green patchwork quilt. 

When they finally ride over the moat and into the stronghold, they look like any other collection knights she has seen- some cloaked, some helmetless, all shining in the half clouded, setting sun. 

That night is boisterous and rowdy, like any other feast. The courtyard is crowded with people- servants, villagers, everyone coming together to eat and drink and be merry. The tables are laden with the finest of foods. The smell of roast goose and heron, wine, and vomit hangs in the night air with the shouts and bawdy songs. The new knights drink and eat and throw things, singing their songs with everyone else.  The castle hums with life, every voice and every soul another cell in one great organism. 

(The whole time, she sits quietly as a lady should, but listens as a lady shouldn’t. No one notices, and why would they notice the Lord’s waif of a girl, silently eating at his right hand? The servants, the townspeople, even her father speak of her when they think she isn’t listening- she is, to them, as unnaturally quiet as a changeling and as likely to smile as a mourner. Such a shame, my lord, that  her birth took your wife, god rest her soul. And for the child to not even be a boy…)

The stories that feast are rambling and, wine drunk, but the message is clear- they are hired soldiers with no Christian names, under orders from the king to protect the stronghold that is her home.

But one stands out. The only one still wearing his painted  helmet, and as such doesn’t eat or drink with his companions. Instead, he sits on her fathers left side, speaking in low and gruff tones only when spoken to. 

She picks at her food as her ears pick up words like more men and allies and a thousand dead, all spoken in an accent she thinks more suited to a farmer than a soldier.

As the feast begins to die down, dancers lying about drunk, he walks with her Lord father, presumably to show him a weak point in the castle walls.

She follows along, unseen, silent footsteps trailing behind them in the shadows. The knight with the painted helmet is tall and broad when he waves a hand at a wall that, upon closer inspection, does seem weaker than the rest. A chink in the castle’s armor, he says. 

The fire dies out, people lay around in drunken heaps, and rats are scurrying for food in corners of the room by the time she retires for the night. Her maid is nowhere to be found- based on the way the Scotsman and her were wrapped around eachother earlier, it is likely best not to go looking for her- so she wanders alone to her quarters, a candle in one hand and a half eaten honey cake in the other. 

The halls are dimly lit labrynths, and every footstep she takes makes a wet scuff along the perpetually damp straw covering the chilled stone floors. She does not believe in sneaking about when not needed, and enjoys a reprieve from constant surveillance as she licks honey carelessly from her fingers, focusing more on the sweetness of the honey cake than her surroundings.

And just as she turns the corner to the starcase, a hand shoots out from a shadow  and grabs her arm. 

Her gasp is muffled by a large hand, gloved. His other hand plucks the candle from her grasp, rests it on the narrow windowsill behind him. She scrapes and thrashes at the silver of his forearm, scrambling to reach for the knife at his side before he speaks. 

“Pray, be silent, Lady- I know you are able.”

In response, she bites down on the gloved hand, hard. The man hisses but doesn’t let go, only roughly spins her to face him; and this is when she realizes it is the helmeted knight, eyes and armor shiny in the candlelight. 

She shoves at his arms, and he concedes, letting her retreat three steps up the stairs before he takes her by the hand again. 

“Release me, sir, or you will not enjoy the consequences,” She hisses. Something furious inside her is growing like a wildfire. 

“I meant no offense, but only to warn you, fair lady,” he says, seemingly contrite, but with mirth in his voice. Is he smiling, behind that hideous helmet? 

“Warn me?” She rips her hand from his. “Of what? Churlish knights, skulking behind corners?” She turns to go. 

“You are one to scold on skulking behind corners, Lady. ” Her feet freeze where they are on the steps. 

 “Yes.” His voice is rough. “You are not as invisible as you may think- not to those trained to see, Lady.  You should exercise more caution, when listenin’ from rafters and castle walls like a little bird.” He tilts his head, eyes trained on her, like a cat looking at a tree it’d like to climb. Or a bird it’d like to claw.

“I have been told you have a lovely mind. It would be a waste to see it dashed on a tower’s stony base.” 

For the first time in ages, she forces her eyes to meet anothers. His are dark, redless, with what looks like coal smudged on his eyelids and undereyes. His eyes never falter from her stare, as would be proper. His pale lashes don’t so much as flutter. 

She turns and continues walking upstairs- but before she rounds the corner, she looks behind and down to where he stands, at the base of the stairs, licking remnants of honey off his glove. 

[sgt-tombstone]

remembered your "The 141's (and co.) reactions to The Wobble" post and now i'm curious about how they would react to this:

www. tumblr. com/in-mutual-weirdness/727545670822690816

link, ohhh my god I love that video, it’s one of my favorite improv dance videos

genuinely and realistically, I don’t think any of the 141 would touch anything like that with a twenty-foot pole because toxic masculinity and its associated rigidity is so embedded in military culture

BUT, because we like to have fun here, it reminds me of an au I wanted to write a while ago but never got around to (what else is new lmao) where Ghost was raised in a very strict dancing discipline (think ballet or traditional ballroom dance) where he had to always be in control and within rigid guidelines, but he got hurt in his mid-20s and had to give it up. He has a lot of trauma regarding dance, especially bc his father and dance instructor were horrifically abusive, teaching him to place all of his self-worth on his body and dancing ability, so having to stop is full of mixed emotions.

Then Price, the owner of a dance studio and one of the only people in the dance community that Ghost still trusts, reaches out about an improv dance class he’s holding. The purpose, he tells Ghost, is to spontaneously create movement, to free the body from habitual patterns. Ghost is… skeptical, to say the least. He attends, because Price asked him to, but he’s awful at it. He’s stiff and unyielding, body not used to the freedom that improv dance requires, and he’s constantly stepping on toes or running into his dance partners because they do something unexpected, something outside of the rule set that Ghost had grown up with.

Price convinces him to keep coming back—it’s something that needs practice and perseverance, he argues, but Ghost doesn’t really get better.

And then Soap joins the class.

He’s wild and reckless, full of endless, manic energy, and he’s a riot to dance with. Everyone loves to partner with him because he reacts so effortlessly, his movements fluid and dynamic. He’s a great leader, but he also knows when to be a support for his dance partner. Ghost watches him from the sidelines and hopes that he never gets picked to dance with him.

He does, of course, because the pairings are random and it was bound to happen eventually, and as soon as they meet on the studio floor, Ghost knows it’s going to be a disaster. Their styles are just too different; he’s too rigid, Soap is too fluid; he’s too slow, Soap is too fast; he’s too damaged, Soap is too innocent. It will never work.

But it does, somehow. Ghost sticks to what he knows, the strict regimented dance steps that he’d been taught, that had been drilled into his mind, and Soap… dances around him. He’s always exactly where Ghost needs him to be, adding in a flair between steps, keeping the improv fresh and spontaneous while also consistently returning to Ghost’s side, to his pace, making sure they stay in step the whole time. It’s breath-taking and awe-inspiring and the most terrifying thing that Ghost has ever seen. He’s addicted to it immediately.

Over the course of months, Soap manages to draw Ghost out of his shell, to drag Simon to the surface, and with it comes small measures of freedom. Simon starts deviating slightly, almost self-consciously, tiny little additions that would’ve ended in verbal or physical reprimands in the pst but now only earn blinding grins from Soap. They learn each other’s language without ever speaking, though they start talking a lot too. Soap hangs off of Simon like a burr, constantly chatting on the sidelines as they watch the other dancers, mindless, inane babble that Simon never really pays attention to; he loves the sound of Soap’s voice, and Soap doesn’t mind Simon’s lack of response.

They grow closer and closer, until their dances are so thick with tension that Price genuinely starts to hesitate pairing them together for dances. But he always relents because he knows what Simon has been through, had seen it happen and had been powerless to stop it, and seeing him open up like this is a gift worth all the brain bleaching in the world.

He changes his mind when he catches them in the studio’s supply closet, clothes hanging haphazardly, Simon’s broad back hiding Soap mostly from view but doing nothing to cover his own bare arse, and Price bans them from stepping foot in the studio for a week. They take it like the blessing in disguise it really is and scamper off like embarrassed teenagers, and secretly, after they’ve disappeared, Price can only smile fondly

[malikat24601]

Title: Pas de Deux

Written by: Malikat22, Art by: @glitterfang

Beta Read by: Jenneviel and Revenge_Unicorn

Art Link and Credit: Art!

Fic Link: Fic!

Chapters: 11 / 11, Word Count: 90,301

Archive Warnings: None

Rating: E

Summary: Pas de deux, /ˌpä də ˈdə/ noun: In ballet, a pas de deux is a dance duet in which two dancers perform ballet steps together. *** Eddie "the Freak" Munson and "King" Steve Harrington were irrevocably bound by dance, shared family and a genuine, unexpected, happy accident of a friendship for which Eddie was grateful every single day. Even if Eddie was also desperately, laughably, head over heels in love with him. *** A Steddie Ballet AU

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Argyle, Maxine Mayfield, Background Nancy Wheeler, Background Jonathan Byers, Background Corroded Coffin, Background The Party, Background Dmitri Antinov, Background Alexei, Background Eddie Munson's Parents, Original Characters, Jonathan Reeves (Center Stage), Juliette Simone (Center Stage)

Tags: Steddie, Non Canon Compliant, AU - No Upside Down, Alternating Timelines, Ballet Boys, Center Stage AU, Not Exactly Center Stage But Vibes, Center Stage Meets Billy Elliott Meets Stranger Things, Dancing To Wrestling To In Love Pipeline, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Eddie's Good At Dancing But Bad At Feelings, Idiots To Lovers To Idiots To Lovers Again, Miscommunication Getting Together, Slow Burn, Dat Angst, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Virgin Eddie Munson, Bottom Eddie Munson, Top Steve Harrington, Demisexual Eddie Munson, Steve My Body Is A Temple Elite Athlete Harrington, Eddie Goblin Mode Trash Diet But Also Elite Athlete Munson, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, Background Buckingham, Dry Humping, Masturbation, Coming In Pants, Incredibly Angsty Seven Minutes In Heaven, Blow Jobs, Who Even Knows Anymore, Bit O Spit Kink As A Treat, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Rimming, Thigh Fucking, Boys En Pointe, I Disrespected The Barre, Gratuitous Use of Eye Contact In the Studio Mirrors, Oh They Flexible, Jenn Write A Fic Without A Meat Loaf Song In It Challenge, Author Is Not A Ballet Dancer But I Play One On TV

[myyoungroyalsblog]

Very short drabble that came to mind after a convo with @piebingo 🫣

AU where Simon is a singer and is going to record his first ever video after one of his songs became a huge hit and his dance partner turns out to be the hottest man he has ever laid eyes on

Spoilers, it's a sexy song ;)

He placed his bag on the floor, taking a small sip of his water bottle before he started doing his stretches. He was the first one to arrive at the dance studio, currently waiting inside the vast empty space for his choreographer and partner for the video they were going to record in just a few days.

Simon was still in disbelief on how his latest single blew up all over the world, going from 87K views to 5.8 Million on YouTube in the span of just a few days. But hey, thanks to its success he could finally shoot a video, and he even helped out designing the set where the story of his song took place. He was still nervous about actually performing such a raunchy video in front of people, and then uploading it online in a few weeks. But thankfully he was more excited than nervous, he just wanted to nail the choreography.

Just as he was about to finish his stretches, the door to the studio opened, "Simon, Zara said that she will be 10 minutes late because of traffic, but on the bright side, your dance partner is here so you have a bit more time to get to know each other."

Zara was an absolute delight of a person and a wonderful dancer, and he couldn't have been more lucky to have her as his instructor, and knew she was going to be apologizing non stop for something that was out of her control. "That's fine, tell her to not stress, and you can let him in so we can talk."

She stepped out and left the door ajar, but it was soon swung open by-

Oh.

Oh.

Whoever's responsible for the casting is gonna get fired. Or maybe get a raise. Simon hasn't decided yet.

The man was down right gorgeous, with his dark blond hair and button nose and deep brown eyes, Simon was ready to propose on the spot.

He knew the choreography was going to be... Intimate to say the least, so knowing that his partner looked like this was going to be a whole other challenge.

"Hey, I'm Wilhelm, but you can call me Wille," he held out his hand, waiting for Simon's answer.

He clasped it and nearly asked him what his secret was to having such smooth hands, but refrained himself at the last second, "Simon, nice to meet you Wille."

"Trust me, the pleasures all mine."

This was not the time to think about his wording, but also, "What do you mean?"

The apples of his cheeks started to tint, a shy smile evident on his lips, "I'm a big fan of yours, you sing like an angel, Simon."

Simon was unequivocally and irreversibly fucked.

[aristocratic-otter]

Welp, I wasn't going to post today...but then I realized that the final chapter of Heart in the Well will go up before Sunday, and that'll render the excerpt I carefully picked out obsolete by then. So I scrambled to pick bits from my other stories just so I could post this one excerpt. Go me!

The good news about Heart being done? I've got a new WIP plotted out that I'm super excited about, but I wouldn't let myself write anything until one of my WIPs finished. So next week or the week after, you should see the first words from that fic, a very very angsty Watford era canon divergence.

In the mean time, thank you to : @monbons, @messofthejess, @rimeswithpurple, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @best--dress,

@nausikaaa, @youarenevertooold, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @j-nipper-95, and

@facewithoutheart for the tags over the last two weeks. I'm having so much fun reading and watching your stories and art. This is such an incredibly talented fandom, it's endlessly inspiring. Plus, I get to meet some of you soon when I see Rainbow in August!

Here's my teasers for this week:

Here’s one from each of my official WIPs

From Saving Simon Snow: 

I shake my head now, thinking about it. I’ll just have to keep close to Simon, or at least, as close as he’ll allow me. At least my vampire anatomy gives me an advantage there; I can listen to what’s happening with Simon from three rooms away (I won’t, unless it’s a matter of his safety. It’s a gross invasion of his privacy otherwise) (fortunately, I had to learn to tune out the chatter of my peers by my 2nd year at Watford, or I would have gone mad). 

From the Heart in the Well

He looks back at me and then frowns. “Well, come on then,” he says, impatiently. 

“Come on, what?” I say, exasperated. The water’s up to my breastbone now, and I’m starting to feel a little panicky, so my voice comes out higher pitched than I’d like. 

Now, he rolls his eyes. “I need your tie,” he says as if it were obvious. It was not obvious. “Take it off, please.” At that, I shiver a little. I never thought there’d be a day where Simon Snow would be telling me to take off my clothes.

From Snow Fox: Penny, learning you can’t go home again (especially if you’ve signed on with the Snow Fox)

I step onto the road and walk briskly towards the house I grew up in. I can tell when I’ve been noticed. Several heads swivel my direction, and the murmur of conversation in the camp ceases. I keep on as if I haven’t noticed however. As I draw closer, I nod distractedly at some of the boys nearer to my path. They don't nod back. They’re watching me with narrowed eyes and I shudder internally. What do they see when they look at me?

From TikTok Dancer: Quite a bit racier than what I usually post, but still Tumblr legal, I think

Years from now, if I, for some odd reason, try to explain how my first time having sex felt, I won’t be able to. There’s no describing it.  I’m planning to get a degree in words, for fuck’s sake, but right now, all language has left me, sailed back to England probably. I’m left with caveman grunts and desperate whines. Every particle of sensation in my body has gathered between my legs, and every atom of will I have left is devoted to an attempt to meld my body with his. I’ve almost succeeded–we’re nearly one creature now, moving in frantic, panting unison. 

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

I know he’s been looking for me. I know he’s probably forgiven my great sin. He shouldn’t. Forgiveness requires that the person who receives it is contrite, is sorry for what they’ve done. 

I’m not sorry. I’d do it again today, if the circumstances were the same. 

Even being estranged from the only person in this world that I care about is still better than the permanent separation that would result if we were rescued. 

I believe that we’ll be friends again someday. Some day when the pain in my chest and stomach have dulled. And that day is worth waiting for.

From Cupid’s Shield:

I’m left gaping at where he just stood. It’s suddenly clear to me how much of his vampire abilities Baz has been hiding, because I was looking right at him. 

I never saw him move. 

All I know is suddenly he’s above me, and my arms are above my head and prisoned to the bed by his hands clamped around my wrists. I’m so stunned that I don’t even struggle. 

His knees are on either side of my hips, and he’s staring down at me like I’m his next meal. 

From my COBB project:

I know I should be worrying over tomorrow, and what my team will face out there. And I will be worrying over that—tomorrow. Tonight, I’m far more worried about the hours ahead. Hours of, once again, sharing a room with the only man I’ve ever loved. A man who’s never looked at me as anything other than a posh prick. 

That’s my fault, of course. It could have been different, all those years ago, when we first met at Watford Uni. I was excited, back then, to meet my roommate. Excited, and nervous. I freely admit I’ve had a privileged upbringing, and this would be the first time I’d ever shared a room. 

My childhood was mostly lonely, so I didn’t mind the idea. I’d thought it’d be nice to always have someone nearby to talk to. 

Of course, everyone knows how that turned out.

As others have said recently, please let me know if you no longer want to be tagged and I'll take you off of my tag list. Unless I hear otherwise, I assume you're like me, and like to hear from people even if you're not feeling like sharing yourself.

Tags and cheers to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed,

@frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash,

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[in-amor-veritas]

Hi! If you are still taking prompts for the five sentence game:

Wilmon + “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Helloooooo yes yes i am sorry it’s taken a while to get to yours. I actually set this in the dance au i came up with the other day bc those versions of Wilmon seem interesting hehehe, this au already shaped up to be kind of angsty in my head though 😭😭😭

….

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Wille asks, turning onto his side and pushing blonde hair out of his eyes to meet the other boys almost guilty eyes. “You’re seeing other people…”

Simon frowns, looking away for a moment and taking a breath before he can meet Wille’s gaze, sitting up in the bed, the sheets slipping down to barely cover the rest of his bare skin, “I thought you understood that when we—“

Wille understands what he means, can practically hear the rest of the sentence, but no he hadn’t assumed or understood, he’d jumped headfirst into this no second thoughts, open and earnest and it’s like a punch to his gut, ice water in his veins as he realizes that Simon doesn’t want the same thing, “Oh…” he murmurs, sitting up, pressing his hand to his sternum, feeling his whole chest constricting, “So you…this is just fun for you?”

God he feels so stupid.

“I mean…it’s not like I don’t like you Wille, I do. I just…I wasn’t—it wasn’t my intention to lead you or make you think I wanted a relationship. I…I just got out of a long relationship and I just—“ Simon sounds a little upset, sad even and Wille tries to understand because he gets it—it’s not a big deal. But it is, to him it is.

“I thought you knew, I told you that I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

And Wille feels so stupid, inexperienced and humiliated because he’s right, he had said that but somehow it just hadn’t really clicked, somehow he hadn’t imagined that while they had been getting to know each other, hanging out, sleeping together, that Wille wasn’t the only person Simon was doing the same with, “No I get it…um..you did say that…”

He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I’m sorry Wille…if that’s not something you want I totally understand.” Simon reaches out to touch his shoulder gently, and it hurts the concern he’s showing him.

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what he wants anymore, it all seemed so clear an hour ago, stumbling into bed with him. But Wille doesn’t know if he’s willing to share him, or if he likes this feeling knowing that all of this doesn’t mean the same for him as it does for Simon.

“I have to think about it.”

Simon nods, eyes dark and concerned, biting his lip as they sit in the silence.

[s0fter-sin]

so lately i’ve been obsessed with a 141 dancer au

gaz runs classes, has a youtube channel and quickly becomes one of the most sought after choreographers in the music video scene. soap is his dance partner for his classes, he helps run them and does demonstrations with him

ghost is also a choreographer and he’s gaz’s Arch Nemesis

he's famous for never performing his routines, never doing public appearances without his skull mask and being highly exclusive with who he allows to perform his choreo which earns him his name (since he’s a ghost creator). gaz however is a social media darling, his classes and videos regularly doing huge numbers

they both popped up around the same time and are neck and neck in terms of popularity and skill and they immediately rub each other the wrong way

gaz accuses ghost of not actually choreographing his routines himself bc no one has ever seen him dance and ghost thinks gaz is a clout chaser who's just in it for the fame instead of passion

he became a dancer as a way to channel his rage after years of being an underground fighter, the discipline and physicality helping him more than fights ever did. he hates the thought of someone just using it just to get famous when it literally saved his life

deep down they know their accusations are wrong and they have a grudging appreciation for the other's talent but they'd both rather die than admit it

price is a famous dancer turned director they both work with frequently and they always fight over him; trying to get their routines picked for his music videos. he's also the only one in the industry who's ever seen the ghost perform (before he got famous and before the Incident™)

he finally gets fed up with them constantly being at each other's throats and hires them both to work together and choreograph a joint routine. they're both famous in their own right but this video is for a huge artist so neither of them can refuse no matter how much they hate the other

gaz has a gymnastics background but also a ballet background which lends him to a more fluid style whereas ghost’s style is stronger, more masculine with sharper movements so they naturally end up butting heads

then there's soap who has a completely different style altogether, focusing on a more modern, breakdancer style which makes him see everything completely differently

but it also adds to his self-doubt bc he didn't have a formal dance education, he built his entire repertoire by himself. people see him as inferior to gaz who has that very formal, highly disciplined style. his insecurities about only ever being seen as gaz's demonstration partner and that he can only do gaz’s routines so all his skill is just an extension of him instead of being seen as a dancer in his own right forces him to adopt a rigid - destructive - perfectionism in himself and his body

soap meets ghost before the first rehearsal. he gets to the studio early to practice when sees this beautiful man dancing

he has no idea who he is but he moves so seamlessly, almost better than gaz, and he immediately falls a little in love. the man catches him watching in the mirror and he flusters, getting worse as the man just smirks at him and flawlessly completes the routine

soap tries to save face and asks him to teach him the routine he's doing

the man agrees, introducing himself as simon. the style of the routine is familiar to soap but he can't focus on it when simon's hands are on his waist, guiding him through the steps; his chest pressed up against his back. they work together beautifully, picking up each other's body language and dancing together easier and better than they've ever danced with anyone

then gaz arrives and the vibe in the studio immediately changes

simon's easy confidence becomes hostility, pulling up the skull gaiter he'd let hang around his neck as he practically pushes soap behind him to square up to gaz

soap’s shocked when gaz hits back with the same energy until he realises it's the same way he acts whenever he talks about ghost and his stomach drops

he steps out from behind ghost to side with gaz and the betrayal in simon's eyes hurts more than anything he's ever felt

from there it's romeo and juliet; camp gaz versus camp ghost as they fight over every step of the choreo and soap is the poor bastard stuck in the middle

soap tries to channel that “you’re my best friend’s rival, i have to hate you,” mindset but he can’t forget the way it felt to dance with simon

and how much he wants to do it again

[emargoo]

Missed Connections ~ Snowbaz

Pairing: Simon Snow/Baz Pitch

Warnings: | Mentions of alchohol | Baz being a bitch |

Author's Note: Modern-ish AU, Watford School/magic non-existent, This was just a quick thing so nothing special. Enjoy :)

"Fuck," Simon swore angrily. He stood dejectedly at the train platform, clutching his ragged briefcase and watching as his only hope to reach Lancashire in good time slipped away. Steam and smoke blew in his face almost like an insult as the train rushed away from him, chugging down the tracks blissfully unaware that the locomotive's departure had just ruined his day.

He hadn't meant to be late, of course. But he'd reached the station early--due to Penny's nagging--and thought he would have plenty of time to wander the large building. Simon had stumbled across a vendor selling cherry scones, so of course he had to try one. And then try everything else the bakery sold. When it was time to find his platform, he needed to use the loo, which regretably took longer than he had planned. And as Simon was not one particularly blessed with directional capabilities, he had immense trouble when looking for his connection.

Not only had he boarded the wrong train entirely, SImon had needed to jump out of the moving train upon realising he had screwed up. Which leads him here, cursing and disheveled as he watches what would have most certainly been a comfortable ride to his home town chug away.

Simon sighed audibly, running a hand through his messy hair, making it all stand up. He plopped down on the bench behind him, letting his case fall heavily onto the tiled floor. He would need to find out when the next train to Lancashire left, which could very well be the next day. Simon turned his head slightly and almost jumped out of his seat when he caught a glimpse of a man sitting at the other end of the bench.

He was draped languidly across the metal, one long trousered leg sprawled out to his left, the other resting against the bench. He was dressed smartly, brown dress pants and a multicoloured sweater vest unbuttoned over a half-open collared shirt. His outfit felt almost scandalous. The man sported dark black sunglasses over his eyes and an almost ridiculous pink checkered scarf was tied around his head, casting his pale skin in shadow. If Simon had to wager a guess, he would say the man was some sort of exotic dancer or outlandish model.

He certainly had the face of one, thought Simon. Inwardly praising the man's high cheekbones and greecian nose. He was lengthy and elegant, and somehow managed to pull off his odd wardrobe choices. Simon's eyes traveled to the man's shoes, and had to stiffle a laugh. The man wore green spats over chunky black boots, a style that had long gone out of fashion. Not that Simon was particularly well-versed in the fashion world. But in his entire 20 years, he had never seen a man--or anyone, as a matter of fact--with spats.

"It's rude to stare, you know."

Simon's head snapped up. The man's dark eyes glared at him over his sunglasses, his eyebrows arched.

"Sorry." Simon shook his hair out of his eyes. He had forgotten himself after such a frustrating day. "It's been a weird day." His cheeks flushed in embarassment. God, he must sound so stupid to this elegant stranger. He extended a rough callused hand, "Er, the name's Simon. Simon Snow."

The man meerly continued to peer at him, his eyes travelling to Simon's outsretched hand. Simon repressed a shiver, feeling almost judged by this odd man.

"I'm Baz." Said the man shortly, briefly shaking Simon's hand. His hand was soft, but blisteringly cold.

Simon looked awkwardly down at the black-and-white tiled floor, feeling insanely uncomfortable. He had never been one for friendly conversations. Or making friends, for that matter. Most of the time people just befriended him, like Penny.

"I just, uhm, missed my train," said Simon, nodding stupidly. "The one that just left."

Baz didn't look at him. "I saw," he said. After a long silence, in which Simon moved restlessly, tapping his feet and playing with the buttons on his coat, Baz gestured towards Simon's jacket. "That coat, it's Ralph Lauren."

"Huh?" Simon looked down at his coat, not knowing what the man was talking about.

Baz sighed, "It's a brand. You have good taste."

Did he just roll his eyes at me? Simon wondered. "Uhm, I guess. It's my dad's."

"And your dad doesn't mind you borrowing it?" Baz eyed him skeptically, "That design is worth over 600 dollars."

"My dad's dead."

Baz's face softened slightly. His sunglasses drooped on the bridge of his nose, and Simon caught a glimpse of his gray-ish eyes, staring at him. "Oh," he said. "Sorry."

"It's alright, never knew 'em." Simon's voice felt gruff and forced.

"My dad couldn't give a shit about me." Said Baz suddenly. "I know its not the same but-" He stopped himself shaking his head. "Fuck, why am I telling this to a random? Sorry."

"All good, mate." Said Simon, scratching his neck. Truthfully, he did not know what to say to this man. All he needed right now was a train schedule and preferably another cherry scone.

"Would you know when the next train leaves?" Simon asked, looking over at Baz.

Baz stared at him blankly, "To where..?"

Simon cursed inwardly. "Lancashire."

"One moment." Baz pulled a dark purple leather bag from the floor and rumaging around in it. He pulled out a small silver flask, setting it tenderly next to him on the metal bench. Then he took out a crumpled paper, a train schedule, it seemed. "The next one leaves at 8:30 AM, tomorrow."

Simon slumped in his seat, rubbing him forehead lightly. "Fuck me."

Baz held out the silver flask to him, "You know, you shouldn't say that to a stranger. They might take you up on it."

Simon's neck grew hot, taking the open flask from Baz. He sniffed the contents of the vile slightly. It smelled strong. He felt Baz's gaze on him and lifted the flask to his lips, feeling the sharp liquid enter his mouth.

"Your ears are red." Said Baz cooly.

Simon choked on his drink. He handed the flask back to Baz quickly, his nose burning. Baz made a sound that sounded almost like a laugh.

"Jesus. I could have died." Simon said, wipping the drink from his chin.

"Don't be dramatic." Said Baz, "You're ballzy though, taking a drink from someone you just met."

Simon considered this, "Didn't even think of that, to be honest."

"Checks out." Baz regarded him over his hooked nose.

It was Simon's turn to roll his eyes, "At least I don't dress like a swinger."

Baz made a noise that sounded like a mix between a cough and a choke. Simon realised that must be his version of a laugh. "Do you even know what that means, Snow?"

"Well, no." Admitted Simon, "But I feel like you would be one."

Baz shook his head, eyeing Simon's ragged briefcase, his ripped pants, and messy hair. "Okay then. I'll take it as a compliment from you."

Simon felt his neck grow hot, "Go ahead." He looked up at the tall arched ceiling. Anywhere but at the confusing man he was sitting next to.

He heard the train before he saw it. And as if from a distance, he watched it push forward to make a stop at his platform. Baz stood up, clutching his leather bag in one hand. He walked towards the train and then stopped, turning towards Simon.

"I hope we meet again, maybe I can fix that floppy hair of yours."

Simon gaped at him, "Oh yeah, c'ya."

And then he was gone.

[pagegirlintraining]

Hey hey Michelle 💜,

I'm very intrigued about "burlesque au" and "Stockholm syndrome"

Hej Sophia, thanks so much for the ask 💜

Burlesque AU is something that @the-amber-fox and I have been more or less cooking up for months, and it just so happens I finally started writing it today. It’s basically a slightly altered Wilmon version of the movie Burlesque. I think we can all guess who is the dancer and who almost forgets to bartend he’s so busy pining 😂 just in case though, here’s a snippet as ‘fresh off the press’ as it gets:

Tonight is different, though. Tonight, as the sound of a seductive voice spelling out the letters to the word ‘express’ fills his ears, followed by a line about love, sex and no regrets, Wille can’t seem to look away, the reason being the newest addition to the crew. Simon.

Graceful, talented, sharp-tongued but equally kind Simon, with his slim waist and his jawline that’s positively divine. Not to mention his gorgeous curls or his sunshine smile or his dark brown eyes that have a way of drawing Wille in no matter how hard he might try to resist. Add in the fact that Maddie has put him in nothing but sparkling black booty shorts and a golden body chain and Wille doesn’t think he could look away if the whole place started to burn down.

As for Stockholm Syndrome, the lovely Jo (@iwouldnevergetintofanfic) was kind enough to offer to let me write this sequel to Vegas, Baby with her. I can’t say more than that at the current moment 🤓

[msweebyness]

MiracOlympus- Ship Headcanons

Here’s some headcanons for the godly lovers of one of my most recent AU’s! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

Adrien rarely makes a decision as king of the gods without talking to Marinette first. He trusts his queen’s judgement more than anyone, they’re a team when it comes to ruling the heavens and earth.

One of Marc’s first gifts to Nathaniel was asphodel, the very first species of flower that was able to bloom in the Underworld. (He worked at it for weeks!) Nathaniel usually has one somewhere on his outfit.

Ondine’s favorite sea creature is the seahorse, because Kim made them specially for her. They didn’t come out looking quite like he wanted them to, but she loved them anyway!

As the goddess of beauty as well as love, Rose loves giving makeovers, and Juleka is her favorite model. Juleka’s not one for dressing up much, but she likes it because it makes Rose happy.

Mylene is quite possibly the only person who can pull Ivan away from his work in the forge to spend some time outdoors. They often go down to Earth for picnics where he’ll show her his latest projects.

Austin A is NOT the best dancer, and so for the longest time he wouldn’t dance at parties on Olympus because he didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of his boyfriend, the literal muse of dance. But Spinelli happened to witness him dancing wildly to her favorite song one day, and thought it was the cutest thing ever.

Kind of a multiple-ship one, but Austin A, Austin T, Anthony, and Brecken all received eight separate shovel talks when they began dating their respective partners. The muses are very close and protective of one another. (Ivan is also still deeply haunted by the shovel talk he got from Marc. Who knew the god of flowers and the Spring could be so terrifying?)

Anthony is the only person (besides Jean) who can always tell when Jesse is genuinely upset and not just being the muse of tragedy. He always takes him for a fly, and then they talk through what’s wrong.

Reshma and Margo have enormous crushes on each other, and they always linger for a bit once they finish their duties to watch the other bring the night and dawn respectively. They blush like crazy when they accidentally catch one another’s eye.

Simon and Denise have a game they play where he reassembles his stars and they try to guess what he’s trying to make a picture of. He’s also made numerous constellations in their honor.

The only time you see Alya cut loose is when Nino brings her to a party. He just seems to bring out her more carefree side, but she’d never admit that out loud.

Cosette and Zoe love to dance together, and whenever they do, it creates a beautiful cascade of rainbows through the night sky. Humans have started to call these the ‘Northern Lights’.

Luka is the only one who can calm Kagami down when she’s in ‘Warrior Rage’ mode. He usually does this by playing her favorite songs on his lyre.

Austin T taught Jean some meditation techniques to help him relax whenever he’s really stressed about a show. Jean uses them whenever he’s stressed because it reminds them of their boyfriend.

Aurore and Mireille like to race each other in the sky, so if you feel really strong cold and warm winds at the same time but the sky is clear, that’s why. The loser has to reward the winner with a kiss.

Evie once organized a group of Brecken’s animal companions to ‘sing’ a song she had written for him. It’s his favorite gift anyone’s ever given him.

Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!