#if you can't dance

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 7

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 😍

Part of The Club AU

You spend the rest of the day in a void. Your migraine keeps you hidden beneath a pillow, curtains drawn, unmoving and uncomfortable. When you finally manage to sleep, the dull pain remains, throbbing in your forehead until you wake in a sweat. 

It’s still early, the sun has yet to rise. You push the blankets off of you and put your head on top of the pillow. You don’t move further than that, wary of the shadow of the migraine hovering in your skull. You sink into a daze until your alarm goes off and you sit up stiffly, dreading a new day ahead of you. 

Now that you’re required in office, you have to get up even earlier. You pick out a purple turtleneck and a long pleated skirt with black and white stripes. You throw a necklace of plastic beads around the cowl of the shirt and tuck your feet into a pair of velvet loafers.  

You ready your lunch and a thermos of tea to take with you. You’re running out of time. As your phone vibes, you don’t have time to check it. You’re still trying to shake off the fog from your migraine as you shamble out the door and to your car. 

You drive slow, overly cautious, and tense as a rod. You wish you could just stay home and hide like you always do. You’re sure you can find something else from home but for now, you need to stick with this. Besides, you’ve worked your way up the pay ladder. Starting over isn’t exactly ideal. 

As you pull into the lot, you reach to grab your phone from the little slot between the cupholders. The screen flashes to remind you of your unchecked notifications. It’s a Teams message. Shoot. Jonathan. Your de facto boss. 

You tap the message. 

‘Good morning. I hope you are feeling better. Should you wish to work from home, you may connect to the remote server. Please let me know if I can offer any support’. 

The message is unusually concerned. Typically, you use an automated portal to put in for absences or vacation and if you need to be offline, you email Jensen and rarely get more than a thumbs up in return. It’s too late now anyway. 

You grab your bag and keep your phone clutched tight. You get out and lock the doors, treading heavily over the tarmac. You look up at the shining glass panes that line that outer walls. Everything here is so bright and open. You hate it. 

As you get to the front door, another figure approaches from the other corner of the building. G doesn’t say a word as he opens the door and holds it for you. You thank him and he follows you inside. You note that he hasn’t traded his gray hoodie for a blazer or dress shirt. He doesn’t seem the type to care or the heed warnings. 

He walks at your back as you try to recall your way through the hallways. You stop and he hits your shoulders, putting his hand to your back to still himself. He apologise and pulls away. 

“Sorry, I forgot where I’m going,” you murmur. 

“Mm,” he grumbles, “wish I could help. I hate this place.” 

You want to agree with the sentiment but you wouldn’t want to be overheard. You give him a strained look and shrug. He frowns. 

“Question,” he says sharply. 

“Yes?” You’re suddenly nervous. 

“Do you have other tea suggestions? I like the mint but I want something new.” 

“Oh,” you think and scrunch up your lips, “anything in the same brand is good, I find. They have a toasted coconut flavour but it’s hard to find.” 

“Toasted coconut,” he repeats. “I’ll look out for it.” He looks down the hall and sighs, “see ya ‘round.” 

He stalks off before you can respond. He’s strange like that. Abrupt, awkward, and slightly scary. You peer around and orient yourself according to the breakroom. You think you remember. 

You go to the exact wrong corner of the building and have to turn back before you find the correct door. Your name is the only assurance that you’re not entirely lost. It still says ‘senior developer’. As long as the misplaced title doesn’t come with the extra work, it can’t matter that much. 

“Ah, there you are,” your name draws you back before you can escape into the office. You turn to face Jonathan as he struts down the hall, “you didn’t respond to my message. I assume you are feeling better.” 

“Um, yes, I only just saw it,” you say, “sorry, but appreciate it.” 

“Again, I must apologise about the flowers, if I’d known...” he lifts his hand and shows the paper gift bag hooked around his fingers, “I’ve found a suitable welcome gift this time.” 

You look him in the face then at the bag, “oh, you don’t need to--” 

“It’s what we do here. All our new members received their own welcome. I do feel terrible that yours backfired so egregiously.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you take the bag with some hesitation. “Thanks. Um, I should get settled, I’m probably already behind.” 

“As I said, if you should require any support, you only need message,” he insists, “and please, take care of yourself. Do not put the work above your health.” 

“Mm, okay.” 

“You’ve something in case, for headaches, I mean?” He asks. 

“Uh, tylenol,” you shrug, “really, I’m feeling alright.” 

“Very well, I made certain the cleaners did a thorough scour to be sure no pollen was left behind,” he states proudly. “Oh, and do let me know if there’s anything else? If you need anything for your office? Or perhaps would like to relocate. I know the sun can come in at the wrong angle after noon.” 

“Really, it’s fine,” you say, biting down on your exasperation. You just want to work. You want to be left alone. “Thank you.” 

“A pleasure,” he grins. 

You nod and slowly back away. You turn and enter your office but don’t close the door. That feels like too much. You cross to the desk and put your bag beside the chair and the gift on top. You’ll deal with that once you get signed in. Or maybe when you get caught up. You really don’t care. 

[theribbajack]

"Now, the vow will be honoured, and my Lord brother's soul will return."

Radahn stans keep winning, but I personally am in Miyazaki's walls rn

[scurvyboy]

college fiddauthor my beloved

images of them doing the nasty:

[minhosblr]

The only singer ever!

[red-veril]

Anyway, happy pride month to whatever it's going on between these two 🏳️‍🌈

[future-crab]

[I'm Not Okay (I Promise) - My Chemical Romance (2004) // Juarez - Gerard Way (2014)]

My big hope for 2024 is that we get our regular 10-year update on whether or not Gerard Way can swim

[luckylectio]

Art for @starlight-eclipsed's Doppelgänger AU! In which Legend, aka Legato, goes through Linked Universe for a second time, because time-travel shenanigans never cease (not that he's complaining). Go give it a read!

[tapakah0]

Well if we're unpacking EVERYTHING ~

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

you can't stop me lovin' myself ♡ for @kimtaegis

[crabsnpersimmons]

(slowly cleaning out all the art i drafted but never posted)

sometimes the only way to recharge after a long day

is drawing your current blue trauma boi* in the outfit of your previous blue trauma boi**

*Moon, from my hairdresser AU "New 'Do, Same You" AU

**Red Clad Dewey from Another Eden

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If You Can't Dance 1

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Note: this is what you get when you encourage me. Please leave any and all feedback! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Part of The Club AU

“It's so nice to finally meet you in person!” Melinda beams as she holds out a bright drink. The layers of blue and purple make you wonder about its contents.

“Yeah, so awesome,” Faye hollers as she sips from a yellow cocktail. “Must be lonely working from home.”

“Oh, uh, not really,” you sway, trying to avoid the bodies around you. Your throat scrapes as you have to yell over the pumping bass. “It's…quiet.”

“Quiet!? Carly giggles, “then It's good you got out! This merger is going to be lit.”

“Lit?” Melinda, the eldest of the trio rolls her eyes, “you young ones.”

You wade with them through the crowd, the heat of the clubgoers catching beneath the wool of your sweater. You feel out of place in your dowdy pullover and long peasant skirt, especially as sequins and bright prints refract in the rainbow of lights. Even your coworkers belong, blouse sleeves rolled up and blazers handed over to the coatroom.

“Hopefully they're still down for work drinks!” Faye trills.

“Bigger and better. Work mandated cocktails should just be a thing,” Carly guffaws.

“Mmm, and what about work mandated flings?” Faye ogles past you.

You crane to follow her eyeline. You see several men, striding through the crowd with ease. Tall and not bad looking by common standards. You see nothing especially alluring but you understand what people look for; good posture, nice eyes, broad shoulders.

“Erm,” you look back and taste your drink, giving a face. “Is there alcohol in this?” You call over.

“Duh!” Carly laughs again, “oh my god, you're so adorable! Oh, you know what, you should start coming into office. We do lattes on Friday.”

“I er… don't mind….”

You don't finish your protest as the tempo shifts and Faye squeals, “oh this is my song, girls!”

They throw an arm up each, balancing their drinks in their other hands. You sniff the glass and try another gulp. You cough and hide it behind your hand. They barely notice you. No one really does, you're tiny and dressed like wallpaper.

As they shimmy and swing to the music, you don't know what to do. You wiggle awkwardly, but you don't dance and have no rhythm. You find yourself downing the drink out of anxiety.

You feel an odd sensation in your eyelids and a ripple in your brain as you get to the bottom of the drink. You copy Carly and leave your empty glass on a table. Another song and the heat beads on the nape of your neck.

The flashing lights and wall of sound makes you dizzy. You shouldn't have finished the drink. You don't feel right. You look at the others and how they giggle and joke. You don't fit in. Just like always. You know your coding and you know how to be alone.

You sidle close to Melinda, she seems like a mother, well, she kept mentioning her kids. “Is there a bathroom here?”

She laughs, amused by your obvious question, “over there.”

She points through the crowd. You see the top of a sign but not enough to read it. You smile and wave to the other girls, fleeing as they barely notice.

You get caught between a couple as you try to squeeze by. You squeal and get knocked around by a large guy on the other side of them. You're caught in a tidal wave of people as you peer desperately at the neon blue sign.

You can't get there but you need to get out of here. Your skin is on fire, your vision is streaming, and you can't breathe. The air is hot and humid and putrid.

You claw before you, forcing past the crush around you, stumbling towards the entryway. You trip out the door and heave in, gulping down cold air, trying to get your head straight. Your chest hurts and you're shaking. You need help!

You look around for anything. Anyone. The bouncers are distracted with those seeking entry and those in line don't seem to see you. You lean on the corner of the building and put your hand on your sweater.

You clutch the wool and shake your head. It's been a while since you felt this. The world spirals around you as you struggle to steady yourself. You keep your other hand on the wall and murmur. You're going to pass out.

You shouldn't have come here. You knew this would happen. But they didn't give you a choice. The email said mandatory. You need this job. What are you going to do? Everything is falling to pieces.

“Pardon me, are you alright?” A lilting voice startles you. You part from the wall, nearly falling against it as you teeter on your feet, “oh, woah, watch yourself.”

The man catches your arm, keeping you from tipping over. His touch surges in you but you know you can't stand on your own. You gulp and gurgle, fanning yourself.

“S-s-sorry,” you pants, “I just… I can't breathe.”

He leans in as you can barely speak. His blue eyes are intent on you as he keeps you upright, firm but gentle. He nods as he listens to your staggered words.

“I… too hot… inside…”

“Oh, dear, yes, I agree,” he smiles kindly, “here, why don't you…. lean here, yes,” he eases you against the brickfront, “catch your breath,” his accent is soothing, “and…” he looks around, gesturing to the bouncer, “Pardon, yes, would you fetch some water for the lady?”

The man grumbles but glances inside the club. He must know the stranger before you, “you have some water and it'll be just fine. Hmm? Will you count with me?”

You give him a bewildered look but he's already counting, “one, two, three…”

[egophiliac]

at this point I'm not going to finish this, but I need everyone to know that I don't CARE that it was Kamejim, this scene has been replaying itself in my brain for the past week --

[riekesart]

Dem boys, having a good time!

[churaloma]

Can we talk about this moment? When they agree and then make this significant eye contact? I'm in tears.

[zaacoy]

Actually this ones good too one more food for todahy Toby has permanently altered my brain chemistry, I've only reread that one fanfic like. 4 times and yet freenoodles slow dancing in their house LITERALLY never leaves my brain aughuaig they are cutie patootie tho heart emojhijk

[aeb-art]

loopsie daisy scribbles

separate pics under the cut

oh and references! i almost forgot that >.>

first pic: (link)

second pic: outfit is lady dimitrescu's from resident evil and the pose is from (link)

third pic: (link) i was looking at traditional costumes/dress from guadeloupe ;u; give loop a dress in a pattern from home

forth pic: well the pose i freehanded, but loop's blouse is from some rwby concept art for the shirt under ruby's corset in i think volume five? i don't remember, it's been awhile, but anyways! pic of that attached below vvv