#it goes against his ballet posture

[andro-dino]

big eared bros

[ilongfor-the-arts]

Just read the museum marquis fic and I love it. I wonder what would a fanfic where the marquis de gramont met a ballerina reader?

Poetry in Motion

Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: mild language

Summary: A tall and handsome man has been watching you preform for a while. What will happen when he finally chooses to introduce himself?

Word Count: 2.5k

I got multiple reqs for this! So, here ya go! Enjoy!

“You’re late Y/N!”

I dashed into the locker room, tossing my bag atop the dressing room counter.

“I know! I know! I’m really sorry! My apartment door wouldn’t lock and there was traffic and then-”

My director held up a hand, silencing me.

“I don’t care. Please-just, be ready to go by showtime.”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, yes, of course. I will be ready, I promise.”

She quickly turned on her heels and began walking in the opposite direction. Her blue dress swayed gently as the dancers rushed around her. Her spine was straight, her posture rigid.

I don’t blame her. I'm just as nervous as everyone else to see how this performance goes. Unfortunately, I'm a dancer, so rigid posture isn't ideal. I'm forced to keep my anxiety bottled up inside my head.

“Y/N.”

My friend called my name, jolting me from my trance. She was fully dressed, with a full face of makeup. She stared at me, completely stunned.

“Y/N, you better hurry! Everyone else is ready to go!”

I moved rapidly, quickly opening my makeup bag, praying I had enough time.

“What took you so long?”

I slapped my palms against the table, annoyed.

“Oh, Clara, it’s been such an aggravating day.”

I stared at my reflection, watching as the foundation completely coated my face.

“Do tell.”

I took out my eye makeup.

“Well, first my apartment wouldn’t lock.”

I closed one eye and applied eyeshadow as quickly as I could.

“My key wouldn’t work! And of course I couldn’t just leave my apartment unlocked so I had to bother my neighbor to get the spare key I gave her.”

I moved on to the other eye.

“Then there was so much traffic. Then I couldn’t find a good parking spot because I got here so late. Then I had to walk almost six blocks.”

My eye makeup looked... alright. Sure, if I had an extra hour, I could make it look fantastic. But, due to my unfortunate situation, I had to settle for average.

“Wow girl, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

I pulled out my blush.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think that cute guy will be here tonight.”

I scoffed loudly.

“He’s always here. If he goes four days without seeing a ballet, just assume he’s dead.”

Oh my goodness, that blush color was really clashing with my eyeshadow. Shit! I didn't have time to remove it and start over. Perhaps I could just add another color to my eyes, creating a strange hybrid color that would blend well with the blush.

“I don’t know Y/N. I’ve been here longer than you, and he only started going regularly once you got here.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, right. It’s probably just a coincidence. I doubt he’d spend a shit ton of money on fancy ballet tickets just to see some pretty girl dance.”

I watched Clara shrug from the corner of my eye.

“I dunno. He always dresses like he’s ready to meet the queen, and he sits in a box. He doesn’t seem short on funds. He definitely could be the type to buy ballet tickets just to admire you.”

Okay, the blush and eyeshadow looked fine. I could handle "fine." I could work with "fine.”

“I don’t know Clara. You know, when you watch a performance, faces and names blend together because there are so many people on stage. I doubt he picked me out of the crowd and decided I was going to become the object of his affection.”

I put on some red lipstick, trying not to be distracted by the fact that all the dancers I saw in the mirror were fully prepared.

“Besides, a handsome man like that?... he probably has a girlfriend.”

Clara perked up.

“Oh, so you admit you think he’s handsome.”

I rolled my eyes for a second time.

“I mean, come on Clara, look at him!”

Clara let out a loud and obnoxious laugh. My face turned hot. Thankfully, the makeup covered most of the natural pink that had begun to appear on my cheeks.

“Oh my God you have a little crush on him, don’t you!”

I held up my hands in defense.

“I am not having this conversation right now!”

I stood, rushing over to the costume rack.

“I’ve never seen him with a girl Y/N! I think he’s single and ready to mingle!”

Clara’s loud voice drew some attention. I swiveled on my heels and placed a finger to my lips.

“Sh!”

-

The show was finished, and the final bows were taken.

The roar of the crowd washed over me like a wave. I was moved to know that they were all applauding for this performance. As the entire company gathered for one final bow, I observed the crowd's faces contort into bright smiles. I felt moved knowing that at least one person in the audience was thinking about what a wonderful job I did tonight.

I hoped it was the man whose appearance I had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

The gold theater sparkled. The red seats gradually vanished as people rose to pay their respects to the performers.

I was unable to avoid glancing around at the various people in the crowd. I started in the box seats, hoping to spot a tall man with a penchant for fashion.

No luck.

My gaze was drawn to the floor seats. I scanned them all as quickly as I could. Maybe he sat closer? If he truly came to see me, it wouldn't hurt to get the best view possible in the front row.

No luck.

I'm not sure why I was so desperate for him to be here. Nonetheless, I felt my heart sink slightly as I considered the possibility that he missed tonight's performance.

We finished with a company bow. We waved goodbye, and quickly scattered off the stage.

“Y/N!”

Clara exclaimed as we walked back to the dressing rooms.

“You did so well! Jesus, I thought for sure you’d be all scattered from coming in late, but you really pulled it off well!”

I didn't notice her hands cutting through the air as she spoke. I didn't even bother looking at her. I kept my head down, stuffing various cosmetics into my black backpack.

“Thanks Clara.”

I said flatly.

“Alright, what’s going on? Who’s got you bummed?”

I grit my teeth.

“He’s not here tonight.”

Clara leaned in.

“What did you say?”

“I said he’s not here tonight!”

I snapped involuntarily. Clara retreated.

“Woah woah, how do you know this?”

“I didn’t see him in the crowd.”

Clara furrowed her brow.

“Come on Y/N, there’s thousands of people in that crowd! There’s no way you could’ve checked every seat for him!”

My lips were pursed. Clara wrapped her hands around my shoulders, soothing me. She leaned into my ear, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“I bet he showed up tonight. And if he didn’t, it was his loss entirely.”

-

The cold Paris air bit at my exposed skin. The chill penetrated my tank top, chilling me to the bone. I drew the sides of my peacoat together, attempting to conceal my torso and thighs from the wind.

I began to stroll, trying to enjoy the lovely Paris evening despite the fact that so much was less than ideal.

After about thirty paces, I was struck by an uneasy sense that someone was watching me. I initially ignored it. There were numerous high-rise apartment buildings. I'm sure that feeling came from being a window away from someone's living space, and the possibility that someone was watching me inadvertently.

I couldn't shake the feeling even after another thirty paces. The buildings in this particular neighborhood were completely dark. That is, everyone was sleeping, and if anyone was watching me, it probably would go unnoticed by bystanders.

I took a peek over my shoulder to ensure my intuition was correct.

About thirty feet behind me was a tall, lanky man in a black coat.

Alright, probably just a coincidence-

Wait.

I did a double take.

Holy shit.

It was the guy from the ballet!

This all is just one big coincidence.

I kept my head down, trying to maintain my composure.

His footsteps became audible. I focused on them, noticing that they were becoming slightly louder with every step.

Shit.

Shit!

God, this guy is a total creep! How could I be so stupid?!

I’m about to get totally kidnapped!

I started to move faster, trying to appear calm despite being aware that my heart was pounding in my ears. My blood rushed to my heart, leaving my face pale and cold.

God, he’s getting closer!

Jesus my stomach is in knots!

“Don’t look so frightened, darling.”

The man’s velvety accent pierced the air like a knife. My heart jumped.

I’m fucked.

“Really, I just want to talk with you.”

No way in hell was I stopping. My calves burned. My eyes were wide. My hands trembled within my pockets.

My chest came into contact with something solid. I stumbled back, looking up.

Oh my goodness, he was right in front of me.

How did he get there without me hearing?

The heat left my body.

I stood, wide eyed and perplexed.

The man's neutral gaze softened as he noticed my anxiety.

“I am very sorry to have frightened you, madame. I am simply a fan wishing to pay my respects.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“I promise, I mean no harm. There is no reason to be frightened.”

He was considerably taller than me. In two seconds, he could pick me up and throw me into the back of a shady white van.

Nonetheless, his luxurious accent and courteous eyes made me believe he was telling the truth. So I allowed myself to relax ever so slightly.

“Did you come and see the show tonight?”

A smirk played on the corners of his lips.

“But of course. It would be foolish of me to disregard the opportunity to observe such talent.”

Wow, I'm going to give credit where credit is due. He’s a smooth talker. He speaks with such elegance. I'm unable to ignore his words. With bated breath, I await each sentence.

“Well, that is very kind of you to say.”

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I only convey the complete truth. In my lifetime, I have seen hundreds of ballets, operas, and plays. It is uncommon to find such a passion for the arts in the hearts of the prefromers. Few people allow creativity to encompass every aspect of them. But, I have noticed fire within you.”

He glanced deeply into my eyes, as if he wanted to capture some of the "fire" within me and preserve it for himself.

“I can tell by the way you dance and command the stage.”

The gentle breeze rustled the end of his overcoat as his pale eyes shone in the pale moonlight. He exuded a sense of mystery that beckoned me to embrace the unknown.

“Your blood runs red with creativity.”

He came to a halt, his piercing gaze catching my lips before darting back to my eyes.

“And, your beauty is unmatched.”

Forget about my face being cold; it was now scorching hot. I just hope I kept enough blush on my cheeks to hide the natural pink.

He extends his leg, the buckle of his pricey loafer catching the moonlight. He steps closer, the wonderful aroma of whiskey and bergamot wafting into my nose. The scent cloud muffles my brain, making me dizzy with anticipation.

“How long have you been dancing for?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, well, my entire life. I started the moment I could walk and I’ve pretty much been in the dance studio everyday since.”

The enigmatic man nodded, pleased with my response. I took my hands from my pockets, as they were sweating despite the chill.

“And… Do you enjoy it?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, I remember, um-.”

I took a deep breath, careful not to trip over my words and reveal that my heart was racing.

“I remember my first official dance class. I was- about four or five.”

I swallowed, a lump forming in my throat.

“All the kids were complaining. I mean, y’know, at that age it basically is just an excuse for the parents to get their obnoxious kids out of the house.”

He chuckled.

Yes!

“But I never complained, not once. I loved it from the start. And, it’s completely consumed my life since then.”

He took another step forward. The distance between us was almost non-existent now. To meet his gaze, I had to almost completely crane my neck back.

“I can tell. You don’t just dance, you float over the stage. It really is beautiful to watch.”

His voice dropped to a sultry whisper.

“You are beautiful to watch.”

My stomach flipped.

My breath caught in my throat as he cupped my face with his hand. His grip was gentle, as if he were coddling a baby bird.

My mind was empty, a void waiting to be filled by him.

He exhaled deeply, a breath fanning over my face. I instinctively leaned into him, craving his warmth, craving his scent, craving…

Him.

He ran his calloused thumb along my cheekbone. My face was burning. I knew he could feel it beneath his palm.

He grinned.

“You have a very bright future in the arts. Paris is only the beginning.”

I could sense the tension rising. I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for something magnificent to unfold.

A hug?

A proclamation of love?

A kiss?

“I hope and pray that you will allow me to be an integral component of your bright future.”

He slipped something into my empty pocket sneakily. He smiled broadly. My heart skipped a beat. His smile was enticing, so simple yet so effective.

“Call me, Ma chère.”

He took a step back, turned, and began to stroll away. My shoulders loosened. My chest gave way. My cheeks had lost their warmth. The tension had been released.

I could breathe.

I could think.

“Wait!”

I shouted. He glanced over his shoulder.

His figure looked very intriguing. Most of his ridges and curves were hidden by his long coat. It enticed one to venture into uncharted territories.

“What’s your name?”

He scoffed.

“When you call, I will tell you.”

[littleslaywrites]

pas de deux- variations | spencer reid x bau!reader 

pt 3 of pas de deux - based on request by @kakamixoxo

summary: while teaching the ballet class your substituting for, spencer comes in to “help”

word count: 1.5k

cw: f!reader, fluff

Having finally put together your lesson plans, you were on your way to teach the ballet class you’d agreed to substitute for. You had left work an hour early for the fifth day, Hotch not minding giving you the time off since you were consistent otherwise. 

Driving to the studio for the past few days, you felt oddly nervous. You faced criminals every day but were anxious over some baby ballerinas. You remember being in your first years of ballet, how you looked up to your teachers and the older girls in the studio. The girls were energetic, but eager to learn. You felt yourself saddened by the fact that today would be your last day filling in. It sounded cliche, but you were going to miss the feeling of teaching the next generation of dancers. 

After changing and setting up in the studio, you open the door to let the kids pile in. Whispered conversations between each other and shouts of “good afternoon, Miss y/n” fill the room. 

A few minutes into class, you hear the door opening, Spencer’s tall frame juxtaposed against the girls at the barre. 

“It seems like we have a special guest joining us today in class,” you say. Spencer walks over to an empty space behind you. 

“I came to help,” he says. You raise an eyebrow, recalling your attempt to teach him. Nevertheless, you decide to go along with it, introducing him as “Mr. Spencer” and allowing him to stand behind you at the barre in the middle of the floor. 

“Now we’ll move on to rond de jambe,” you say. The girls have learned the combination by now, so you review it very briefly before reaching for the remote to turn the music on. Spencer watches the moves, remembering the steps but having no idea how to execute them correctly. 

Seeing everyone else grab the barre and straighten their posture, Spencer follows suit. He suddenly realizes he’s the tallest in the class, feeling a little awkward. When the music begins, he follows along to what you’re doing, until he has to turn to the other side. When he’s no longer facing you, he begins to hear giggles from the students at his creative interpretation of technique. He can tell they’re trying to be polite, not wanting to make fun of a guest. 

The music ends, and you try to move on without giving in to the laughter, knowing once you do, you won’t be able to stop. “Okay, frappé is next.” You model the steps, taking extra care to show how you go from flex to point with the ball of your foot hitting the floor, thinking of Spencer watching behind you. You can imagine the way he was staring, absorbing the information. 

Unfortunately for him, even the best memory could not make up for his lack of knowledge. Even before you turned, you could tell he was taking creative liberties from the sound of his stomps. When you face him, you see the way he’s executing the step, almost tap-dancing. You can’t hold yourself from laughing at the picture, and the girls join in. At one point, he even managed to literally trip over his own feet. Giggling through the rest of the combination, you watch as he turns to look back at you, smiling when he meets your eyes. 

“If you couldn’t tell, I haven’t ever taken a ballet class before,” Spencer shrugs after the music stops. This makes the class laugh even harder. “Miss y/n gave me a quick lesson last week,” he defends himself. “Watch—“ he says, trying to do a pirouette. His foot only makes it up to his ankle and the turn goes about 90° before he falters.  

“I don’t think Mr. Spencer is dressed right for class,” one of your students says. You study his outfit: sweater, dress pants, mismatched socks (he took his shoes off at the door), and a tie. 

“I regret to inform you that she may be correct,” you say after looking him up and down. “You know, most people wouldn’t be allowed to attend class with that kind of dress code violation.”

The girls all shake their heads and shout out their opposition to that idea. “I guess we’ll let him stay,” you sigh. “You should be grateful for your backup, Mr. Spencer. Let’s hope you're better at battements.”

It goes without saying that Spencer was not better at battements. He watched your kicks reach the tip of your nose, thinking it couldn’t be that difficult from how easy you made it look. Intently, he prepared to kick, but his foot only made it about a foot and a half off the floor. This causes the room to break back into laughter, especially considering the focus that was visible on his face. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spencer, but I’m beginning to think a career in ballet may not be for you,” you say. 

“The reason we can kick higher is because we’re shorter,” a student pipes up, making you raise your eyebrows. 

“I’m sure that’s it,” you reply sarcastically, sending the giggling girls outside to their five minute water break before center. 

“It’s really a good thing you’re smart, because your talent does not lie within anything physical,” you tease him. 

“Nothing physical?” he teases back.

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you snort at his innuendo. “But really, if you weren’t so cute doing ballet, it would be painful to watch.”

“You make it look easy.” You blush at his compliment, going to get your own water. He smiles at you, restraining himself from pulling you into a kiss, not wanting to embarrass you in front of your students. 

“I guess I better get back to work,” he says. 

“You’re going back?”

“I took a half hour break from my paperwork,” he admits. “I couldn’t resist seeing you dance.”

You thought your smiler couldn't get any wider, but his comment somehow does. He smiles back, savoring the joy he brings you. He loved seeing you in the studio because of how happy you were when you were dancing, even if it was a simple warm up at the barre. Similarly, his goal was always to bring the same smile to your face with his words. Every time he made you blush or giggle, he’d swear it was the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever beheld, more than any painting in a museum or poem he could read. 

Spencer always made you feel spoiled. His pilgrimage to the studio was just one example of the lengths he’d go for you. You’d scold him, but you knew it was just as much for himself as it was for you. Besides, whenever he’d sense you were going to tell him not to go out of his way to please you, he’d look at you with those eyes that he knew would make you weak in the knees (and the heart).

Ever the gentleman, he checks to make sure the girls are distracted before giving you a quick kiss goodbye. “You're a fantastic teacher,” he says before slipping out the door. “Even for a difficult student like me.” 

“Is Mr. Spencer leaving?” one of the girls asks as they all come in from their break. 

Returning your water to its place by the stereo, you say “Mr. Spencer needs to get back to work.”

“But he’s so funny!” one girl protests. 

“Maybe I can come visit another time,” he says, “once I get some more practice in. Then maybe I can be as good as you all are.”

They wave goodbye as he slips out the door, quickly distracted by the new combination you teach them. 

Coming home that night, you find Spencer is already on the couch. 

“How were the rest of your classes?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

Setting your bag down, you meet him at the couch and sit down. “Pretty good, less entertaining without you as a student.”

He smiles, placing his hand on your thigh. “I went to the bookstore after work.”

“Shocker.”

“I found a history of ballet. Did you know that ballet was originally a display of athleticism?”

“No wonder you’re so bad at it,” you say, causing you both to chuckle at your mean comment. Despite your teasing, his interest in what you love will always warm your heart. 

He closes the book, pulling you closer into a hug. “It’s too bad your time subbing is over.” He traces his thumb along your thigh. “I’ll miss seeing you practice your lessons.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he kisses your forehead. Eyes closing, you feel comfort in his presence. Your mind begins to wander, comparing the comfort of his arms to the feeling you get when you’re dancing. 

“What are you smiling about?” he questions. 

“You.” 

He pulls you up into a kiss. He’s glad you share your life and your art with him. Letting you rest your head on his chest, he feels you fall asleep. He knows you’ll be annoyed that you fell asleep on the couch, but he can’t bring himself to wake you. He picks the book back up, only pausing his reading to look down at the way you smile in your sleep.

[tj-dragonblade]

FLUFFBRUARY 2023: Feb 23, 24, 25, 26

Feb 23 prompts: scrap snack ballet Feb 24 prompts: art needle slip Feb 25 prompts: breathe offer ignite Feb 26 prompts: ice beautiful night

This is fluff in the same way that a microwaved peep is technically still fluff, just. Heated up.

Thanks and shout-outs to @the-cloudy-dreamer for Dream's fashion and makeup inspiration, @lenreli for posting gifs of the exact ensemble I'd decided on for Hob, @quillingwords for a quick spot of Brit-picking re: underwear, @avelera for putting the Tom-Sturridge-kissing-men compilation in front of me again, and the entire Dreamling Nation server for inspirational thirsting over The Rug™️

On AO3 - 1800 words

===== Hob doesn't quite notice, right away, when he gets home.

He registers Dream's presence on the sofa, certainly, offers a cheery "Hello, love!" as he steps inside and shuts the door, slips off his shoes, sets down his messenger bag, but. He has failed to truly look, at first.

"I have been waiting for you, Hob," Dream says, and the languid sultry tone has Hob spinning back in a heartbeat, attention seized.

And then he forgets his own name, just for a second.

Dream is lounging on the sofa like a swooning maiden on her fainting couch, head tipped back along the arm, his own arm thrown artfully over his eyes. He's wearing a very sheer robe, black of course, shot through with glittering diamond-y bits that wink like stars in the overhead light; it's trimmed with iridescent black feathers all along the edges of the sleeves and skirt—and there is a lot of skirt to it, spilling over the sofa, trailing onto the floor, a cascade of see-through night-sky chiffon going everywhere. It hides absolutely nothing of Dream, except where it does, deliberately gathered layers and a belted silk tie draped over his groin as if by happenstance and the rest of his skin gleaming pale and alluring through the gauzy star-strewn fabric. The bony curves of his legs peek in and out among the winding feathery trim and his bare feet are just visible beneath it.

He looks tantalizing, tempting, debauchable and delectable, a veritable vision of carnal promise and Hob can't tear his eyes away.

Dream lowers his arm and raises his head when Hob continues to just stare, and then Hob's transfixed all over again by dramatic eyeliner and smoky eyeshadow, the beautiful silvery blending of the makeup against Dream's pale skin.

He is mouthwatering, and Hob wants.

"I wish to have sex," Dream says then, as if the extended silence means Hob may not have cottoned on to that fact just yet.

"Clearly," Hob croaks, finding his voice at last.

Dream regards him with a bird-like tilt of his head, then smiles, a slow and curling thing that goes straight to Hob's dick. "You are. Pleased, by my attire?" He preens, arching into his reclining posture in a way that makes the light catch every little rainbow thrown off by his robe, moving one knee up so that it just pokes out from the frothy feathery trim, bare and pale and inviting.

Vain creature. Hob loves him so much; he takes a breath, getting a handle on himself as his brain catches up. "Frankly darling, you look a veritable snack."

Okay, maybe the brain isn't quite caught up yet but. Just. Language is a marvelous and ever-evolving thing and he teaches kids, alright, he's gotta stay abreast of modern slang. And sometimes it just. Slips out.

There's a moment where Dream's fine pale brow creases slightly, and he makes the face that Hob has come to associate with sifting through the entirety of the collective subconscious before his expression smooths into understanding, and then slides into something both pleased and sultry. He flows upright and then off the sofa, approaching Hob with a voluptuous sway in his hips, the sheer robe trailing around and after him like smoke and water, like a bridal train. The silk tie still manages to just obscure his groin and the fluffy feathery edging swirls gracefully around his legs, and Hob's mouth has gone very dry as Dream steps right up into his personal space.

Dream lifts one hand, feathery sleeve pooling in the crook of his elbow, and draws a long black nail that's just the safe side of too sharp along Hob's collarbone, over his polo. "Very well," Dream purrs, pushing close, his entire body a hairsbreadth from touching Hob's, and Hob is standing stock still, vehemently turned on. "If I am a 'snack'"—his fingertip slides down, tracing under the edge of Hob's blazer, drawing it open, aside—"then you, Professor Gadling, are an entire. Meal."

His face is tipped up, mouth close enough to Hob's that he can taste the words as Dream finishes speaking; Dream's softly-wandering nail finds a nipple, pebbled up beneath his shirt, and drags over it, catching sweetly.

Pleasure sparks and Hob whines, a high bitten-off sound, listing forward until his mouth touches Dream's. Dream takes it in a wet, open kiss, pushing into him, hot and languid and insistent with his tongue. He's manifested himself a bit shorter than usual, shorter than Hob, and the resulting angle is absolutely exquisite.

Hob's hands settle on Dream's waist, squeeze gently, and the feel of that robe under his fingers is unlike anything he can readily describe. It's solid yet not, clingy yet slippery, sliding easily beneath his clumsy questing touch like water, if water was dry and solid—and he's making no sense, definitely not when most of his brain is occupied by the utterly filthy kissing that Dream is giving him. All the same, he has a brief but vivid flash of sense-imagery, of reclining in bed with Dream sinking down onto his cock and that robe whispering everywhere over his skin, of reaching underneath it to grasp Dream's hips and lift him just enough to thrust—

Dream hums approval of the inadvertently-projected daydream, a sultry drawn-out sound that barely breaks the kiss; his hands move to Hob's belt. He undoes it with sensual ease, and the soft jingle as it falls open ratchets Hob's arousal up another notch. Dream pulls back just a little, nipping at Hob's lower lip as he takes the belt buckle and pulls. The belt slips free with a soft whisper of leather against fabric and Dream tosses it lazily aside.

"Brilliant," Hob mutters, fully onboard with the notion of fewer clothes, shedding his blazer and flinging it aside as well. Dream stops him when he goes next for his polo shirt, lifts the hem himself and skims his long black nails up Hob's stomach, rucking the fabric higher. Hob grabs the back of his collar, pulls it off over his head, and Dream keeps skimming up along both arms until Hob pulls them free and throws the shirt aside.

"You too," Hob gasps, pawing at the front of Dream's robe, caught again by the otherwordly texture of the fabric over Dream's flawless skin before he gets it parted terribly much, and then Dream's nails are raking softly through the hair on his chest, his stomach, distracting him further.

Dream glides back a step, two, vaguely toward the bedroom, drawing Hob after him by hooking a finger in his empty belt loops on either side and tugging. Hob goes willingly, only to fetch up against Dream when he stops again suddenly. "Kiss me," Dream breathes, "as if you would. Consume me." Hob, pent up and aching, slides both hands into Dream's hair, around the back of his neck, and complies.

Dream's hands are at his fly now, slipping free the button and drawing down the zip. It's slow and deliberate, pressing just enough against the hard length within to make Hob's breath catch. Then Dream's pulling his trousers open and reaching in, not to free him any further but to touch, to gently squeeze, to draw one long nail along the length of him still confined in his pants.

Hob tears out of the kiss with a choked-off moan. "Oh—god's bloody wounds, Dream—!" His hands clench in Dream's hair involuntarily, trembling.

Dream's smile curls all around his voice, low and smoky. "You must be. Hungry, Hob, with such a 'snack' before you."

The way he teases is maddening, his hands and his words and his voice; Hob can barely breathe. "Famished. Absolutely ravenous," he gasps out, hips rocking helplessly as Dream strokes up the length of him again.

Dream makes a pleased humming sound and then removes his hand from Hob's trousers, much to Hob's dismay.

Which vanishes quickly, because now Dream is crowded up against him, arms around his neck and hoisting himself lightly up, climbing, bare legs wrapping around Hob and locking behind him, prick hard and distinct against Hob's belly above his open fly. The gauzy robe is falling open everywhere, barely held together by the silk belt anymore, feathers fluttering enticingly against Hob's bare skin as Dream gets a hand on his face; his long nails are careful as they thread into Hob's hair and turn his face up.

"I would not keep you from. Sating, your hunger—" Dream's lips are dancing along Hob's jaw as he speaks, punctuated here with a sharp pull of teeth on Hob's earlobe, and the intimate way he says 'hunger' makes something swoop low in Hob's belly. "Perhaps we should. Adjourn, to the 'dining' room."

"Agreed," Hob gasps, and then Dream is kissing him again. Hob's hands are solidly around Dream's thighs, supporting him while Dream's devouring his mouth, and carrying him to the bedroom even with that distraction will not be a problem except for the miles and miles of starry feathery fabric trailing over the floor ready to trip him up. He shifts his hold, one arm wrapped under Dream's hips and the other working to gather the copious skirts to drape in the crook of his elbow to avoid mishap. And then, just for fun, just to tease, he slips his hand underneath it all—strokes the bare skin of Dream's arse, delves inward, brushes a fingertip over the puckered bud in the center. Dream squirms appreciatively, makes a little wanton sound into Hob's mouth, but Hob—

Hob is losing his mind. Dream usually makes himself ready when he's in the mood he is tonight, manifests his body open and wet and ripe for the taking. Hob was fully expecting to sink a finger into the warm slickness of him, tease him briefly to try to gain back some semblance of an upper hand, but instead he's found him dry, closed, tight.

Waiting to be prepped.

Hob groans, tearing his mouth from Dream's, arousal skyrocketing; preparing Dream, opening him up with his fingers, with his tongue, is one of Hob's absolute favorite things to do to him and it's rare that he will indulge that particular pleasure when Dream is already this worked up. But this—this is an invitation.

"Oh love," he gets out, breathless, so hard it's making him dizzy, "I get to?"

"You named me edible," Dream says, kissing across his chin, abortively rutting the naked length of his prick against the hair on Hob's stomach and clenching his cheeks around Hob's finger still pressed between them. He brings his mouth back to Hob's, breathes into it, "I would have you. Feast."

And so Hob does.

===== Fashion references: Hob Dream

EDIT: Now with amazing art by the fabulous @abyssalcryptid! Please check it out here!

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

[ID: The first image is from Twitter. The original tweet is by @/anaborbareads and says, "a forbidden romance between ballerina and physical therapist???? pls i need this book now (emojis of a pleading face, sparkles, a growing pink heart, and heart hands)" There are two attached images, of the book cover and presumably the two main characters. The book cover is pink. An anatomical heart in the center with flowers growing on one half of it and the title, "The Darkest Corner of the Heart," (by Lisina Coney) overlayed. The two main characters are both white and stereotypically attractive, chests pressed together but both facing the viewer. The woman is wearing a ballet outfit and has her hair up in braid-crown bun. The man is in dark blue scrubs and is much taller and wider than the woman, with her head only coming up to his chest. This tweet has been quote-retweeted by @/h0mmelette, who added, "the booktok genre of forbidden romance is hilarious. they're straight... what's forbidden" There's a reply to this tweet by @/pastoralcomical, saying, "maybe in the universe of the novel physical therapists are second class citizens."

The next image is a reply from @/celinedionysus_ to both h0mmelette and pastoralcomical, saying, "phsyical therapists take vows of chastity."

The next image is a tweet by @/FreddieMurky, saying, "It's not even like 'Oooh, the police chief's daughter and the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks' it's JUST NORMAL / Is he like 'I can't do this! Ballet is bad for your knees!'"

The next image is a compilation of several tweets. The top one is the reply tweet from pastoralcomical about physical therapists being second class citizens. The next tweet is by @/gay_horse420, saying, "She broke someone's legs Tonya Harding style and he broke someone's legs regular style and now they're both on the run." The next tweet is by @/daughter_ion, saying, "who is the illustrator responsible for making every face/person on these booktok covers look like this." The next tweet is by @/femboysimming, saying, "'forbidden romance' and it's just a breach of professionalism." The next tweet is by @/memekriot, saying, "The girl's family is mildly annoyed with the guy, and the guy's homies said pass instead of smash. Straight people forbidden love." The final tweet is by @/beepboopsloane, saying, "physical therapists have to take a vow of celibacy :/"

The next image is a fake page excerpt from the book. "Review copy" is watermarked across the page. It goes:

"I think you've healed my ballet injuries enough for one day," Maddie giggled, smirking. "But I do have one teeny-weeny wittle wound that could use a pounding from your Theragun," she teased. As their lips were about to meet, the physical therapy office door slammed open. There stood Maddie's father, looking furious. "What the hell is this?" "Dad, it's not what it looks like," Maddie stammered, her cheeks burning as bright pink as her tutu. James stood protectively in front of Maddie, his posture tense. "We were just--" "I know what you are..." Mr. Stevens hissed. He slammed James against the Stairmaster "...Balleraggot." James hadn't heard that word in years. He was brought right back to PT academy, to the hate he had faced simply because of who he couldn't help but love. As his head hit the top step of the Stairmaster, he heard all the other familiar slurs, too: nutcracker, chassé chaser, plié-wad, and even tutu-fucker. He collapsed to the ground. "And you..." He turned to his daughter, who'd broken into tears. "Don't think for one fucking second we didn't know. That's right, your mother knew, may she rest in peace. All those years at performing arts high school... any normal daughter would've healed from the occasional sprain. Imagine the shame you brought onto your chemotherapy mother when she had to explain to the Rotary Club why her daughter spent her entire senior year in PT. Throwing herself at every new physical therapist. Imagine the tears in your chemommy's eyes when we heard you in your bedroom, firing up your Theragun for the fifth time on one of her last nights with us." "Leave your daughter alone!" James bellowed, tears streaming down his face as he slowly stood up. "She's hardly my daughter now," Mr. Simmons laughed derisively. "Make me." "Oh, I will." James cocked his Theragun.

The final image is a tumblr tag saying, "happy pride to all the balleraggots." End ID]

i’m lmfao at this shit

[boytouya]

𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩

word count: 1.1k

summary:

↳ You and Kirishima go on a night picnic and think back on your relationship.

warnings: None!

request: “Uhhh could I request a night picnic date with Kirishima? Just stargazing and reminiscing about the fun times you've both had together”

A waft of freshly baked bread overwhelms your nostrils as you take a deep breath. The air is prickly and quick on its feet, carrying motion throughout the seams of your clothes and the tips of your fingers. They stay interlocked with Eijirou’s, his warm palm enveloping yours in the coziest form of hand holding you’ve ever experienced. Although his quirk is quite the opposite, he has rather soft hands.

The basket he holds in the other is brand new, its shaved down wood glows from the moonlight beaming on it. The bread, slightly peeking from the top of the basket, seems to be homemade. You can just barely make out the scored heart shape, but you can tell Kirishima is the one who did it. Maybe not the baking part, but that would be tested based on how it tasted later.

He managed to tuck a blanket under his arm whilst holding the basket, the short sleeve of his button down shirt slightly raised and wrinkled from the strain against the weight in his hand. Eijirou plays it off as, “No big deal! I got it!” and makes a show of activating his quirk.

Just looking at him steals the oxygen straight from your lungs and into the midnight sky, immediately vaporizing into fuel for the greenery and swaying trees framing the night sky. There are so many stars, twinkling in an unsynchronized ballet performance, jittering in just about the same way your heart does.

Kirishima lays out the blanket, checkered with red and white (of course, it makes so much sense and it’s so authentically him)and sits the basket down. You wonder how much preparation and time he took into this, how many nights of sparring with Bakugo turned into baking and cooking for just one special occasion under a blanket of stars, how often he made things with you in mind.

Quite frankly, it is we all the time. Thinking of you put so much weight on his heart, it beared down on his shoulders, so feathery light, and yet somehow still managed to put strain on his posture. He was always so laid back, friends with everyone and likable by definition. Yet there he stood, second guessing his abilities in wooing you.

He lays out the food afterwards, an arrangement of your favorite baked goods, cheeses, meats, and bread splayed out with just enough space for the two of you to sit shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, and, hopefully, heart to heart. Eijirou first got the idea when he was scrolling on TikTok instead of sleeping, a video of a group of teens, just around his age, going out for a picnic and using giant wine glasses to plate cake. That’s what he had first intended to do, but Bakugo, being the secret-romantic that he somehow was, said to do something more personal.

A thin layer of fog, below miscellaneously shaped sized stars, takes its time to pass by and journey beyond the skyline. Eijirou points outward to the sky, proclaiming the shape of the constellations to something like a turkey drumstick with his mouth full of your favorite sweet. Yeah, it was definitely made with someone else’s help.

Your laugh echoes along the trees and bounces into Eijirou’s ears, and he falls harder than he ever thought he could. It’s the perfect sound. Perfect in pitch, perfect in volume. It sounds like a weighted blanket on a lonely body, just as comforting as the rustling leaves that whisper amongst themselves every time the wind goes by. He wants to be stuck there, with you, for the rest of forever. Unfortunately for him, the moment he hears it is the second it’s gone. Straight up and out until you move on to the next topic, talking about how one looks like a bunny, another being a heart.

“Oh! Remember,” Kirishima starts, wiping the crumbs from his face with the back of his hand. It smears some across the expanse of his cheek, and you reach over to wipe it for him. “The time we- Oh, thanks, man!- The time we raced in shopping carts at AEON?”

Of course you do. You remember it like it was yesterday. Denki falling out of a cart, getting sent back to UA and detention for the next couple of months, hearing Bakugou scream when displayed groceries fell on him, the inevitable blast of an explosion straight to your face when you laughed at him for it… All by Eijirou’s side.

Your smiles are almost identical. Wrapped in velvet and nurtured through years of knowing each other, being by the other’s side for as long as you could remember. It only grows larger the more you think about it, the more you think of him. The way his hair is so obnoxiously bright, just like him, the way he gives you a shark-like smile in passing, the way his face melts into the softest expressions when he’s drifting off in class.

Eijirou was quite a simple riddle. Though he had a few twists and turns he was so easy for you to figure out; so welcoming as if wanted to be figured out. To be seen. And you saw him the best, brightest possible light. He had a figurative halo above his head, and whether it matched your own or contrasted your horns (whether you were the devil or the angel on his shoulder), you would stick by him.

“Hey, look! That one kinda looks like you.” He tilts his head to the right, resting his temple on his palm. His voice comes out a bit more breathy than intended, like he was caught mid-daydream.

“No, that’s definitely you!” You tilt your head too, accidentally knocking the top of it against Kirishima’s. The sound of your laughter mixes together in a symphony of chuckles that die down into quiet giggles. Eijirou’s vermillion eyes bore into your own, the shadows of his eyes somehow brightening more than they probably should.

There will always be a place for you, hidden under a swallowed iron key that can only unlock the chambers within his heart. It’s surrounded by gold veins, that pump nothing but love for you throughout his body and into his motives. He hopes you go to bed thinking of him. He hopes you wake thinking of him, and he hopes every time you look at the night sky and see peculiar stars, you see him in them. Just as he does with you.

[secretsniper3]

Part 5: Pain in Pleasure..

Darkness, imobile, constantly cumming with a stomach full of cum I awake in a haze of orgasms and sweat. Even though I just woke up my body is exhausted, wracked with pain due to the constant bondage, the rope biting my flesh with every passing second as tears stain my latex covered cheeks. The words “You are now a Slave, you will Submit as you are now Property” burned clearly through my brain, the voice has stopped speaking but I can still hear its echo in my mind, echoing over and over, repeating as fast as the orgasms I experience every few seconds, how much longer can I last down here.

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

My Master enters the room just as my alarm goes off, my latex covered head raises and my eyes meet his. “Get up, your punishment begins now” he says. Keeping my head low as I get out of bed Im put in a restrictive corset while I wobble in my boots, still locked to my legs, Box glove pinning my arms behind my back tightly and a chain is connected to my ankles, limiting me to quick steps to keep up with my Master. A posture collar locks around my neck and a leash clipped on the front and the plate covering my pussy is removed from my chastity belt, taking out a new covering plate with a long, thin and hollow tube on it. Pushing it slowly up my urethra my Master unscrews the tip and inserts a tube and pumps a pink fluid into my bladder directly, then reinserting the cap, keeping me full of the mystery fluid and a uncomfortable sensation with a severe need to pee.

“Itll take a hour for that to absorb into your system so lets eat.” My Master says as he leads me out of my room and to the dining room, simple cerial to eat and half way through Im greeted with a burning sensation between my legs. Letting out a gasp of arousal my Master smiles, knowing the fluid is doing its job getting me ready for the days ahead, as my Master continues spoon feeding me till Im done then eating his own food. Cleaning up he takes me to the play room and lays me down and locks my legs open, removing his cock he takes my mouth to use, pumping down my throat as hard as he sees fit my tongue curling around his shaft as he continues to thrust into me. Seemingly waiting for the fluid to absorb he continues his assault on me as he grabs my breasts and squeezes them together, mounting my chest he thrusts into my ample clevage and his tip pushing through and cumming on my neck and face, pumping more and more onto me and stepping aside and laughing at how I look “like a true cum slut!” and I know he isnt lying. I am a slut, his slut. A toy for him to use as he sees fit.

Removing my chastity belt and pulling the plug out of my urethra Im amazed when nothing comes out, I was so sure I needed to pee earlier but now, nothing. “all soaked in, now the fun can begin” my Master says as he levels his cock and aims for my target, thrusting hard his cock spears into my pussy and he pumps madly in and out of me, feeling my arousal cresting once more I strain on my bindings as the mounting orgasm rushes forth! “Oh god Master!” is all I say as I close my eyes as my orgasm is only thrusts away. Then nothing happens, my Master pumping constantly into my pussy, my arousal still there and burning hotter than lava, I should be cumming but Im not! Im terrified as my eyes shoot down to my Master as he continues to fuck my denied pussy. Slamming my eyes shut I scream into my mind, ordering my body to cum but it doesnt happen, I feel my pleasure overflowing and still no reward to show for it. Laughing as he fucks my pussy he explains “the chemical i pumped into your body blocks the signal from your brain that makes you cum Slave, like poison, without the antidote youll never cum again!" Screaming out loud this time as my body is denied more orgasms as my pussy drowns in pleasure, my Master pounding hard into my flooding cunt.

Growing tired after his 5th orgasm inside me he turns his attention to a device nearby, shaking uncontrollably I open my eyes to see whats to come next, its the sybian from yesterday! if I were shaking before, Im thrashing now, desperate to close my thighs and deny that cruel device a place on my pussy I scream out “NO NOT THAT!!” and I stop. Realizing that I said a forbidden word, my Master is not happy now. Removing the hollow plastic cock on the device he replaces it with a double pronged metal dildo with large bumps all over it and a red and black wire in the base of both protrusions, pushing them into my pussy and ass I squirm as a long metal tube goes up my urethra and a plastic tube suctioned onto my clit, wires line the inside giving my clit a rough surface to lay against. Clamps on my nipples and a plug-gag are added, ensuring I cant utter another word as he attaches wired pads to my chest, thighs and ass. stepping back I look horrified as he raises the remote and turns the sybian on, instant orgasm were it not for the chemical as my Master cruely raises the speed to add further discomfort as my inserts all start humming wildly inside me.

Continuing to raise the speed my Masters eyes locked on mine as he eventually maxes the device out, lowering 1 remote and grabbing another he smiles as he says “you will now learn that you can never say “No” to your Master!” almost yelling the last 2 words as he presses the button and my body lights up with power as every opening is filled with a violent hum while simultaniously coursing with electricity. Thankful my plug-gag is in place to stop me shattering my teeth my Master returns to my face, hard cock in hand as he removes my plug and rams his member into my empty mouth. The dungeon now filled with buzzing, electricity cracking and gagged moans as my body and mind are tortured for saying “no”.

2 hours pass, 2 whole, slow, agonizing hours of denial hell, my Master has long since left my mouth, but not before dumping a fresh load into my mouth and replugging my face, he now sits in a chair watching my body dancing as best it can while bound strictly, he sips from a cool drink as he drinks in my torment with a smile on his face as he then pours a grey, sloppy fluid from a large bottle into a funnel as he mutters something under his breath. Believing I have learned my lesson my Master presses a button and the electricity tormenting my body stops, forgotten seconds later as my body continues quaking as the vibrations lower to a dim hum. Removing the devices both in and on me my Master then opens the device holding me and raises me up, swapping my box glove restraining my arms with a armbinder he cinches it tight and wraps the straps above and bleow my breasts, confirming my helplessness is ongoing. Leading me to the middle of the room and connecting a chain to the d-ring on the armbinder my Master raises my arms and I lean forward to release the strain on them. raising higher im forced into a tight angle as the muscles in my legs burn in my ballet boots as my Master inserts his cock once again into my pussy, I have given up on cumming at this point as if I could cum, the 2 hours on electric vibration would have seen to it and then some, but having failed to cum in that situation its clearly impossible, the pleasure only continuing to mount higher on my senses, a simple stroke across my breast grants the same response as a brush to my clit.

Giving my pussy 3 loads directly he then pushes into my sore ass and puts another 2 loads. Taking a step back my Master smacks my ass hard, leaving a handprint easily on my left cheek, he turns his attention to my right cheek and repeats, leaving another mark. Turning to a wall, my Master has a wide selection of canes, floggers and whips, taking a leather flogger from the wall my ass recieves 15 smacks per cheek and my eyes water in pain as my pussy burns with unobtainable desire. Turning his attention to my exposed thighs my Master proceeds to swap out for a cane and gives my inner thighs a few taps to make the coming hits more anticipated and pushing a vibrating egg inside my pussy to keep me entertained, slamming hard on my inner leg Im quickly left with multiple welts for my juices to run down over. Slamming against the back of my legs and over my ass I scream out in pain and pleasure as Im oddly aroused by the pain my Master delivers with each blow. After 20 strikes per leg my tears dropping on the floor making a small puddle as the last hit strikes, a cold salve is rubbed against my burning welts by my Masters ever calm hand, rubbing deep into my flesh you feel relieved, the pain is fading fast as the salve does its work on my tender skin. Raising my body up straight Im unbound from the chain and led out to the main hall to a table in the middle of the room.

Instructed to stand still I watch with a look of confusion as my Master shuffles a table off a small carpet and then moves the carpet to reveal a hatch in the floor. I never knew there was a hatch but then again I have never seen that table moved since my first day here, opening the hatch my Master calls me over and I peer inside, the posture collar demanding I lean forward at the hip. I see a box, its not small by any means but its still tightly wedged in the floor, removing it would take time, listening close I can hear moans and a strong buzzing coming from the box, looking at my Master he smiles. “you will find out tomorrow my dear” he says as he closes the hatch and puts the carpet and table back on top of the hatch, hiding it from view completly as he fiddles with a tube ensuring its exposed slightly. whoever is inside, Im curious as to who it is and how long they have been in the box. Standing beside me my Master grabs my firm, welted ass as he squeezes and chuckles, causing me to giggle like a schoolgirl, my plug-gag is removed and Im taken to the dining room for lunch, armbinder removed, clearly not interested in hand feeding me a second time today Im free to move around and I make a sandwich your both me and my Master as Im told and sit to eat. Absentmindedly moving a hand to rub my pussy I hear my Master clear his throat, snapping me out of my daze as I catch my hand doing its best to pleasure me.

Taking me back to my room Im stripped of my clothes and boots, gasping as my bare feet find solid ground and almost drop to massage my tortured toes. A black latex bodysuit is pulled from my wardrobe and thrown to my bed and Im ordered to put it on, being told to use my own juices as lubricant to assist as needed. A latex hood with only nose holes is removed followed by a latex armbinder, corset, heels and vacbed, all placed on the bed beside me as he turns to help me get dressed. Putting the latex bodysuit on was easy enough, Master was right, pussy juice made for good lubricant to slide in easier, zipping it up its followed by my corset, pulled tight by my Master. Hood followed and then heels and armbinder, standing me up on my feet I wait as he sets up my bed, and lays me down once its set and Im covered in the top latex sheet with my legs opened by his hand, gap over my nose is all I need as my Master turns the attached pumps on, seconds later all the air is sucked out of my latex prison and my Master takes a few seconds to look at my body.

Grabbing some latex polish my Master then covers my latex and rubs me all over, no doubt to make me a shiny latex effigy I feel something press against my pussy and I take a quick breath in. Having made sure it was secure and would not shift away from my clit, my Master turns my hitachi on medium speed and holds my nose, blocking my air as I thrust my hips against the stimulation, thrusting harder as my brain screams for fresh air my face would be almost blue if I could see it and my Master releases my nose and I suck air in as my body shakes in a denial blitz, my orgasm still unobtainable.

“Today has been fun Slave, you took alot of my cum, tomorrow ill have someone suck it out” my Master says, barely audible as he turns my light off and leaves me to squirm in your latex prison with a Hitachi buzzing on my clit.

[rylandfalkov]

Ryland’s Dark & Light Show

Performed at Succulent Tart’s Dark & Light Show on May 15th, 2021

Near the back of the platform, a few, large practice mirrors shimmer into existence facing out towards the crowd. Ryland enters from one side: tight white shirt, tight black pants, towel draped about his neck, and a sheen of sweat covering bare flesh as if he had just finished a performance and is now headed onto this makeshift ‘backstage’. A cheeky smirk graces his lips and he looks to be in good spirits as he offers a final wave towards the audience from whom he had just departed. Now ‘backstage’ and alone, the expression dims into something more melancholic in nature. With a silent sigh, he removes the towel to wipe his face clean.

The first inconsistent movement of Ryland’s reflection is barely noticeable, but it’s just enough to make one consider that their mind is playing tricks on them. A sudden tensing of the reflection’s biceps, as if it’s trying to fight against this gesture. With his back to the mirror, it goes unnoticed by the performer.

The following discrepancy is much more obvious. Ryland tosses his towel off to the side, but his reflection halts mid-throw and the towel slips to the ground by its feet. It then clenches its jittery hand into a fist, resisting the urge to mimic its real world counterpart. With a snap of its fingers, the backstage lights flicker just enough to completely engulf both Ryland and reflection in absolute darkness for a split second. When the flickering light ceases, Ryland’s reflection has resumed his mirror image but is now donning a black shirt.

Ryland whirls around to face the mirror and freezes in place, the confusion on his face is perfectly imitated by the reflection’s. There’s a moment of hesitation, but soon the confusion gives way to curiosity and he approaches. He extends a hand and presses it flush against the smooth surface as his gaze shifts between his own white shirt and the reflection’s black shirt. With Ryland’s focus elsewhere, the reflection raises its glare to peer out towards the audience, an ominous grin spreading over pouty lips.

The reflection’s fingers nimbly press through the glass, as if they are penetrating the surface of still water. Before Ryland has a chance to react, the reflection already has their hands clamped and fingers tightly laced together, now attempting to YANK Ryland inside with them. 

He is pulled in up to his shoulder before the remainder of his body slams into the mirror’s surface with a dull thud. In retaliation, Ryland jerks his arm back with all of his might, using the mirror as leverage. With both hands clasped around Ryland’s, the reflection is forcefully torn free from the confines of its glass prison, leapfrogging over his head in a high-flying straddle split as it releases the half-elf’s hands. Upon landing, the reflection crumples down into a forward roll after which it sprawls into a heap at the front of the stage.

Ryland stares in apprehension as his escaped reflection now writhes on the floor. With shoulders hunched and fingers curled like claws, its movements are disjointed and shaky as it contorts itself into a tense crouch. There’s an eerie, yet menacing feel to not only its body language, but to the slightly maniacal expression as well while eyeballing the audience.

He cautiously approaches from behind and delicately slips a hand overtop of the reflection’s shoulders. Baring its teeth in a subdued snarl, the reflection quickly snatches Ryland’s wrist and tries to drag him down. Bracing his free palm against the reflection’s opposite shoulder, Ryland kicks up into a handstand before arching his back and effortlessly lowering one pointed foot down towards the ground in front of the reflection all while still trying to twist his arm free. His foot touches the stage, leaving Ryland in an over-extended front split and back bridged to the extreme, showcasing the full control he has over both flexibility and strength.

With an abrupt wrench to his captured wrist, Ryland collapses and is laid out onto his back as the reflection skitters away. Swinging his legs back, a no-handed kip-up gets Ryland to his feet where he is immediately met with his reflection’s hands creeping inwards from around the sides of his mouth in an attempt to silence him. There’s a grit in his teeth as Ryland seizes the wrists of his assailant and slides to one side to tear himself free from its weak grip. With a swift, downwards tug to one of its arms, the reflection flips over and stiffly lands smack on its back.

Ryland’s reflection mimics his earlier motions and performs the same, if not slightly less elegant, kip-up. At the same time, Ryland retreats across the stage, vaulting himself into a triple tour en l’air; gracefully spinning three times midair before landing on both feet. His reflection trails in his wake; the sporadic movements unnatural and unsettling as it crawls across the stage. Meanwhile, Ryland’s balletic dance flows continuously with flawless ease and finesse as one move transitions fluidly into the next. The disparity between the two is now all the more prevalent when separated.

Now face to face with their profiles to the audience, the two regard each other from a brief distance. In a moment of insight, Ryland pinches his own arm, causing the reflection to flinch and hiss, but also straighten its posture. Another pinch is delivered to his opposite arm and again the reflection flinches, but this time it falls in line with Ryland’s gestures and resumes imitating him as if placed back within the mirror. 

The two watch each other intensely and extend hands to touch palms; turning their heads one way and then another, still in unison. They push up onto their toes, lifting and bending their knees closest to the audience before raising those bent legs. Toes point up towards the sky until both are in a perfect, full vertical split. The stance is held for a few seconds before the two tilt their torsos to the side and turn to break away from one another. A few large steps are taken as prep before both leap into a soaring 540 jump, sweeping the take-off leg in a wide arc through the air while rotating around before landing on that same leg.

Before Ryland even has a chance to catch his breath, the reflection whips around with a growl and sprints towards its counterpart. It leaps high into the air, high enough to easily clear their own height: arms raised with hands shaped into claws and legs tucked into a diamond position. Ryland turns to notice at the last moment and stumbles, falling backwards just as the reflection’s feet land with a loud SLAM on either side of Ryland’s supine state.

The reflection hunches over Ryland, fingers plucking at the man’s cheeks and bare arms while he struggles to escape, but the half-elf appears to be growing weary. With teeth bared and eyes wild, the reflection silently screams in Ryland’s face before it hoists him into a fireman’s carry and hauls him over to the mirror.

Ryland continues to put up a fight, although it appears to be a losing battle. He’s set on his feet with his back to the mirror, and the moment he tries to break free, the reflection pinches its own arm just as Ryland had done earlier. He immediately recoils and is stopped in his tracks, seemingly unable to move. The reflection slams a fist against its own chest and Ryland’s body convulses with the pain. With two extended fingers pressed to Ryland’s forehead, the reflection gives him a nudge, causing the man to waver on his feet then totter back and through the mirror. 

He immediately panics and begins pounding on the inside of the mirror, his shouting completely inaudible to those outside of it. The freed reflection clenches its fist and snaps its fingers, causing the lights to flicker once more and engulf the duo in darkness for a split second. When the flickering ceases, Ryland’s once white shirt is now black to match that of his reflection’s, and also appears to now be the one mirroring movements. The two stare at each other through the mirror, grin that sinister grin, and bow. In perfect unison.

[valley0fstorms]

Vil and Epel's relationship

Obligatory preface that this takes all canon info, is not biased to any of my own personal beliefs, and is not related to any type of ship

To quote my notes doc title

"I just hate seeing people misinterprete their relationship"

Epel and Vil have always had an interesting relationship, and they could be considered foils to each other. They point out the other's flaws and other characteristics about them by essense of simply being opposites forced to interact with each other.

Now, to start off lets begin with getting one thing straight; Of everything read to write this, only 2 have a set time point, Epel's robe SR and Pomefiore Chapter, pomefiore being in the middle of the term and Epel's robe SR that night after the entrance ceremony. The timing of the Robe SR is cruicial, as it is the 1st or 2nd time Vil and Epel actually interact with each other. In this story, Vil infamously crushes Epel's head in his hand due to lack of manners, yes. He has Epel fix his posture, way of speaking, and table manners forcefuly. A lovely first impression, I'm sure. Vil is known to be strict, not as much so as Riddle pre-OB perhaps, but still strict.

Now, jumping elsewhere, Vil knows quite well of Epel's want to leave Pomefiore and join a different dorm, as shown by his comment to him in Jade's dorm SSR story refering to the matter of dorm changes.

And speaking of Jade's ssr, in that same story we see that Vil has no issue simply throwing Jade under Epel's watch. Vil does this a lot, he often makes Epel suddenly do things with 0 input from Epel. Another example of this would be his forced ballet lessons in Pomefiore chapter. Vil made Epel do a completely different course from the other participants in their group, not allowing Epel any say in this matter, though he had reason for this, The reason being: Epel is too focused on not wanting to do the "girly things" Vil is having them do, as well as Epel in general being a bit off from the rest of the group, and as such Vil thought the best way to remedy this was ballet lessons.

Now, there is one simply yet big fact you must understand about Vil and Epel:

Epel is focused on gender roles, specifically masculinity. He wants to do "boy things" and dislikes "girl things." Meanwhile, Vil breaks gender roles, stating there is no such thing as boy or girl things

Vil does entertain Epel's wants of being more like Vargas or Jack, sometimes. He explained to Epel a very important side effect of a transfirmation potion, the pain it would cause Epel if he used one, going as far as to say that potions aren't the way to getting what he wants.

And on the note of Epel getting what he wants, Vil did tell him from day one that if he wanted to act like how he wanted, he first would have to focus on his strength and beauty, or at least Pomefiore's definition of strength and beauty

And yet.. Epel doesn't seem to listen

It seems as if everything Vil says to Epel goes in one ear out the other, and he's had to tell Epel the same things, give the same lessons, over and over again, but Epel never improves or listens

The reason Epel never improves? He doesn't know what Vil wants him to do

Vil never explains what Epel needs to do to meet his standards, he only tells Epel what he is doing wrong, never how to fix it. He points out flaws but never gives any *helpful* advice in how to get better. Would he explain better if Epel asked questions? Maybe. Does epel ask? No

Now, quickly going onto some positives in their relationship

Vil does, in fact, acknowledge when Epel does good at something, he does acknowledge his successes, and even if he doesn't exactly like the methods Epel has taken, he still will thank him

And then on Epel's part, Epel was willing to fight for Vil, whether it a savanaclaw student in Rook's SSR or a magicamonster in the Halloween event, he was ready to fight for Vil.

Now, these two have a very complicated relationship; Sometimes Vil sees him as a tool to use against Neige, sometimes as a student in his dorm he is somewhat fond of, despite their many quarrels. Its hard to pin down exactly what their relationship is at the moment

Also, the "Epel abuse" as I like to call it only ever occurs in his SR robe story, which as i mentioned before is one of their very first interactions. At no point outside of that has Vil "abused" Epel, the closest he's done would have to be their fights when both get fed up, which usually are provoked by Epel himself out of frustration and "refusal" to listen. Vil is using Epel for his own gain(atm at least) and is incredibly strict, yes, but he isn't abusive

At time of writing, we are only half way through the pomefiore chapter, and as such, we can only wait and see what Yana has in store for us with these two, With time their relationship may get better, but for now, lets leave it at this:

They're opposites; in personality, background, mannerisms, all of it. For them to clash is expected, they're supposed to bring out the traits of one another, and their relationship is as complicated as a real one. They feel human, like you could know two people like them irl

[softlyjiminie]

black swan [series teaser.]

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights... what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read! heavy angst, jimin is a bit of a mess tbh, mentions of injuries, arguments, reader and jimin never get along, love...square?, emotinal distress, eventual smut. for future reference, i’ll tag each chapter with its own individual warnings!

⇢ author’s note(s): eeeeeeee!! my darlings i’m so excited to announce my first proper multichapter fic! black swan!! i’ve had this idea since around the time of map of the soul: seven’s release and have been planning and writing viciously since april !! im so excited to share this with you guys and hope you enjoy it. the first chapter will be released 18/07/2020! please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list ( by comment, ask or dm!) or you can add yourself here!

“c’mon now jimin...”

“shit, hoseok... you’re supposed to be helping me— not setting up for failure by partnering me with a skater who’ll ruin my fucking career!”

you frown, the word partner rising in the conversation for a second time. you whisper the offending word before you can even realise, saying it more so to yourself than anyone else— but when park jimin turns to you, cheeks red and contrasting with the blue of his hair, slender fingers raised to point at you accusingly— you realise you might have said it louder than you initially planned. you blink, body shuddering with nerves as if a cold sweep has engulfed your small body— but it’s an uncomfortable cold, nothing like the chill when you hit the ice for an early morning practice with taehyung, shavings from your skates against the smooth surface flying up and brushing against your lower legs.

it was nothing like that.

the dancer himself approaches you and there is no calm before the storm, you notice the vein in his neck bulging and the defensive way yoongi slightly steps in front of you. “you,” jimin seethes, brows pushed together handsomely...you hate how attractive he looks even when being completely pissed at you but you hate yourself more for even finding him attractive when he’s talking to you in such a way. the dancer turns to hoseok, letting a cool laugh slip from between his lips, to the point where it’s almost eerily chilly. “this, this is supposed to save my career? of fucking course.”

feeling your own anger rise up, you could tolerate him being mad about his own career, but doubting your talents was a completely different thing. especially since he had no clue of who you were. pushing the offended finger out of your face, you square your shoulders and push your chin up to broaden your stance, you may be small— but with many years of training around boys like jimin, you had developed your own way of intimidating them.

“firstly, jimin...” you say with a condescending tone, watching as his facial expression morphs into one shock. you manage to catch a glimpse of it before he goes back to sneering at you. “i’m a person, not a this or a that— don’t they teach you manners here is or is being rude just part of the job?” you bite, the corner of your lips twitching up into a subtle smile, knowing that you’ve snagged him there. the dancer shifts uncomfortably under your annoyed gaze. the other men in the room remain silent, but of course they’re eyes are still trained on you. “secondly, i never asked to be your partner, i didn’t even know i was going to be your partner— all i’m here for is some physical therapy which now, unfortunatley has to be along side your disrespectful ass!”

you can’t help but spit the last of your words, pushing him by the shoulder ever so slightly and making him wobble on his feet. you’re jet lagged, your leg is starting to get sore and all you want is to order yourself a load of room service and sleep the stress of flying off, but instead you’re stuck here in a fancy set of offices, scolding a grown man like he’s a teenager.  the aforementioned male scans the room with honey brown eyes, scoffing when everyone is rendered silent before straightening his posture and giving you a look that would have sent you five feet under if it could.

⇢ author’s note(s): i hope you’re as excited as i am!! feedback is greatly appreciated and i hope to see you in a few weeks!!

[secretsniper2]

Part 5: Pain in Pleasure..

Darkness, immobile, constantly cumming with a stomach full of cum I awake in a haze of orgasms and sweat. Even though I just woke up my body is exhausted, wracked with pain due to the constant bondage, the rope biting my flesh with every passing second as tears stain my latex covered cheeks. The words “You are now a Slave, you will Submit as you are now Property” burned clearly through my brain, the voice has stopped speaking but I can still hear its echo in my mind, echoing over and over, repeating as fast as the orgasms I experience every few seconds, how much longer can I last down here.

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

My Master enters the room just as my alarm goes off, my latex covered head raises and my eyes meet his. “Get up, your punishment begins now” he says. Keeping my head low as I get out of bed Im put in a restrictive corset while I wobble in my boots, still locked to my legs, Box glove pinning my arms behind my back tightly and a chain is connected to my ankles, limiting me to quick steps to keep up with my Master. A posture collar locks around my neck and a leash clipped on the front and the plate covering my pussy is removed from my chastity belt, taking out a new covering plate with a long, thin and hollow tube on it. Pushing it slowly up my urethra my Master unscrews the tip and inserts a tube and pumps a pink fluid into my bladder directly, then reinserting the cap, keeping me full of the mystery fluid and a uncomfortable sensation with a severe need to pee.

“Itll take a hour for that to absorb into your system so lets eat.” My Master says as he leads me out of my room and to the dining room, simple cereal to eat and half way through Im greeted with a burning sensation between my legs. Letting out a gasp of arousal my Master smiles, knowing the fluid is doing its job getting me ready for the days ahead, as my Master continues spoon feeding me till Im done then eating his own food. Cleaning up he takes me to the play room and lays me down and locks my legs open, removing his cock he takes my mouth to use, pumping down my throat as hard as he sees fit my tongue curling around his shaft as he continues to thrust into me. Seemingly waiting for the fluid to absorb he continues his assault on me as he grabs my breasts and squeezes them together, mounting my chest he thrusts into my ample cleavage and his tip pushing through and cumming on my neck and face, pumping more and more onto me and stepping aside and laughing at how I look “like a true cum slut!” and I know he isnt lying. I am a slut, his slut. A toy for him to use as he sees fit.

Removing my chastity belt and pulling the plug out of my urethra Im amazed when nothing comes out, I was so sure I needed to pee earlier but now, nothing. “all soaked in, now the fun can begin” my Master says as he levels his cock and aims for my target, thrusting hard his cock spears into my pussy and he pumps madly in and out of me, feeling my arousal cresting once more I strain on my bindings as the mounting orgasm rushes forth! “Oh god Master!” is all I say as I close my eyes as my orgasm is only thrusts away. Then nothing happens, my Master pumping constantly into my pussy, my arousal still there and burning hotter than lava, I should be cumming but Im not! Im terrified as my eyes shoot down to my Master as he continues to fuck my denied pussy. Slamming my eyes shut I scream into my mind, ordering my body to cum but it doesn't happen, I feel my pleasure overflowing and still no reward to show for it. Laughing as he fucks my pussy he explains “the chemical i pumped into your body blocks the signal from your brain that makes you cum Slave, like poison, without the antidote youll never cum again!" Screaming out loud this time as my body is denied more orgasms as my pussy drowns in pleasure, my Master pounding hard into my flooding cunt.

Growing tired after his 5th orgasm inside me he turns his attention to a device nearby, shaking uncontrollably I open my eyes to see whats to come next, its the sybian from yesterday! if I were shaking before, Im thrashing now, desperate to close my thighs and deny that cruel device a place on my pussy I scream out “NO NOT THAT!!” and I stop. Realizing that I said a forbidden word, my Master is not happy now. Removing the hollow plastic cock on the device he replaces it with a double pronged metal dildo with large bumps all over it and a red and black wire in the base of both protrusions, pushing them into my pussy and ass I squirm as a long metal tube goes up my urethra and a plastic tube suctioned onto my clit, wires line the inside giving my clit a rough surface to lay against. Clamps on my nipples and a plug-gag are added, ensuring I cant utter another word as he attaches wired pads to my chest, thighs and ass. stepping back I look horrified as he raises the remote and turns the sybian on, instant orgasm were it not for the chemical as my Master cruelly raises the speed to add further discomfort as my inserts all start humming wildly inside me.

Continuing to raise the speed my Masters eyes locked on mine as he eventually maxes the device out, lowering 1 remote and grabbing another he smiles as he says “you will now learn that you can never say “No” to your Master!” almost yelling the last 2 words as he presses the button and my body lights up with power as every opening is filled with a violent hum while simultaneously coursing with electricity. Thankful my plug-gag is in place to stop me shattering my teeth my Master returns to my face, hard cock in hand as he removes my plug and rams his member into my empty mouth. The dungeon now filled with buzzing, electricity cracking and gagged moans as my body and mind are tortured for saying “no”.

2 hours pass, 2 whole, slow, agonizing hours of denial hell, my Master has long since left my mouth, but not before dumping a fresh load into my mouth and replugging my face, he now sits in a chair watching my body dancing as best it can while bound strictly, he sips from a cool drink as he drinks in my torment with a smile on his face as he then pours a grey, sloppy fluid from a large bottle into a funnel as he mutters something under his breath. Believing I have learned my lesson my Master presses a button and the electricity tormenting my body stops, forgotten seconds later as my body continues quaking as the vibrations lower to a dim hum. Removing the devices both in and on me my Master then opens the device holding me and raises me up, swapping my box glove restraining my arms with a armbinder he cinches it tight and wraps the straps above and below my breasts, confirming my helplessness is ongoing. Leading me to the middle of the room and connecting a chain to the d-ring on the armbinder my Master raises my arms and I lean forward to release the strain on them. raising higher im forced into a tight angle as the muscles in my legs burn in my ballet boots as my Master inserts his cock once again into my pussy, I have given up on cumming at this point as if I could cum, the 2 hours on electric vibration would have seen to it and then some, but having failed to cum in that situation its clearly impossible, the pleasure only continuing to mount higher on my senses, a simple stroke across my breast grants the same response as a brush to my clit.

Giving my pussy 3 loads directly he then pushes into my sore ass and puts another 2 loads. Taking a step back my Master smacks my ass hard, leaving a handprint easily on my left cheek, he turns his attention to my right cheek and repeats, leaving another mark. Turning to a wall, my Master has a wide selection of canes, floggers and whips, taking a leather flogger from the wall my ass receives 15 smacks per cheek and my eyes water in pain as my pussy burns with unobtainable desire. Turning his attention to my exposed thighs my Master proceeds to swap out for a cane and gives my inner thighs a few taps to make the coming hits more anticipated and pushing a vibrating egg inside my pussy to keep me entertained, slamming hard on my inner leg Im quickly left with multiple welts for my juices to run down over. Slamming against the back of my legs and over my ass I scream out in pain and pleasure as Im oddly aroused by the pain my Master delivers with each blow. After 20 strikes per leg my tears dropping on the floor making a small puddle as the last hit strikes, a cold salve is rubbed against my burning welts by my Masters ever calm hand, rubbing deep into my flesh you feel relieved, the pain is fading fast as the salve does its work on my tender skin. Raising my body up straight Im unbound from the chain and led out to the main hall to a table in the middle of the room.

Instructed to stand still I watch with a look of confusion as my Master shuffles a table off a small carpet and then moves the carpet to reveal a hatch in the floor. I never knew there was a hatch but then again I have never seen that table moved since my first day here, opening the hatch my Master calls me over and I peer inside, the posture collar demanding I lean forward at the hip. I see a box, its not small by any means but its still tightly wedged in the floor, removing it would take time, listening close I can hear moans and a strong buzzing coming from the box, looking at my Master he smiles. “you will find out tomorrow my dear” he says as he closes the hatch and puts the carpet and table back on top of the hatch, hiding it from view completely as he fiddles with a tube ensuring its exposed slightly. whoever is inside, Im curious as to who it is and how long they have been in the box. Standing beside me my Master grabs my firm, welted ass as he squeezes and chuckles, causing me to giggle like a schoolgirl, my plug-gag is removed and Im taken to the dining room for lunch, armbinder removed, clearly not interested in hand feeding me a second time today Im free to move around and I make a sandwich your both me and my Master as Im told and sit to eat. Absentmindedly moving a hand to rub my pussy I hear my Master clear his throat, snapping me out of my daze as I catch my hand doing its best to pleasure me.

Taking me back to my room Im stripped of my clothes and boots, gasping as my bare feet find solid ground and almost drop to massage my tortured toes. A black latex bodysuit is pulled from my wardrobe and thrown to my bed and Im ordered to put it on, being told to use my own juices as lubricant to assist as needed. A latex hood with only nose holes is removed followed by a latex armbinder, corset, heels and vacbed, all placed on the bed beside me as he turns to help me get dressed. Putting the latex bodysuit on was easy enough, Master was right, pussy juice made for good lubricant to slide in easier, zipping it up its followed by my corset, pulled tight by my Master. Hood followed and then heels and armbinder, standing me up on my feet I wait as he sets up my bed, and lays me down once its set and Im covered in the top latex sheet with my legs opened by his hand, gap over my nose is all I need as my Master turns the attached pumps on, seconds later all the air is sucked out of my latex prison and my Master takes a few seconds to look at my body.

Grabbing some latex polish my Master then covers my latex and rubs me all over, no doubt to make me a shiny latex effigy I feel something press against my pussy and I take a quick breath in. Having made sure it was secure and would not shift away from my clit, my Master turns my Hitachi on medium speed and holds my nose, blocking my air as I thrust my hips against the stimulation, thrusting harder as my brain screams for fresh air my face would be almost blue if I could see it and my Master releases my nose and I suck air in as my body shakes in a denial blitz, my orgasm still unobtainable.

“Today has been fun Slave, you took alot of my cum, tomorrow ill have someone suck it out” my Master says, barely audible as he turns my light off and leaves me to squirm in your latex prison with a Hitachi buzzing on my clit.

[macaroni-rascal]

Konner, can you wax poetic about VM's lines and posture? I've no knowledge of skating, just a response to the art and beauty they create, but I hear they were exceptional... Thank you.

Okay! So, there are certain things that Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir do better than anyone else in ice dance: expression, versatility, commitment to character, lifts, the list goes on…but on the top of that pile, are their lines and their posture. 

They are quite simply unparalleled.

This goes back, I think most clearly, to Tessa’s training as a ballet dancer, she learned about how to hold herself, the stretch, turn out, extension, and holding the right kind of tension at the right moments. Scott was always amazing on his feet and with his knees and hips, and as consequence learned to match Tessa perfectly.

Even as children, they just matched well:

Their past coaches have talked about it before, how they just had this innate ability to both match each other, feel music, get in sync, etc. Even here, you can see their stroking is a full movement, they end it completely and turn their feet out together. The are upright and not leaning too far forward. When watching skaters do crossovers/cross cuts its so clear who is pushing with their legs and who is pumping with their whole body because they will lean forward and bob up and down. 

An incredibly telling program was Try from Stars on Ice. Having vm next to weapo will always highlight everything that vm do exceptionally well. For example, look at the difference between the two moves here: 

Scott holds Tessa around her middle just like Andrew does, except Andrew brings the whole side of his body down and curls into Kaytlin, whereas Scott has his chest open and his shoulders and back straight, its one full movement through his body switching from arm to arm, while Andrew is making two clear movement. Tessa, while she lets her body fall, is still very clearly holding tension. Her shoulders come back and fit against Scott, opening her whole chest and shoulders as her neck curls up with her, again one whole movement. If you look at Kaitlyn in comparison, her shoulders remain round and hunched and her head never comes up to follow through with the movement, and again, its two different moves she’s performing, not one fluid piece as Tessa does.

I think the rhumba the olympic year was a beautiful gift for them, as it showed exactly what they are so strong with: deep edges, lean, postures, and lines:

The stretch of their legs, the angle of their blades is completely perfect, you could probably bring out a protractor and measure and they’d be identical. Their upper bodies are rigid and all their power is coming from the hips down. Scott has an open chest, strong frame for the dance hold and Tessa compliments him to perfection, her arm is outstretched right to her fingertips.

I think one that helped them so much as well, is that they came up in ice dance when holds were still very important and most of the step sequences were completely done in hold. Not to mention compulsory dances which helped them immensely to work constantly and consistently on the basics. 

As teens, with amazingly deep edges, wonderful lean, huge ice coverage, matching lines, and a strong dance hold doing a relatively simple compulsory dance:

As they grew, they talked about wanting to get more speed and power, but they had to remain in close dance hold, so they worked at keeping their holds strong, but also getting deep edges, clean turns, and speed:

I think Umbrellas of Cherbourg is the perfect showing of everything they do well, it really exemplifies their strengths. Look how they weave in and out of dance hold so seamlessly while also looking at what their feet are doing, how they step in time with each other, always curving on the ice, changing directions, changing speed, keeping their toes turn out and pointed, keeping flow while their upper bodies remain so wonderfully upright.

The step sequences in this free dance are some of the best ice dancing the world has ever seen, its no wonder they completely burst onto the scene at this worlds, they just brought something the other teams were not doing, and certainly not doing nearly as well.

They have clean lines mid lift:

Certainly during the lift:

And, of course, always in hold in step sequences and dance patterns:

I am forever happy that they worked so hard on the minute details of their skating, extending and dancing from their finger tips down to their toes, holding posture and having strong frames all throughout their programs, whether competitively or in exhibition. 

I could wax poetic longer, but tumblr only allows for a maximum of ten photos/gifs on one post. Here are some other places you can cry/enjoy their lines and posture. Also, highly recommend the tango romantica from the olympics in 2010, they added extra arm movements and leg movements to increase difficulty, show off their lines, and be all around legends. Its a favourite to watch. The argentine tango, from 2008 worlds is also mind-mindbogglingly good. And finally the golden waltz both from 2010 worlds and their 2011 short dance is some of the most pristine skating ever beheld. 

Hope this shook your tambourine, anon. It was fun!

[drarryangels]

Dancer Drarry

<3

Harry

Could boys be beautiful? Not like this, Harry thought. 

He wasn’t in denial, he knew he was bisexual. He had known it since he was ten years old, but this was different. This wasn’t a matter of simply liking a boy. 

Harry had never seen anyone like him. 

Harry walks into the studio he’s danced at since he was young as he does every day. It’s just a normal day, nothing new, nothing special. He nods to several dance instructors clustered happily, chatting about new choreography and the best stretches to do before leaps and turns. 

Harry smiles slightly before he slips into a studio in the back, not bothering to check the reservation times. He always uses this space, back where there’s no mirrors into the main lobby. He doesn’t like to be watched when he dances. Dancing is for him and for him alone. He doesn’t do it for anyone else. 

So when Harry looks up and sees someone already occupying his space, he is beyond shocked. He’s never seen this boy before, although he’s clearly doing ballet. Harry’s mouth drops open. 

There is too much of this boy to absorb all at once. Harry’s eyes widen as he watches the boy. 

Long legs whirl out around him, high and curved elegantly. He’s on pointe. Stunning. It’s rare for a male ballerina to go on pointe unless it’s required for a certain role, and very rare for a boy to look so practiced on pointe as this one does. As if he does it all the time. The lines of his body are straight and elegant. His black tights leave absolutely nothing to the imagination and Harry can see every muscle standing and shifting as the boy glides from one position to the next. 

He’s wearing a muscle tank, but Harry can see the tension in his ribs and core through the gaping arm holes. Harry’s breath gushes out of him when the boy leaps. It’s as if time has slowed just for the boy as he gloats across air particles. 

Pointe, pointe, flat, leap. He transitions seamlessly. 

The music flows as if the boy is directing it, his movements the baton of a conductor. 

Blonde hair splays out across his face, waves sticking to his cheeks and the back of his neck. Half closed eyes peek out from his tilted head. Lovely. 

The light is not inspiring in this space. It’s simply a practice studio, and classical violin music vibrates roughly out of a well used speaker. The floor is scratched, but his feet are narrow, and his shoes velvet. The room smells like music, dust, and sweat, just as it always does. 

He moves sensually, not sexually. He doesn’t see Harry, but he dances as if for an audience. A way in which Harry has never danced. Like the world is watching and waiting for only this story that he has to tell. 

Grace, heartbreak, and hope. 

Draco

Draco hardly notices when the door opens. He hears it, but he ignores it. It took him years to perfect this dance, and months after the injury to find this rhythm again. Now, no matter what, he’s not stopping this dance. Not for another dancer, not for a janitor, not even for the owner of this studio. 

He found it. Finally. The dips and falls of this piece. This ballet. He hadn’t understood what his instructor had once tried to tell him. That in order to dance this ballet, you had to perform it. He hadn’t understood it because he had had no story to tell. But now he did. 

So he dances. 

He lets the music flow and swell in him, finding his place in it. He never follows the music, he has to be a part of it. 

He finishes the piece with a carefully arched back, one hand reaching for the sky, and the other for the ground. As if he were reaching for heaven and hell. 

Draco hears a scuffle and his eyes snap open. 

There’s a boy standing in the doorway, his mouth open and his eyes wide and glassy. Dark hair halos around his head, colliding with the dark red of his cheeks and too bright green of his eyes. Draco’s heart thuds painfully. Adorably awestruck. 

Draco stands quickly and shuffles towards his water bottle awkwardly. Pointe shoes are terribly awful to walk in. 

“Hello?” Draco says after he’s had a long drink of water, his breath still coming out in short gasps. A sheen of sweat covers his whole body, and Draco sweeps a pale hand across his face, trying to eradicate some of the shininess. 

“Hi,” the boy stumbles out, reaching forward to shake Draco’s hand. “Sorry I didn’t mean to burst in on you. I didn’t think to check the occupancy. Usually this studio is open.”

“My apologies,” Draco says, shaking the boy’s hand. 

“No, mine,” the boy smiles. Draco’s heart stops in his chest. Beautiful, he thinks. 

“I’m Harry,” he says, the smile still on his face. 

“Draco,” he says, letting slip a small smile of his own.

“Your dancing is...” Harry stops for a moment. “Stunning.”

Surprise strikes through Draco. No one has ever said something so kind about his dancing. Or him, for that matter.

“Thank you.” Color blushes up Draco’s cheeks against his will. “Do you do ballet?”

Harry shrugs lightly. “I took it when I was younger, and still do some classes now when I have time. But no, not usually.”

“So what do you do?” Draco looks Harry over curiously. 

Harry has the lean build of a dancer, although perhaps slightly unconventional. He’s not particularly tall or excessively slim. He’s not like Draco, who is built of fine bones and the posture of a petal. He’s built sturdily, but Draco thinks he likes it. 

“Contemporary,” Harry says. A smile crosses his face absentmindedly, and Draco smiles back without really meaning to. 

“Can I see?” Draco asks. He’s not sure why he’s asking. He really needs to be dancing, practicing the choreography his coach gave him, not dawdling on old pieces he had once loved. But something about Harry seems so free. Unbound by the rules of instructors and rigid ballet. Harsh fathers. 

The smile fell off Harry’s face. “I don’t dance in front of people.”

“What? Why not?” Draco’s shock must’ve shown on his face because Harry looks down quickly when he meets Draco’s eyes. Why did people dance if not to do it for other people?

“I just like to dance for me,” Harry says. He lifts onto his toes briefly and stretches his ankles. 

Draco pauses. He wished to dance for himself. 

“I would love to see if you don’t mind,” Draco says quietly. 

Harry’s face bounds between an expression of longing and one of barely concealed panic. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Draco says hurriedly. 

“But I do,” Harry says. He hesitates for barely a second more before going over to the sound system and plugging his phone in in place of Draco’s. 

A sweet sound resounds through the room and Draco hurries to the wall so he won’t get in Harry’s way. 

Harry briskly goes to the center of the room and holds for a moment. When he begins to move, Draco’s stomach contracts. 

Draco loves ballet, and he always has. But there is something to be said for being so free to move that you could say anything, absolutely anything, and no one could tell you if you were right or wrong. Harry’s body moves as if tugged along with the music. A game of push and pull, come and go. He is graceful, but sharp. His leaps have a bite to them, and his turns spin almost out of control when he lands them. Not because he is out of control, but because he is being carried away. 

Draco slides to the ground, his back up against the wall. 

Harry’s eyes are wide open and his gaze flicks to Draco’s every now and then. He drags, his legs soar over his head, his fingers trace the floorboards. 

Draco loves it. He wants it. He wants him. 

Draco doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he does know that his body is picking itself up from the ground without permission. He knows that Harry is spinning and spinning and then suddenly his hands are on Harry’s waist, stabilizing him as he turns. Harry stops, arcing into Draco’s arms. His eyes blink up at Draco before he grins, the look on his face dazzling. 

And he dances. 

For the first time, Draco lets the music lead the dance. He lets Harry lead the dance. Ballet pulls him, sweeping him up and lifting him to his feet. The natural ache of his pointe shoes welcomes him back as Harry spots him. 

Harry’s hands are on his hips. His hands are on his chest. Hands dancing. 

Harry

Harry could feel Draco everywhere. Heavy breaths dance across his face, sweat mingles sweetly, their movements fizz and bubble. A concession, a push, an admission, a lift, a succession, and pull. 

The song ended, Harry and Draco finding their place gracefully. They were close, their chests brushing with their labored breathing. 

“You dance beautifully,” Draco says. Harry blushes royally. 

They are still standing very close. 

“Would you like to go for lunch?” Harry asks breathlessly. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the dancing or because of Draco. 

“Yes,” Draco says without hesitation. 

Harry grins and a shy smile crosses Draco’s face. 

There would be many, many dances to come.

Notes:

Thank you for the asks! Here’s some dancer!Drarry. I am indeed a dancer, but I am not on pointe, so I apologize if any of that isn’t accurate! So sorry this took so long to write, but I really hope you like it. I certainly enjoyed writing it. <3

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @lightwormsiblings!

Happy Holidays <3

Read on AO3

*****

The Way You Fight

Magnus is leisurely leaning against the cold wall, right knee propped up, the sole of his boot pressed against the stone bricks. The collar of his jacket is upturned, more with the purpose to protect him from the biting cold of the December night than to serve a fashion choice.

Despite the nonchalance of his posture, Magnus is on high alert. He is ready to step in and help should the need arise, but he’s otherwise content to just observe as his Alexander slashes and stabs his way through the small hoard of demons he’s fighting.

It’s just an easy mission to ease some new recruits from Idris into patrols and field work and the demons they are fighting are lesser demons, ones Alec is more than capable to deal with on his own. 

So Magnus just stays back and enjoys the sight. He grins, a surge of pride and affection swelling in his chest as he watches one of the demons fall after an especially ruthless slash of Alec’s blade, spurring Alec into the next fight.  

When he fights, Alec is all strength and grace, balance and poise. Years of unrelenting training have taught him to use every part of his body as a weapon, honing his skills to the point he’s both secure in his movements and graceful like one of the dancers from the many ballets Magnus has had the pleasure to attend during his time in Europe.

Magnus can’t keep his eyes away from the fluid movements of Alec’s limbs, the ripple of hard muscles under black leather, the gleam of moonlight over the Adamas of his seraph blade.

The demons grunt and howl as they fall, a dark tune to Alec’s dance and Magnus is so enthralled that almost misses the demons closing in from the left.

A shouted “Watch out!” from one of the Shadowhunters fighting more of the demons a few feet away pulls Magnus out of his reverie.

Magnus stands and calls upon his magic, the surge of relief as he feels it humming under his skin still present even after months from his ordeal. He debates blasting all of the demons away with a wave of his hand but in the end, he decides he can use the exercise of a good old-fashioned fight and uses his powers to summon a blade for himself. It may not be Adamas but it will serve its purpose just as well.

“It was about time,” Alec says when Magnus joins the fight, settling at his back.

“Hush, darling, you were handling yourself well.” Magnus sidesteps to avoid a claw directed toward his chest and with one swift movement of his blade, slices it off. “And besides, I wouldn’t want to show off.“

“Yeah?” Alec says and even if Magnus can’t see him, he can feel the smile in his voice. “Since when?”

Magnus laughs and delivers the killing blow between the demon’s ribs. “Well, Alexander, I wouldn’t dream about outperforming you in front of your Shadowhunters,” he says, knowing Alec will take it for the joke it’s meant to be. “You have a title to uphold, after all.”

Alec snorts and Magnus feels him stepping closer behind his back. “As if that was gonna happen.”

“Is that a challenge, Alexander?” Magnus asks, enjoying the easy, familiar banter.

“Oh, shut up, Magnus.” Alec grunts and Magnus feels the thud of another demon hitting the ground.

“You are on, my dear.” Magnus laughs and kills a demon of his own, his body taut with adrenaline-fueled excitement. “Do keep count.”

After that, everything goes by in a blur of slashes and thuds and teasing remarks, until they’ve killed the last of the demons and they’re standing back to back, catching their breath.

Magnus is the first to straighten up. He turns around and pretends to flick a speck of dust off the sleeve of his jacket. “Well, that was fun.”

Alec snorts and wipes the ichor off his sword on the hide of one of the fallen demons before sheathing it in his thigh holster. When he turns around, he points toward the demons on his side of the field, a smug grin playing on his lips. “I win.”

“Considering you had the advantage of a head-start, I would say we are even, darling.”

Alec laughs that easy, spontaneous laugh Magnus loves so much. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Magnus is about to retort when they’re joined by the other Shadowhunters. They approach and stand a little to the side, clearly waiting for Alec’s orders.

Alec smiles apologetically at Magnus and heads toward them to give them their instructions.

Before departing, he squeezes the young Shadowhunter’s shoulder. “This was your first time in the field, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Magnus hears him reply.

“Congratulations for a mission well done,” Alec says and the way he smiles as he says it makes Magnus wonder how many times he’s been on the other side, how many times he’s been the one craving some validation after a mission. “We need to work on our time of response but I think we can call this one a success.”

Alec walks back, and he has just joined Magnus when they hear it.

“At least I didn’t just stand and watch like that warlock.”

It is a little more than a murmur but the boy is unlucky enough to have the wind carry it to their ears.

Alec freezes besides him. Magnus was about to clean up the mess of ichor and dead demons with his magic but he stops in his tracks when Alec puts a hand on his arm.

“Leave it,” Alec says, stone-faced, his voice dead serious. “That’s not your job.”

“Alexander-”

“I mean it, Magnus,” Alec interrupts, already turning on his heels. “I’ll be right back.”

Magnus considers finishing the job and cleaning the mess anyway but in the end, Alec’s wishes and a sane amount of sheer pettiness win. He stays back and watches Alec stride toward the recruits, every inch the Head of the Institute, a sharp contrast to the friendly leader he’s been up to a few minutes ago.

Magnus listens, touched beyond belief, as Alec gives a lecture about respect and gratitude and he’s oddly grateful Alec knows him so well to not demand an apology out of the boy.  

Alec doesn’t let the boy get away with it either.

Magnus almost winces in sympathy when hears Alec tasking him with cleaning the scene and assigns him to ichor duty until new orders. Almost.

“I will not tolerate this kind of behavior nor I will have anyone disrespect my family. Is that clear?” Alec says at last, before turning around and stalking off toward Magnus, his face still set in harsh lines.

Family. The word slices through Magnus’ awareness and settles against his ribcage, warm and comforting, leaving behind a faint ache.

They’re still navigating the early stages of their marriage and Magnus knows they’re family now, that maybe they’ve been one for quite some time, in a way. Still, hearing Alec voice it is different.

It tugs at something deep inside of Magnus. It tugs at the part of him that’s always yearned to find a person to call his own. It tugs just hard enough to make him feel unmoored, untethered like a floating balloon slipped from someone’s hand.

Magnus doesn’t have the time to dwell too much on the feeling that Alec is already back to him, and the affection and concern etched in the handsome lines of his face bring Magnus back down and anchor him.

“Magnus, are you okay?”

Magnus has had centuries of experience in dealing with prejudice and they both know he is more than capable to deal with an insolent Shadowhunter without the need of Alec’s intervention. But he must admit that he’s quite touched by Alec’s concern, by his fierce protectiveness.

“I am,” he murmurs, smiling at Alec to let him know that he, indeed, is okay.

“Good,” Alec says, reaching out to take Magnus’ hand and squeezing it. I’ve got you, the touch says. “Let’s go home.”

Magnus squeezes Alec’s hand back and opens a portal. I know, it’s his silent reply. “Home sounds good.”

[dojae-huh]

1/8 so I watched lots of Dos fancams/dance practice/videos etc and I just want to say, Do improved A LOT in his dancing. He’s not stiff anymore, more flexible as well and he practically oozes charisma and elegance. So toast to that. His hands are still quite stiff (superhuman was really good, idk why his hands are stiff again) looks like he always gets frostbite and doesn’t want to move his hand/fingers bc it hurts haha, maybe Yuta can help him (dance drips out of Yutas hands).

Do has an insane amount of control and awareness of his legs, it’s so fascinating to watch. Not only that, he’s also so light on his steps and it brings out such an elegance and softness. He doesn’t have that much control over his upper body and sometimes it’s noticeable but for some reason he’s got control over his shoulders and arms. A very strong middle point as well, he aligns his shoulders and arms and legs beautifully (similar to WW) and it makes me wonder if he ever took ballet class. Honestly his dancing fits to his personality, kinda. Perfectionist.

he’s one of the members where his shoulders are straight and his arms go straight as well, they’re on a perfect line. Where else other members have their arms a little too high/low. He also tends to straighten out his arms, others don’t really. And I think that’s really beautiful and shows the elegance, almost like a ballerina dancer. In b on b, where JS is center, Do is right next to him and it really shows how beautifully he can straighten out his arms and align them. It makes him look endless tbh. 

back to his legs, he’s very strong in his legs. And very fast and light. That’s why he’s really good in changing his positions. It’s like he’s walking on clouds. But for some reason, he tends to get overwhelmed/tired when a choreo is really fast. Which he really doesn’t have to, because he manages to hit every single beat and stay in beat with the members and he proved that in the 2x speed dances. 

So I think he should stop overthinking that the song is too fast and that he won’t keep up, because then he does loose focus and he gets slower. For example the 7th sense is an extreme hard choreo but it’s slow and Do literally does amazing in that. but I also noticed in some moves Do is hesitant. At first I thought “hmm maybe he lacks flexibility or core muscle” but I scratched that out bc he’s a dancer+vocalist so he has extremely good core strength. He’s scared to lean back (boss I.e) and in other moves he’s also hesitant, but honestly he really doesn’t have to be, bc he does great anyways. I also noticed that his hips/pelvis go forward while his stomach goes in (bad posture) but he uses it as his advantage. Moves like hip thrusts, body waves etc are literally his bitch. So I’m glad he uses his bad posture as his advantage in dancing, bc that’s really smart.

Do has very good balance. And I think it’s his legs (calf monster hehe) but he also uses the middle of his body as balance, mostly his legs tho. Which is good for him, bc it’s easier to control your body and balance but could also make your toes hurt (did he ever mention that his toes rub against his shoes in certain dance moves, especially heartbreaker?). When it was raining (b on b) he barely slipped, but you could see how his legs were practically glued to the ground and he was being very careful, he also worried a lot about the other members. So he knows his strength is in his legs and that in circumstances like rain, he has to be careful. He did really good tho. 

honestly I could go on about Do’s dancing but tumblr says no. Do is a soft, elegant dancer, he hits the beats and moves but very smooth and soft. He’s better when choreos are slow. He’s also really good in popping (similar to JS) but also has traits like a ballerina in him (similar to WW) so in some dances he kinda goes down. But other dances (regular, chain is wow (Jaedo never fail to amuse me in regular)) he blooms. 

Do is an amazing dancer, he also remembers his positions well (muscle memory, lots of training+good at remembering things). He’s extremely hardworking when it comes to his dancing and I really appreciate that. I wish we can get more choreos that are fitting to his dancing style so he can take over the world. 8/8 also I wanted to point out in the 24h relay cam where they choose the times, you can really see Dos balance. When he had the knee fight with yuta,he literally stayed so well on the ground and even managed to attack yuta, continuously without a slight waver in posture. The reason why he fell down, was because he moved his knees a little further away from his body than usual, which made him fall straight down. He lost the balance point he had over his body. Don’t overestimate yourself! 

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

I appreciate you taking time and watching so many fancams! 

- Yeah, Do’s stiff hands is the first thing that jumps at me. Seems like he just “forgets” about them, because when he pays attention he bends fingers and does jazzy hands just fine. As if the command “move the upper limb” doesn’t reach the tips of the fingers and ends at the elbow or wrist.

- As you say, Yuta always accentuates gestures with his fingers and flicks of the wrists. It’s his signature.

- Legs. Agree! All that muscles in shins and thighs. Perhaps, mother’s genes, who was a runner. Well, he did track and field in his formative years too, but we don’t know for how long and how seriously to give him a foundation.

- Do would mention if he ever took dancing classes prior to SM. He is not a fun of the art, so I doubt it very much. Heh, but when I first watched Boss dancing practice, I had the same suspicion. Only because of the way he makes steps.

-  Hm, you think he has control over shoulders? To me it looks like he forgets about upper part half the time. Unless the move requires it, he doesn’t involve the torso on his own volition.

- I’ve noticed Do often looks at others to match synchronisation. Which is strange, considering he should have a very good sense of rythm being a soloist. And he is late a little bit quite often too. Maybe when he gets tired, I dind’t check for that. Or overthinks, as you say. I do think that he hinders his own skill by thinking he is not good with dancing. He doesn’t relax and trust the body fully.

- Yep! Noone does Chain hip thrusts like Doyoung. His bitch indeed.

- I don’t remember him ever talking about dancing in detail. Just general “I’m winded after 4 dances” and “I memorise choreo quickly”.  

SM doesn’t care much about main singers’ dancing skills. (At least in the past) it even discouraged vocalists wanting to attend additional dancing classes. One of EXO members mentioned it. During trainee times Do practiced like mad, because there was uncertainty about the debut and rivarly with other trainees. And now, I suppose, he keep up because of his perfectionism and to not let down the team. But not for himself. It’be nice if there was a trainer who told him he is good and should not worry. Doyoung wanted to win golden medals in archery because their coach put so much effort in teaching them 

[taketherisk]

DICK GRAYSON, AKA NIGHTWING ⟶

Full name

Richard John Grayson

Preferred name/nickname

Dick

Generally referred to as

Dick, Grayson, Nightwing

Appearance.

FACECLAIM: Toni Mahfud SEX: Male HEIGHT: 5′11″ WEIGHT: 175 lbs. BUILD: Very toned. Muscular, but not bulky. Tight, corded muscle typically seen on acrobats and ballet dancers. HAIR: Not too short, ever, even though he knows it’d be more practical for combat. It is usually long just because Dick doesn’t make time to see a barber until it starts getting in the way. EYES: Bright electric blue. HANDS: He has long fingers. He’s been told he should play the piano. He did not let Bruce sign him up for piano. SCARS: Dick has an old gunshot wound on his shoulder, as well as his knee, and also several, smaller scars scattered over his body. CLOTHES: He would rather elect to wear something comfortable than dress up or adhere to a particular style of fashion. He likes his uniforms to reflect who he is, because authenticity is important to him, but this often results in fashion mishaps.

Speech.

ACCENT: No accent. He worked hard to rid himself of anything that could stand out in his voice in order to lessen the chance of it being recognized. LANGUAGE: Dick is fluent in Romany, English, Spanish, Italian, Farsi, Japanese, German, Russian, French, American Sign Language, Latin, Arabic, Swahili, Kikuyu, Mandarin, and Cantonese. He has a decent grasp on Portuguese, Romanian, Ukrainian, and Dutch due to his fluency in other languages with notable similarities. He would likely understand and be able to carry on a conversation, but he would not be fluent. As far as alien languages, he has a fair grasp of Tamaranean and is fluent in Kryptonian. ARTICULATION: Dick has an extremely difficult time articulating his feelings. He processes those in his head. He has a natural tendency to deflect on others (or change the subject) rather than divulge negative thoughts. EDUCATION: Dick’s tendency to show off has nothing to do with words. However, he’s not a moron. He will drop a big word here and there if he just can’t think of another way to describe what he’s trying to say. LAUGHTER: Dick laughs all the time. Even at his own jokes. He is constantly seeking levity and a way to lighten the mood. Usually it is to distract himself, however, because he is always willing to listen to others with complete and quiet seriousness.  GRUMP: When he was young he had his moments of grump, usually in the form of sneering or sarcasm, but he has (mostly) moved beyond that stage. BREATHING: Dick sighs a lot when he’s bored or made to wait. It isn’t because he’s trying to be rude, he barely even realizes he’s doing it, but he needs to direct the energy somewhere.

Mannerisms.

FACE: It depends. Dick’s priority first and foremost is maintaining a degree of professionalism. However, he feels very deeply and his internal ethics and values mean a lot to him. He has difficult displaying anything but authenticity. It takes effort to keep his face unreadable, but his sense of duty makes this possible. The same can’t be said around others, however. Dick wears his feelings on his sleeve. He just can’t help it. HANDS: Yes. He runs his hand through his hair, presses his knuckles against his lips, and gestures wildly with one hand even when he is completely silent.  LEGS/FEET: Oh, yes. Dick has a lot of nervous energy. Not just because he keeps a lot to himself, but his mind moves quickly and is constantly making connections, moving on to the next thing, and it’s difficult for him to get caught up in trivial matters when he can see the bigger picture. EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: Now, I want to stress that this isn’t common. However, Dick has a temper. Despite wearing his heart on his sleeve and being willing to demonstrate positive feelings, anything that could be seen as negative or “wrong” is completely repressed. When under normal day to day stress of being a superhero, he can manage this well. However, when he is saddled with added pressure, stress, or experiences loss, he lashes out at the people he loves. For Dick, it makes more sense to push them away so they won’t see these flaws he isn’t even ready to acknowledge within himself. In these rare instances Dick can withdraw from his family. POSTURE: Dick is very confident, so his posture is typically very straight. However, he is prone to slumping in place when in the throes of self-disappointment. WALKING POSTURE: Because of his extensive background in dance and acrobatics, Dick is graceful without being aware of it. This translates to almost everything he does. At this point in his life, it simply comes naturally to him. PERSONAL SPACE: When it comes to people he is comfortable with, personal space does not exist. However, in the context of unwanted touch or flirting, he experiences obvious discomfort. SPACIAL AWARENESS: Dick has good spacial awareness simply due to his past as an acrobat and the constant vigilance he was expected to maintain as a young vigilante. 

Health:

DIET: Dick doesn’t know recipes off the top of his head, but he can figure out how to cook anything with proper instructions. His biggest danger in the kitchen is getting distracted and forgetting something was ever in the oven. However, most of his meals are quick. He isn’t very good at managing his time. SLEEP: Because of his lifestyle, Dick’s sleeping pattern can be erratic. He also has a hard time getting to sleep. His mind overworks and he has too many nightmares. EXERCISE: He trains regularly, but with how often he patrols the streets his training is typically covered in patrol. ACTIVITY: This is strange for Dick. He overworks himself and is a perfectionist, but also lazy about other things that he doesn’t prioritize or see as important. For example: he will overwork himself to prove his competence and to live up to his need uphold an image of perfection. On the other hand, his counter is frequently scattered with days worth of mail and he regularly leaves his suit on the floor. I would never call him lazy, but he is an odd mix of unforgiving and laid back. CLEANLINESS: With a suit like that, he has no choice. He baths every night. Desperately. ODOUR: Bergamot and eucalyptus soap. Boy needs all the stress relief he can get. MEDICINAL DRUGS: No. NARCOTICS: No. ADDICTIONS: While he would never admit it, even to himself, Dick has a self-destructive streak and an addiction to adrenaline. He isn’t addicted to sex, but he had used it as a means to cope when he was at his very, very lowest. Again, this is not common for him. He is not comfortable with his inner darkness. ILLNESS: No. INJURIES: One of his knees is weaker than the other due to an old gunshot wound.

Personal.

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT?: Extrovert. Dick analyzes his environment and connecting seemingly unrelated events in order to form a conclusion and the best plan of action that is consistent with his inner values. OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: Optimistic. GENDER: Cisgender. SEXUALITY: Dick falls in love easily. He finds it impossible to let go of people once they have found a way into his heart. Most of his serious relationships have been with women, but he has no preference for sex, race, species. Nothing. He cares about connections. However, he doesn’t spend a lot of time analyzing his sexuality and doesn’t think it’s important. ROMANTIC: He is extremely romantic and desperately wants to be married and have an idyllic life. However, he’s also made the mistake of convincing himself to take the step with the belief that it would fix a broken relationship. MEMORY: Dick is a big picture thinker. It isn’t his natural inclination to remember details. However, his training under Bruce has strengthened that tendency and he makes for a good detective. Most of his biggest breaks have been because of hunches and making connections, however, rather than remembering specific details like dates. PLANNING: Being leader of the Titans, Dick had no option but to plan. His goal was to keep his team safe. However, he was not happiest in the leadership role. He was good at it because of his interpersonal skills and ability to bring people together, as well as think on his feet, but he does best when working independently. It causes him too much stress to carry that responsibility. As Nightwing, he never has the sense that he is filling a role. PENSIVE: Yes. Dick is hard on himself and therefore spends a lot of time thinking about how he could have done something better, with better results, and blames himself when something goes wrong. INTUITION: Dick has extremely high intuition and it has gotten him out of tight spots in the past. It is his greatest strength. PROBLEM SOLVING: It depends on the puzzle. With dry facts, no. Dick’s problem-solving abilities hinge on the opportunity to approach the problem from various points of view. It is also important that the solution does not go against his personal values. Despite his tendency to prioritize ethical standards (and being more of a feeler), he is proficient with logic. GOALS: Dick has no broad, sweeping goals; all he wants is to prevent one kid from going through what he went through. INSECURITIES: Dick is insecure about his authenticity. He works hard to meet Bruce’s expectations, but he also hides things that don’t line up with this image. That tendency puts a wall between him and others. It is difficult for him to reconcile with not being perfect. ACHIEVEMENTS: His siblings.  ANXIETY: Helplessness, boredom, and confusion give Dick the most anxiety. OVERWHELMED: He can often get overwhelmed, he carries too much on his shoulders, but it takes something extra to make him actually lash out. SELF-HELP: Unfortunately, he doesn’t. Dick’s coping mechanism is deflection, denial, and avoidance. He doesn’t like to discuss his own feelings because that would mean putting his issues on others. He would rather handle it himself. Unfortunately, he can’t. COMFORTS: An honest conversation and feeling as if he’s made real progress in his relationships with his brothers or in his own life. Stagnancy is not an option. BAD HABITS: Deflecting. PHILOSOPHY: Continuing to place trust in people, because anyone is capable of change.

Relationships.

FRIENDSHIPS: Dick is someone with a lot of friends, but they all know him in different capacities. He only has a handful of close friends. FRIENDS IN NEED: Dick is a supportive listener and is willing to stop everything to be there for the people he cares about. ADVERSARIES: Friendship, being lied to or betrayed. Romance is harder. Dick has a hard time ever letting go of past loves. ENEMIES: Betrayal and an understanding that no redemption exists. STRANGERS: Respectful, unless the stranger does something off the bat to insult or degrade Dick’s belief system. BEST FRIEND: Roy Harper and Wally West. LOVE: Barbara Gordon was the one that got away. WORST ENEMY: Joker. RESPECT: It depends on the enemy, but Dick would not be able to see them as a true enemy, or there would be substantial grey area.

Interactions.

MINGLING: Making new friends comes easily for Dick, but he would find it difficult to admit that trust does not. COMFORT LEVELS: He feels comfortable almost immediately. However, that switch can flip just as quickly if someone challenges one of his deeply held values. PHYSICAL: He is physical to those he knows well and knows would feel comfortable with it. Dick has been made to deal with unwelcome touching and it makes him uncomfortable. GROUPS: Dick is comfortable in a big group. He likes to relax and tease. Sometimes being one on one can be a bit too intense for him. Opening up to people doesn’t happen quickly. GENEROSITY: He is generous to a fault, to the point where he would be easily taken advantage of, but he has money to burn. JEALOUSY: Dick isn’t immune to jealousy and he felt his share when he was young and still understanding the ins and outs of relationships. He knows not everyone shares his desire to be monogamous and he is often concerned about making someone feel trapped. TEMPER: It takes a severe circumstance or a long build up of tension/issues/pressure/stress for Dick to lose his temper. However, it’s unnerving because he acts so out of character. EMPATHY: Dick is very empathetic, but he also puts his own values above others and this can come off as dismissive. AFFECTION: Touch. Gifts. Words of affirmation. Dick isn’t too proud and he’s certainly confident enough to admit his feelings for someone. He has no trouble being the pursuer.  DISTASTE: The type of person he would dislike would either disrespect and speak against Dick’s personal moral code, something he holds very dear, or he would disrespect those close to him. His response would be stubbornly dismissive. If this were someone he cared about, he would desperately try to convince him that his way is best. ETIQUETTE: Dick’s etiquette is practiced because he was raised as Bruce Wayne’s heir. However, he has a hard time acting fake polite, which can put a considerable strain on interactions if he is offended or annoyed. RESPONSIBILITY: Yes. If Dick sees the consequences of his bad choices, he is quick to take responsibility and (sometimes unfair) blame. SELF ESTEEM: While Dick doesn’t let others push him around in any sense, if someone manages to tap into his insecurities, he will not lie and argue against the truth of his perceived shortcomings. However, when it comes to his decisions and competency, he has high self esteem and he will only listen to others if they present a solid point. CONFIDENCE: Only his family and those he cares about. HONESTY: Dick is always honest, but he also errs on the side of hopefulness and rarely speaks in absolutes unless it comes to his own feelings. He does not sugarcoat a situation when it looks bleak because he knows it does little good to lie and will not solve the problem. It ties into his difficulty in being fake. LEADER OR FOLLOWER: Leader. But he prefers working alone. PARTY TRICKS: He’s very flexible and knows a lot of random circus tricks. Tumbling, gymnastics, acrobatics, and impressive parkour gets some oohs and ahhs.  PRAISE: Dick yearns for praise, but because he still feels as if he falls short, it is natural for him to find reasons to underscore his accomplishments. CRITICISM: Criticism is something he takes to heart if it taps into what he already thinks about himself. INSULTS: Unless they reflect his true inner self, Dick brushes them off. EMBARRASSMENT: No. When he is embarrassment, he finds a way to laugh it off. FLIRTING: Yes, but selectively flirtatious. Dick yearns for connection and validation, which is something he seems to think he’ll get from love. ATTENTION SPAN: It depends on the circumstance. Dick can be remarkably focused and he doesn’t tap out of the situation unless it is just incapable of holding his attention. He��s intelligent; so, like his body, his brain is restless and eager to jump onto the next theory once he’s exhausted the current one. SITUATIONS: Because Dick has remarkable empathy and he cares about people, he is very good at handling interpersonal conflict and treating his team the way he knows he’d want to be treated: like equals.

Life.

SHOPPING: Only when absolutely necessary. Dick doesn’t need to surround himself with things he doesn’t need. He rarely spends time at him as it is. DRIVING: Yes, all manners of vehicles. FINANCES: Being that Dick is the son of Bruce Wayne, his financial position is secure. He does have to set up everything through auto-pay however, or he will forget. MARRIAGE: Dick does want to get married because he thinks that falls in line with who he wants to be. KIDS: Same as above. PETS: He could take them or leave them, but he does like animals. He just doesn’t have time for them. LAW: Countless acts as a vigilante have been illegal, not least of all murdering Joker. ILLNESS/MENTAL OR OTHERWISE: Other than constant anxiety, no. WORRIES: Everything. Literally. Mainly he worries about the safety of his family. PEACE: Dick can’t stand total silence because he gets overwhelmed with his thoughts. He always has to have something playing, even if he’s not listening to it. PARTYING: Dick isn’t a big partier. He doesn’t like to drink or act fake, so it just isn’t his scene. HOBBIES: He likes to play the guitar. He also enjoys, particularly Shakespearean roles, and he’ll dramatically act out the parts and make his siblings laugh.