#pas de deux ao3

[allsassnoclass]

HELL YEAH!!! can i get uhhhh #9, an I'm so proud of you kiss? pairing, fandom, etc is all up to you :) ill read it even if im not in the fandom go fkn crazy ily xoxo

hi @clumsyclifford!!! alrighty let's throw some fake college sports players in here.

jerejean: I'm so proud of you kiss

Jeremy goes to find Jean after a few minutes, weaving through the crowd of his teammates and the Foxes until he reaches the edge of their party's sphere, out in the sand where the light from the bonfire has no hope of reaching. He stumbles over Neil and Andrew, drawn hypnotically to the bright cherry of the cigarette they're sharing, but neither of them question where he's going or make any attempt at conversation. Neil simply tilts his head to the left with a knowing look, and Jeremy nods in thanks once he spots the shadowy figure sitting yards away in the darkness, looking out at the waves.

Jean doesn't look up as Jeremy approaches, chin resting on his knees as he looks distantly out at the ocean, where the horizon line blends too deep in the darkness to discern what is sea and what is sky anymore. Jeremy flops gracelessly down next to him, kicking up sand and checking to be sure Jean isn't shying away. He relaxes when he doesn't. Jean still doesn't do well with isolation, but he's an introvert at heart and needs his space. After the events of today, Jeremy isn't surprised that he retreated down the beach to be alone, but he also knows that it's the kind of alone that Jeremy is welcome to interrupt.

It makes his chest fill with warmth, being one of the people that Jean doesn't need energy to be around. It's a privilege that he doesn't take lightly, especially when so few people in Jean's life have been safe. For him to have found a group of people to love and be loved by in return is no small feat, and it's something that they've gradually cultivated together in the past year.

For a moment, Jeremy thinks about the first time he saw Jean in person outside of a court, watching the shell of a man cautiously approach him at LAX with only a few t-shirts, a tattoo, and years of abuse to his name. He would never have predicted that they'd be here now, only a few weeks shy of a year later. Jean has grown in ways too numerous to list, but Jeremy has changed, too. It's a mutual metamorphosis, made more important for the way that they've grown in harmony with each other, filling in each other's gaps while leaving room for the other person to stretch and flourish.

Of course, one other difference is that they're NCAA champions now. It isn't a new title for Jean, but Jeremy suspects that this one feels sweeter, more earned.

This is a win that Jean should feel proud of, one untainted by the shadow of black wings and bruises. A championship that has nothing to do with the number that used to be tattooed on his face and everything to do with the person he has decided to become.

"What are you thinking about?"

Jeremy tilts his head towards the quiet, lilting sound of Jean's words. His accent has lessened slightly over the year, either due to less necessity to use his French without Kevin around or being surrounded by people who never stop talking in loud California drawls, but it still colors his words like a swash of blue in a sunrise.

Jean never wants to return to France, but sometimes Jeremy wonders if he would enjoy visiting Canada or Haiti, somewhere that he could use a version of his native language without ghosts following him.

"Jeremy?"

Jeremy blinks, bringing himself back to the present rather than some unnamed future with the two of them wandering around Montreal.

"I was thinking about our win," he says when he can remember what Jean's original question was. Jean huffs, but the sound is fond. Jeremy can't see much in the darkness, but he can picture Jean's expression perfectly. He's not smiling, but he's softer, relaxed and open enough that Jeremy can read his intention.

"How does it feel to be a champion?" Jean asks.

"Amazing," Jeremy sighs, tipping his head back and remembering every hour of practice and hard-fought game that brought them here. Despite the backlash from his decision to cut down the line last year and all of the negative press surrounding Jean's transfer, they made it all the way to the championships and came out on top. It was a battle in more ways than one, but it was absolutely worth it for the look on Kevin Day's face when Cat stole the ball from him using a technique that Jean taught her, then slammed the ball down the court for Jeremy to catch and score.

The team as a whole has grown exponentially. Jeremy has never pushed himself harder, and it wasn't all sunshine and smiles on the court this year. Still, they held it together, and as turbulent throwing a former Raven into their midst was, Jeremy has never regretted the decision to bring Jean to them.

"It's sweeter because I could do it with you," Jeremy says.

He glances at Jean out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't duck his head bashfully, and he doesn't freeze awkwardly the way he used to when Jeremy would drop a sappy but sincere compliment months ago. He simply lets the sentiment wash over him, keeping his focus on Jeremy.

"I'm glad you are happy," he says. Jeremy reaches for his hand, fingertips dragging along his forearm and wrist until Jean turns to thread their fingers together.

"What about you?" Jeremy asks. "How does it feel to be a champion this time?"

Jean takes time to consider his answer. Jeremy listens to the distant sounds of their teammates and friends over by the fire and the gentle sounds of waves hitting the shore while he waits. A breeze gently shifts his hair, light and crisp enough that he nearly shivers.

"I didn't think it would mean this much to me," Jean says quietly. Jeremy squeezes his hand once, then relaxes, giving Jean the space he needs. "I knew that winning with the Trojans would feel different, but the Ravens won because we were expected to. You and I won because we deserved to this time. Because we fought harder and wanted it more."

"And you did it all without a red card, even though Neil was being annoying," Jeremy says.

"It felt good to beat him," Jean grins. "That was very satisfying."

No one felt like it would be a good idea to make Jean block Kevin, not with everything he's told them about scrimmages in the Nest. While he played with Neil at Evermore as well, it was never while Neil was playing striker, and Neil only features in a fraction of the traumatic memories that Jean has recounted. Jean has been doing great in his sessions with Betsy and has grown a lot in his recovery over the past year, but no one wanted to risk prompting a flashback during the championship game, when the eyes of the entire public and Ichirou Moriyama would be on him.

Jean seemed to enjoy playing against Neil, anyway. Jeremy still doesn't understand their relationship and probably never will, but it was one of Jean's best games. Neil ran him ragged, but both of them seemed satisfied with their individual performances, and Jeremy overheard Jean tell him to have a winning day while stealing the ball at one point.

It's taken a long time for Jean to be able to have fun on the court. Healing is slow and non-linear, Jeremy knows that better than most. The progress that is visible, though, is much more gratifying because of it.

Jeremy looks at Jean, tracing his outline in the blue shadows. He takes in the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the enticing tilt of his head, the self-satisfied smile that Jeremy can barely see gracing his lips in this light. He looks like he belongs on this beach, relishing in his win with dozens of people who love him only a few yards away, holding hands with someone who adores him.

It's amazing, what a difference one year can make. Jeremy's chest feels warm and full, ready to burst.

"Hey," he says, squeezing Jean's hand. Jean turns towards him with a questioning noise. Jeremy tugs on his t-shirt, coaxing him forward until he can lean up to press their lips together. Jean responds once he catches on to Jeremy's intention, relaxing against him and sliding his free hand around Jeremy's waist. Jeremy presses forward, trying to transfer as much of the feeling in his chest to Jean as he can. He curls his hand around Jean's shoulder, partially to draw him closer and partially for his own stability. Jean sighs against him, and Jeremy can't help but smile into the kiss.

When they part a few moments later, Jeremy watches the way that Jean's eyes take a moment to flutter open.

"What was that for?" Jean asks. Jeremy smiles and brushes his thumb against Jean's cheek, right over the small heart tattooed there.

"I'm really proud of you," he smiles. Jean ducks his head, leaning into Jeremy's palm. "You've come a long way."

Jean wraps his hand around Jeremy's, pressing it against his chest.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Jeremy."

Jeremy doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way his name sounds in Jean's mouth, his accent curving around it and voice soft as music.

"Still," Jeremy says. "I'm really proud of you, Jean-Yves."

Jean ducks his head again, but Jeremy can't have that. He reaches for Jean's jaw again. Jean knows him well enough to evade and kiss him instead, the perfect distraction. Jeremy is happy to let him get away with it, because that was his end goal anyway.

They stay on the beach together for a long time. When their friends eventually find them, Jeremy watches the way that Jean lights up as Cat tackles him in a hug and he playfully banters with Kevin, two things that would've been impossible a year ago. Jeremy keeps hold of his hand, both of them on top of the world with no plans on coming down.

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

*crazily* I will put feldup on the ao3

[lilias42]

Inspiré de ces deux billets de Ladyniniane et utilisant ce picrew, les designs de certains de mes OCs version Picrew !

Félicia et Ivy

Héléna et sa soeur Myrina, sa soeur préférée et mère de Catherine (qui a un rôle plus important dans l'histoire que je suis en train de tenter d'écrire)

Amalia, la mère de Ferdinand, avant et après son accident qui l'a rendu aveugle.

Fregn (même s'il faut avouer, ce n'est pas très ressemblant mais, c'est le jeu avec les picrew) et Jihane, la grande soeur ainée de Claude (qui devrait bientôt apparaitre dans un petit texte avec son frère)

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 1

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

fic summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

a/n: here we go! Chapter 1 starts sometime in late fall, November-ish. See my notes on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions), a bit of angst

Chapter 1

“‘In a surprise move that shook the dance world, the Concordia Ballet Company announced yesterday that they have parted ways with principal dancer Din Djarin.’”

You could hear the sudden gasps through the open door of the large studio as you walked towards it. You recognized Clara’s voice as she read the news aloud, you assumed from her phone. 

“‘Djarin, 27, who trained at the rigorous Concordia Ballet School from a young age, has been with CBC for 10 years and is in the prime of his career. He was promoted from soloist to principal two years ago, as is the norm at CBC, where they do not promote dancers younger than 25 to principal. His performances have been highlights on the CBC schedule over the last two seasons, earning many rave reviews.’” 

You turned the corner to enter the studio and found most of the company class crowded around Clara as she looked down at her phone.

“‘The CBC press release did not indicate the reason for the split, which only makes this mid-season decision more disconcerting for fans and donors alike.’”

The group around Clara murmured and shifted their weight. You had just read the article on the bus and knew what was coming next. You slid down to sit against the wall by the door, watching.

“‘This decision comes amidst the company’s preparation for spring and for the last show on their fall schedule, Don Quixote, with no explanation as to how their roster of principals and other dancers may be adjusted to compensate for this enormous loss. Djarin is well known for his powerful physique, technical mastery, and classically perfect performances.’” Clara paused, and then continued, “then it talks about some of his work, we know all of that already, blah blah blah, ok whoa!” She gasped. “Ok. Listen to this – ‘Djarin has not been available for comment, but was seen boarding a flight to Nevarro two days ago before the announcement was made public!'”

You started to put on your shoes for barre and watched as everyone else in the room started to completely freak out.

“Here?!” Owen exclaimed, hand thrown over his mouth. “Is he coming here here?” He gestured around the studio as he asked.

Clara shrugged. “It doesn’t say, look, that’s the end of the article.”

Sophie had started rising up and down on the balls of her feet by one of the barres and you weren’t sure if she was aware she was doing it. Her tone was excited as she asked, “would he come here? Why? We’re, like, not his style.”

The room broke down into several noisy conversations at that point, and you felt your friend Adrian slip down the wall to sit next to you. “So, what do you think?” he asked, nudging your shoulder. 

You shrugged. “No idea. I can’t see any reason he’d even want to come here. CBC is so…” You trailed off, but he knew what you meant.

“Yeah. Traditional. Rigid. Not like us at all.” Adrian waved his hand towards the mismatched group of dancers in front of you and you both smiled. The Nevarro Ballet Theater was different from the Concordia Ballet Company in many ways, and the diversity of dancers in the company was one of the things that set NBT apart the most.

You nodded. “Right. If his flight destination even means anything.”

“If it does, what would that mean for us?” Adrian looked around the room. “We already have a full roster of soloists and principals.” He bit his lip. He looked nervous, and he wasn’t the only one — you noticed Sasha, Lu, Carlos, and Isaac were huddled around the bar, clearly worried. All principals, you assumed they were nervous about losing out on parts. For Adrian, you knew it was because he had just made soloist at the start of the season. A new superstar coming in might shake things up too much.

You nudged his shoulder with your own. “I was thinking about that when I read it on the bus. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I heard what Karga said, about how good you are.”

He nodded, but didn’t look reassured. “At least you don’t have anything to worry about, Ms. Soon-To-Be-Principal.” 

You rolled your eyes and shoved down the anxiety lurking in your stomach. You’d made soloist a couple of years ago, and then first soloist this season. There were some people (including Adrian) who seemed to think you’d be promoted soon, as early as the end of the current season. But there were at least a few critics who disagreed, and for months you’d been having trouble putting the words of one in particular out of your mind. You could quote it from memory:

“While her lyricism and skill are undeniable, one wonders if she has the artistry or stage presence to carry a narrative. She more than deserves the promotion to first soloist, but is this her ceiling?” 

You wished you’d never read the article, but it had seemed to be the usual season preview and you hadn’t been expecting the targeted commentary. You’d spent the last few months trying not to think about it too much, or you knew you would get all in your head about it.

“Shut up.” You nudged him again and he laughed.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the door opening next to you. It wasn’t your teacher who walked in, though, and once you saw who it was you both leapt to your feet.

Greef Karga, director of the Nevarro Ballet Theater, looked happy, but then he usually did. 

“Good morning, dancers!’ His voice was deep and loud and you all scrambled into a semi-circle facing him at the door, where your ballet instructor, Alexa, followed him in. You chorused a “good morning” in response.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen the news,” Karga continued, with a knowing smile on his face. “And you must be wondering why I’m here!” You glanced in the mirror and noted that everyone did indeed look both curious and a little wary. “Well, I am very pleased to confirm that Din Djarin will be joining us for the rest of the season here at NBT.”

There was some general murmuring and shock in response, but he was not deterred.

“I know we’re in the middle of the season, with many roles already planned. Din and I have agreed to try not to disrupt that too much this year. We’ll be adding some things to the anniversary gala and the mixed programs.” That made sense — the latter were showcases of the work of different composers and choreographers and could be more easily rearranged to include a new dancer. “We won’t be making any changes to Midsummer, Swan Lake, or Cinderella, which I know we’re already planning for and rehearsing.” You felt Adrian take a deep, relieved breath beside you. He was supposed to be Puck this year for the first time and it sounded like that wasn’t going to change. 

“Din will start joining your classes and the rehearsals for the gala and other programs over the course of the next two weeks. Please introduce yourself and welcome him — we are very excited to have him join us.”

You all nodded, of course, even though you knew a lot of your fellow dancers would be wary of the newcomer. 

“Well!” Karga clapped his hands together and smiled. “I’ll let you get started. Continue with your rehearsals as normal unless you hear otherwise. Have a wonderful day, everyone!”

Alexa moved towards the stereo system in the corner as Karga swept out of the room, and you turned to look at Adrian. 

“Well,” he said, turning towards his usual place at the barre. “This should be interesting.”

You nodded as Alexa turned on the music and you took your usual spot next to him at the barre. It definitely would be.

…

After all that excitement, you didn’t even see Djarin for a few days. He didn’t join the morning company classes right away, but you couldn’t really blame him — moving suddenly across the country wasn’t easy. It didn’t stop you from glancing around every room as you entered, trying to catch sight of your elusive new company member. 

You heard from the others that he’d dropped by a couple of rehearsals, and they’d overheard him talking about plans for the mixed programs with some of the choreographers and other staff, including Talia and Jee. You wondered if he’d ever met Kuiil, the current guest choreographer in residence, who traveled and usually worked with different companies every few years. You somehow doubted it — Kuiil’s style was much too contemporary for CBC.

You’d been in rehearsals for Nutcracker and Midsummer all week, though, so you weren’t really surprised that you hadn’t run into him yet. 

Finally, on Friday morning, you arrived early for class to find a group of your fellow company members huddled by the mirror and staring awkwardly across the room. You followed their gaze and found Din Djarin, in the flesh, warming up at the barre. For a moment you couldn’t reconcile the sight of him in your familiar space. He was tall and imposing, and dressed all in black — black ballet shoes, black tights, black sweats that cut off below his knees, and a tight black long sleeve shirt that showcased the breadth of his shoulders and just how strong he was. His curly brown hair was tousled. His signature mustache, somewhat uncommon in ballet, was in place, though you knew he often shaved for performances — there had been articles about his daring breach of the Concordia status quo when he didn’t. At least at NBT he’d be allowed to keep it, you thought. His face was blank, completely expressionless as he stretched. 

You knew he had to know the rest of the group was watching him, and when you glanced back and found them still huddled you sighed. You felt someone step into the room behind you and turned to find Adrian taking in the standoff. 

He shook his head. “Great start.” His tone was dry, and you laughed under your breath. 

“Should we say hello?” You sat to put on your ballet shoes and Adrian sank down beside you.

“Who, us?” Adrian raised an eyebrow at you. “Do I look brave to you?” 

You laughed again, and were about to suggest going together for moral support when Alexa walked in. She took in the situation and sighed, shaking her head as she crossed the room to where Djarin was still warming up alone.

“Look! Alexa took care of it.” Adrian nudged you and smiled. “No need for us to take one for the team after all.”

The two of you watched as she spoke with him, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying. He nodded at her, and she smiled before walking towards the stereo.

“Alright, let’s get started!” She called out without looking to see if anyone listened, but you all did. You realized as you took your normal spot that you were diagonal from Djarin across the space between two of the barres in the middle of the floor. You’d be able to see him whenever you were working your left side, and somewhat in the mirror on your right. You resolved not to stare.

You only sort of succeeded.

The problem, you quickly realized, was that his movements were beautiful. Even while doing simple pliés or tendus you could see the power in his body, the strength in his muscles, the rigor of his training. Every movement was precise, clean, and perfectly placed. The elegant line of his arm and the curve of his hip drew your gaze like a magnet, over and over again. His effortless coordination and control were mesmerizing. You watched the slow extension of his leg into grand battement until you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away.

Well, you thought, he certainly lives up to all of the hype about technique. CBC had a reputation and he more than exceeded it.

It made you painfully aware of the limits of your own abilities. You knew you were good – you’d made it this far, of course, and now you were first soloist, despite having what was seen as a late start in ballet (at age 7). And despite what the critics said, you were considered to be one of the better technicians at NBT. But you were no match for his level of skill, for the rigorous training you’d heard about at CBC. That much was obvious just from looking at him. 

You tried to clear your mind as the class continued, knowing your worries would start to show in your movements if you let them. It was hard to do that when so much strength and technical perfection stood only five feet away from you, demonstrating the ideal version of every move and transition that you attempted.

As you finished at the barre and quickly put on your pointe shoes to work in the center of the room, you finally put it out of your mind. There was no use in comparison, you’d learned that a long time ago. In the end, the only dancer you could compete with was yourself. And NBT was not a company that encouraged that kind of competition among dancers anyway.

You found your feet going across the floor, letting yourself sink into it as you moved through some jumps and short combinations. You tried to feel nothing but the pull in your muscles and pattern of your breath. By the end of the class you felt a little steadier, a little more centered.

Alexa dismissed the class, and you started to gather your things. As you slipped off your pointe shoes, you felt someone brush past you, heading for the door — Djarin didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold into the hall. You realized as he did that he hadn’t spoken a single word for the entire class. You wondered if he was unhappy to be here, after all. 

By the time you stepped into the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen.

Adrian fell into step next to you as you walked towards the larger rehearsal studios at the other end of the building. He hooked your arms together and looked around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. He leaned in to whisper, “did you see that? He was amazing!”

You nodded. “I know. I didn’t think anyone could live up to all that hype, but he does.”

Adrian shook his head, looking dismayed. “I know they said some roles wouldn’t change but, ugh. I wouldn’t blame them.”

“Hey,” you elbowed him lightly. “Don’t. You’re going to be amazing as Puck. And you know that role plays to your strengths. I don’t see him taking that one from you. It’s not really his style.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Ok, let’s hurry, I need to tape my knee before Nutcracker.” You winced in sympathy, knowing how much he’d be jumping in practice for both the Russian dance and the jack-in-the-box roles. But his words jogged your memory.

“Shit.” You froze in the hallway. “I left my tape in the studio. Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

He nodded, but you were already turning as you said it, waving him on.

You heard him jog off towards the rehearsal rooms behind you as you walked quickly back the way you’d come, turning past the bathrooms and the administrative offices. It didn’t take long and your tape was right where you’d left it. 

Tape in hand, you turned around again and started walking back down the long hall. 

As you approached the offices, though, the sound of Karga’s raised voice stopped you in your tracks, just around the corner from his office door.

“We talked about this, Din. It's part of this company’s identity. You want to break away from them? You need to make a statement.” You heard the slapping sound of one hand against another and imagined Karga hitting his hand with his fist for emphasis. 

“No, Greef, listen. I don’t—“ You startled. It was the first time you’d heard Djarin’s voice and it was much deeper and more pleasant than you would have imagined. 

Karga interrupted him. “No, you listen. Din, you can do this. I know you can. And it will show them everything they’re missing, everything they let slip through their fingers. They are so stuck in their ways, they have no idea what you can really do. What you’re capable of. Let me help you get there.”

You heard Djarin sigh. “This will go badly and I’m going to blame you.”

Karga chuckled. You tried to picture Djarin looking amused, too, and failed. All you could conjure was the expressionless mask he’d kept in place for all of class that morning. Karga continued, “I’ll take it happily. This is going to be great, don’t you worry! We’ll ease you into it. Now, let’s go share the news.”

You heard them start to move around in the office and startled into motion. As you turned the corner, the door to Karga’s office swung open in front of you and Din Djarin stepped out of it. He was moving quickly, shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. He barely glanced in your direction, but when he did, you took a surprised step back at the fierceness of his glare. It was the most emotion you’d seen from him so far, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. He didn’t stop, though, and quickly turned away from you to move down the hall towards rehearsal. You blinked, frozen mid-step, unable to shake the look he’d just given you. What was that about?

...

| next

a/n: sooo what do you think? ballet terms in this chapter:

see the masterlist for principal, soloist, class vs. rehearsal, season

plié - a bending of the needs (you've probably seen dancers standing at the barre and bending their knees -- that's a plié)

tendu - tight or stretched out - stretching one leg out long, often in brushes along the floor

grand battement - the leg is raised from the hip into the air and brought down again, both knees straight (with apparent ease)

barre - the rail that ballet dancers use in class (don't lean on it!). usually you'd wear normal ballet shoes at the barre and switch into pointe shoes (toe shoes) to do exercises in the center or go across the floor

and if you'd like a visual aid, one of the dancers I'm mentally modeling Din after is Carlos Acosta, who you can see in this compilation (~6:49) doing a variation from Don Quixote.

tag list coming in a reblog!

[defectivevillain]

pas de deux

pairing: Sebastian Solace/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “Where are you going?” You ask suspiciously. “Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail.

word count: 2.4k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical injury, violence, and death

author's note: ty anna for the beta <333 @connorhasabigtip any remaining mistakes are mine!

“Any particular reason you’re following me?” You finally ask, stopping in the twentieth room and turning around to stare at Sebastian. The hybrid usually greets you after your death, providing you with research on the creatures that roam the Blacksite. He also sneaks in around level 47 to sell you items. But he’s never actually followed you like this before—appearing at the submarine dock and accompanying you on your exploration. You were under the impression that he was a wanted man—but, then again, he does have that weird transmission jamming device to keep himself undetectable… 

“Just monitoring your progress, is all,” Sebastian shrugs, tapping his fingers restlessly. He’s clearly bored. You haven’t bothered to engage with him until now—instead pretending as if he isn’t following behind you. But you can only pretend for so long. You’ve always performed these expeditions on your own and, despite your annoyance, it’s nice to have some company for once. Even if that company takes the shape of a human hybrid who seems to hate your guts. Sebastian’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Besides, it’s more fun to be up close and personal. Watch your guts spray everywhere and all that.”

You grit your teeth and ignore the macabre remark, instead continuing through the Blacksite and searching for items. Right now, you only have a small handheld flashlight—and the battery’s pretty low. If you want to get to the crystal, you’ll need more materials. Of course, Sebastian could be helping you look. Instead, he’s only hovering behind you ominously. He has virtually no concept of personal space, as he practically breathes down your neck each time you pause to rifle through drawers. 

“You’re even smaller in person, you know,” Sebastian remarks, apropos of nothing. You feel that familiar irritation rising in your chest once more, but you quickly suppress it. He’s just trying to provoke you. 

“You’re ten feet tall,” you remind him. You’re human—of course he’s going to tower over you. 

“And?” Sebastian drawls. You just roll your eyes and keep searching, valiantly pretending you don’t have a relentless annoyance watching your every move. You enter the next room, only to hear the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Shaking your head, you keep exploring—occasionally glancing behind you warily. 

The next hall is dominated by the same sound of rushing water. The lights aren’t flickering, so you think there aren’t any anglerfish. At least, until Sebastian’s voice breaks through the static in your mind. “You’d better hide,” Sebastian suggests with a smirk, his last word drawn out for effect. “Unless you want to be fish food.” 

You freeze and try to listen for a moment, before deciding to trust his advice. You run for a locker and hide in it, just barely making it in time before the pink anglerfish is rushing past. Surprised that Sebastian was actually telling the truth, you wait a few seconds for it to pass before exiting the locker. The hall is dark now, and there’s no sign of Sebastian. Shrugging, you feel your way around in the dark and manage to find the door to the next hall. The metal slides open, only to reveal Sebastian leering down at you. Your heart jumps out of your chest and you can’t hide the surprised gasp that crawls its way out of your throat. 

Sebastian cackles, before moving away from the doorway and allowing you to enter. And to think, you were just about to thank him for saving your life… You shake your head in disbelief. You really don’t understand this guy. 

Admittedly, Sebastian’s presence is rather distracting. It’s hard to focus when he’s looming over you menacingly. You try your best not to show your wariness, because you know it’s just what he wants to see. Even so, you’re finding it difficult to focus on your surroundings. And when the lights flicker in warning, you’re too preoccupied with finding a locker to notice the anglerfish is only a mere few rooms away. Before you can hide, you’re promptly attacked and killed. 

As your vision fades to black, you hear Sebastian’s laugh echoing in your mind. When you open your eyes to find yourself sitting at that desk once more, you glare at him. He could’ve warned you about the anglerfish. 

“Hey, I helped you once,” Sebastian shrugs noncommittally. “Besides, I’m not your little buddy.” His voice drips with venom as he slides the anglerfish research document across the desk. There’s nothing new on the document. 

You just sigh, pushing the file away from him and heading back to the submarine. It’s only when you turn the corner and make it to the dock that you realize he’s following behind you. “Where are you going?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Following you, of course,” Sebastian answers, as if it’s a stupid question. It’s a bit of a tight fit with the two of you in the submarine, considering Sebastian’s gargantuan tail. It wraps around the space and you find yourself standing uncomfortably in the middle—feeling akin to prey trapped in the coils of a snake’s tail. 

“I thought the novelty had ‘worn off,’” you manage to finally say, once you see that Sebastian is remaining still.

Sebastian just stares at you in an eerie silence. You shake your head and keep quiet as the submarine emerges from the water. Then, you start investigating the nearby drawers and cabinets, before heading through to the first door. 

And so it continues. You open a door, look around in the hall, and enter the next room with Sebastian on your heels. When you hear an anglerfish approaching, you jump in a locker; you remember to routinely look behind you for Wall Dwellers; and you search for resources. But you can only fight off your curiosity for so long. “Why haven’t you been doing this the whole time?” You ask Sebastian. He could’ve been helping you from the beginning. 

A laugh. “Can’t make things too easy for you,” Sebastian answers. “Besides, this is your job, not mine.”

That’s right. Sebastian isn’t helpful. He doesn’t serve anyone except himself. The only reason he’s accompanying you now is because it benefits him in some way. “Right, because your job is just to provide me overpriced weapons and mediocre advice,” you mutter darkly. 

“Easy there, shrimp,” Sebastian says, his eyes flashing in warning. You roll your eyes and keep walking, trying to pretend as if he isn’t there. It’s proving to be an increasingly difficult task, between his towering form and frequent sarcastic comments. 

In the next few rooms, you find a flash beacon. You know it’ll come in handy when you inevitably reach the halls with broken lights. And it doesn’t take long before you find yourself needing to use it. Feeling turned around, you reach down and send a flash across the space. You can just barely register the layout of the space: three halls branching off from one another, each leading to a different door. Then you see Sebastian out of the corner of your eye… he reaches out… and everything goes dark. 

When you find yourself in that ever familiar dark room once more, you can’t contain your annoyance. “What the hell was that for?” You immediately snap. Sebastian just looms over you, looking rather pleased with himself. He just killed you for no reason. 

“I warned you,” he says. 

“No, you didn’t,” you argue. “And I didn’t even flash it in your direction!” Sebastian just shrugs. You sigh heavily and head out of the room, not even waiting for him to place the file down. Somehow, it appears he’s still benefiting from this arrangement—he must be, since he’s still following you into the submarine again. 

You’re quickly growing frustrated and impatient with your companion. Sebastian is constantly talking; he doesn’t seem to know what personal space is; and he enjoys seeing you in pain. You thought it would be nice to have company, but Sebastian is quickly proving to be nothing more than a meddlesome distraction. 

“It’s almost like you don’t want me to get to the crystal,” you mutter darkly, after he attempts to scare you. You concentrate on searching through the remaining three drawers, before moving onto the next room. 

Then you pause in the doorway, understanding crashing down on you. Suddenly everything makes sense: his inexplicable, almost childish behavior; his insistent presence; and his never-ending amusement. “You don’t want me to escape,” you realize aloud. Your blood runs cold and you feel a shiver run down your spine. The fluorescent lighting above hums loudly. 

“Took you long enough.” He remarks. Your back is turned, but you just know Sebastian is smiling. “You’re stupidly trusting. Naive. It’s almost cute… but mostly pathetic.” 

The lights above flicker in warning, but there’s a tense silence descending in the air. You’re still frozen in the doorway, listening for anglerfish. After a few moments, you conclude there aren’t any. Your fists clenched at your sides as you come to terms with Sebastian’s deceit, you try to keep walking—only for his voice to stop you. 

“You forget yourself.” Sebastian whispers, his voice dark and deeply unsettling. You can’t see anything, but you can hear him moving behind you. His tail sounds as if it’s right behind you—like he’s coiling around you, ready to strike. 

You grab your flash beacon in a tight-knuckled grip, ready to throw him off with a bright burst of light. You’re not sure how long you wait, entirely silent, before deciding to take a step forward. You wait a few seconds, then take another step. The room is drenched in darkness, and without the metal paneling on the floor to guide you, you have no idea where to go. 

A whisper of a laugh and the sensation of breath at the back of your neck makes you whip around and fire off your flash beacon. It’s annoyed him in the past—it seems to take him off guard, at the very least. Maybe you can stun him long enough to make an escape. 

The flash is blinding and your eyes water, sending tears down your cheeks. You can barely recognize Sebastian’s silhouette in front of you, and you can only hope that he freezes, or just lashes out at you-

The light fades and you’re left in the dark. You blink neon spots from your eyes, only to find two unmistakable blue orbs in the dark, a mere step away from you. “Did you really expect that to work?” Sebastian laughs cruelly. 

Suddenly the flash beacon is ripped out of your hand and smoothly crushed, crackling in the air. You can hear the moment the fragments hit the ground, the impact echoing throughout the space. Your heart is roaring in your ears. Then, something disrupts the silence: the telltale shift of a door falling open. You turn around to find a green “56” illuminated on the wall. You’re almost paralyzed in fear, torn between making a run for it and staying in Sebastian’s sights. 

He seems to sense your indecision, because he hums thoughtfully. “I’ve decided to be generous.” Sebastian says vaguely. Before you can wonder what that means, he’s continuing. “I’ll give you a twenty second head start.”

Twenty seconds isn’t nearly long enough for you to run away. You stare at his piercing blue eyes in disbelief. 

There’s no way for you to discern the expression on his face in this darkness, but you just know he’s smirking. “Nineteen…” He whispers, sounding dangerously close to your ear. You instinctively bat at the space just next to your face, but there’s nothing. “Eighteen…” 

It’s hopeless. That’s not nearly enough time to put a significant distance between the two of you.  Not to mention, you have no idea what the next rooms contain. If they’re submerged in water, you’re really screwed. 

“Fifteen… fourteen…” Sebastian’s voice jolts you back into reality. Adrenaline running through you, you race towards the next hall. 

It doesn’t matter where you choose to go—you know he’ll find you. And Sebastian knows the futility of your attempted escape, if the malicious laugh echoing down the halls is any indication. 

There’s no telling what he’ll do when he finds you. 

…And he will find you. 

You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing and close your eyes, pretending you’re absolutely anywhere else. But you can only stay in the cramped locker for a few moments, before you’re beginning to panic. When you exit the locker, you can hear him in the distance. Gritting your teeth, you decide to just keep running. 

Eyefestation is in the next hall, attempting to drag your attention towards it. You instinctually fight it off, at first, until you come to a realization. 

You don’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of catching you. You don’t want to participate in this perverted game of his. 

And, if you’re going to die anyways… you might as well have some control over it. 

Mind made up, you turn back towards Eyefestation and stare right back at it—until your vision is flooded with blinding green and countless blinking eyes. You fall to the ground, and the last thing you hear before succumbing to darkness is a frustrated scream. 

You wake slowly, as if wading through a thick sludge. When your eyes finally manage to open, you find yourself in the same room as always, sitting in front of Sebastian’s desk. There’s a harsh sound as Sebastian slams his hand on the desk in frustration. He doesn’t even give you the file on Eyefestation, instead glaring at you furiously. His fists are clenched so tightly that it looks as if he’s shaking. Despite the fear coursing through you, you still feel… satisfied. You didn’t allow yourself to be a pawn in his game. 

And he knows it. There’s tension written all across his face. He almost seems to surround the entire space, his tail swishing violently behind him. “Get out.” Sebastian orders, clearly displayed. His voice is raspy and smooth all at once. There’s a dangerous calm in the way his body stills as he locks eyes with you. “Before I rip you limb from limb.”

You’re not sure if that’s an empty threat or a founded one, and you decide you don’t want to find out. You don’t hesitate to get up and run out the door, your heart racing as you sprint to the nearest submarine. Even when you’re enclosed within walls of metal, you can’t get rid of the goosebumps prickling along your skin—and the unquestionable notion that you’ve just made a terrible mistake. 

no part two for this one, unfortunately.

anyways, thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[oftenwantedafton]

Often Wanted Afton 

Five Nights at Freddy’s

Fan Fiction Masterlist Part 1 (Part 2 here)

Welcome to my ever growing collection of FNAF William Afton and Reader themed stories featuring dark romance, older man/younger woman dynamics, angst, and, of course, smut. The majority are intended for 18+ viewers. All characters are 18+. Please see ratings and warnings. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Completed Works

Wanted - Teen

William Afton/Steve Raglan x GN Security Guard Reader (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

Marked - Explicit

CW - sexual content/minor blood and violence

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Female College Student Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2+3 | 4

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Trapped - Explicit

CW - non con/blood and violence

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Female Detective Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Craving - Mature

CW - blood and gore/ mild mature sexual content

Vampire William Afton/Springtrap x Urban Explorer Female Reader (FNAF novel/graphic novel verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Secret Santa - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Secretary Reader (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

New Year’s Eve - Explicit

CW - prostitution/daddy kink/sexual roleplay

Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Sex Worker Reader (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

An Open Book - Explicit

CW - sexual content

Author Steve Raglan/William Afton x Bookseller Mike Schmidt AU (FNAF movie verse)

One shot on Tumblr | AO3

Pas de Deux - Explicit

CW - sexual content/mentioned pregnancy/referenced character death

William Afton x Female Ballerina Reader (FNAF game verse prequel)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Ongoing Works

Night Shift - Explicit

CW - non con/dub con/sexual content/bisexual characters/blood and violence

William Afton/Steve Raglan x Mike Schmidt x Mike’s GF Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Vent - Explicit

CW - childhood trauma/mental health issues/sexual content/blood and violence/blood kink

William Afton/Steve Raglan/Springtrap x Female Reader (FNAF movie verse)

Tumblr Chapters 1-3 | 4-6 | 7-10 | 11-13 | 14-17 | 18-20 | 21-23 | 24

AO3 Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ Good Luck, Babe! - [Part 1]

♥ next | ao3 link | masterlist

♥ pairing: oscar piastri/carlos sainz jr 

♥ ballet au - enemies to lovers

♥ PLEASE READ THIS AUTHORS NOTE (none of the pictures are mine)

♥ warnings: this fic has swearing and uses some ballet terminology

♥ taglist; @liamlawsonlesbian 

♥ a/n: I’m finishing the folklore series I SWEAR I just really wanted to start this as well lol

No one has ever gotten under Oscar’s skin the way that Carlos does. Since the beginning of time there’s been competitiveness in ballet, but as two of the very few men at their company, their rivalry became a little more personal. 

Carlos took his spot at the barre, a few people lunging out of his way. He practiced a few relevé’s to get his feet moving until he heard a group of girls whispering. 

“He talks so much shit about Carlos…” one of them said as he reached down and fixed the elastic on his ballet flats. 

“I guess Oscar really does hate him.” another mumbled with a shrug. 

“You can tell him it’s mutual.” Carlos pipes up, staring at them directly. 

The group quiets down, turning away from the man and pretending to stretch. 

“Who are we waiting on?” Toto, their instructor said, strutting into the room. 

A few people mumbled Oscar’s name in response. Everyone knew it was a dangerous game pissing off Toto. He never forgave tardiness.

Oscar showed up a few minutes late, sneaking through the crack in the door with his head ducked. Toto had his back turned to the class, adjusting the speaker. 

“Piastri,” he said, turning around. Oscar dropped his bag and lightly placed his hand on the barre beside him. 

“You’re late.” Toto crossed his arms. 

“I suppose I am,” Oscar smiled and a few girls around him giggled. 

“Get out of my class.” Toto nodded towards the door. 

“Sorry?” he questioned. 

“You heard me. Out. Late students do not dance.” 

“You’re joking,” Oscar grabbed the barre tightly. “I’m the leading man, you can’t practice this dance without me.” 

“Carlos will take your place today,” Toto stated. Carlos met Oscar’s eyes, smirking at him deviously. This did nothing but inflate Carlos’ ego. 

“This is a fucking joke,” Oscar mumbled, grabbing his bag. 

“Watch your mouth before I replace you completely.”

“Let that be a lesson to all of you.” Toto sighed, watching Oscar leave the class. “We’re going to start with some simple grande plié’s, tendu’s, and penché's. Then the girls will put on their pointe shoes, we'll do a few across the floor combos, and then work on the pas de deux. Carlos, thank you for filling in today.” 

Carlos nodded in response. 

“Looks like Oscar fucked around and found out.” A girl in the class whispered, eliciting a few laughs. 

-

Oscar was first in class the next day, stealing Carlos’ sacred barre spot. It was ballet etiquette to let the older and more experienced dancers take their position first. A couple of people eyed him while he warmed up. Carlos arrived just a few minutes before class started as always and immediately noticed the man in his place. He took the spot behind Oscar and whispered: 

“You’re petty.” 

“You took something of mine, now I take something of yours.” he referred to the incident yesterday. 

“Still mad that you showed up late? That was your own fault.” 

Oscar rolled his eyes. 

Toto entered the room, a group of women following behind him. The last person through the door was Susie Wolff, prima ballerina. The girls sat on the floor with their pointé shoes, hitting them on the floor to bang the noise out of them. No one wanted to have them clomping around the stage during their graceful variations. 

“Abbi and Oscar, you’re up.” Susie said, gesturing for them to come to the center of the room. Oscar snuck a few glances at Carlos as the other dancers watched from the sidelines. Everyone stood with a complete poker-face, watching intensely for a misstep that never came. At the end of their performance all the students clapped and stared blankly.

"Abbi that was truly amazing." Susie praised her. "Try to get your leg a little bit higher during your développé's and I think it will be perfect."

Oscar was too busy watching Carlos to hear Toto’s critiques. “Piastri, are you with us?”

“Huh?” he snapped out of his stare. “Yea, yes I am, sorry.”

Toto sighed, “Alright, you two go stretch while Amna practices her solo.” As they made room for her, Oscar could hear his phone buzzing in his back. This caught the attention of both him and Carlos. He snuck over to it pretending to get water, hoping his instructors were too preoccupied watching Amna to notice. He checked the notification on his phone reading:

Lando 

party tonight @ Charles’ be there at 10

Oscar 

sounds good i'll be there

“Too bored to be paying attention to your fellow dancers?” Carlos asked.

Oscar flinched, not expecting a voice to come from behind him. He quickly shut off his phone and hid it in a pocket.

“I just had to check something,” Oscar muttered.

“Well, try to stay off your phone before you get in trouble again.”

Another hour passed and class ended.

Oscar

Is there anyone at your company you just despise?

Lando

no…?

Oscar

no one, really?

Lando

should I? lol my company is contemp, jazz, and hip hop so the vibes are pretty good over here 🤷‍♂️

-

Oscar pushed himself through the crowded party, spotting Lando and Charles laughing and drinking.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, noticing another person with them. It was Carlos.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

hello and welcome to the niche corner

hello i'm néide and this is my blog, which mostly consists of me being grumpy about niche things. i have multiple degrees in medieval irish literature and while sometimes i use these to be vaguely educational, more often i use them to write incredibly specific fic about characters nobody else cares about, and this fic can be found on ao3 (for logged-in users)

so this is a guide to my incredibly specific fanfiction, which i feel also gives a reasonably good introduction to the kind of thing i'm likely to be yelling about on this blog

i am reliably informed that you don't actually need to know anything about the source material to have fun with these fics (or suffer from the angst), but also they can be more fun if you do. some have bibliographies/refs/explanations so i also know a few people have used them as a way to get started with medieval Irish lit which will never not be extremely funny to me

current WIP: chasing someone else's dream (16k, WIP): a cú chulainn/láeg reincarnation fic. they have been reincarnated, not for the first time. they've also been cursed, and thus, unlike in every life before this one, they've never met. ngl this fic contains some of the best prose i ever wrote, please read it

group chats of the ulster cycle, or, the in loco parentis series

a modern AU of the ulster cycle. sort of a college AU, turned into a ballet AU halfway through. consists of:

in loco parentis (135k, complete): my magnum opus. cú chulainn and láeg are university flatmates; group chats featuring all your favourite ulster cycle characters and also some you probably never gave a shit about; cú chulainn as a tiny trans ballet dancer and ferdia as his pas de deux partner; baking; everybody hating on conchobar; nobody dies; way more feelings about both ballet and shostakovich than anybody was expecting, including me; and much more. comes with explanatory notes / bibliography because i'm just Like That

getting the dee (9k, in progress/abandoned): a prequel to ILP, sort of a longes mac nuislenn fic except nobody dies and there are more sex toys. naoise/deirdre with guest appearances from conall. one day i'll go back to this but also i'm a coward

valentáin's day (4k oneshot, complete): a prequel to ILP, featuring láeg and cormac in the pub on valentine's day making fun of all their friends in relationships. they make out, fortunately their friendship survives the experience.

and when you move, i move (2.5k oneshot, complete): a sequel to ILP. just a horny lil cú chulainn/ferdia oneshot set a few months after ILP wraps up.

miscellaneous ulster cycle oneshots

i will be honest, most of these are sad fics of oidheadh con culainn ("the death of cú chulainn") because i just love writing angst, but there's a couple of others in there

a moment's silence (3k): smutty cú/láeg fic set during táin bó cúailnge, inspired by this picture. the most explicit fic i've written

to walk this world alone (6k): extremely niche fic featuring láeg after cú chulainn's death. some otherworldly happenings. sad but not as sad as it was originally going to be.

counterweight (3k): cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. this one's pretty sad too.

dindsenchas (3.5k): missing scenes between cú chulainn and láeg during táin bó cúailnge. narrated by the landscape of ulster and addressed in second person to cú chulainn himself because the best sex scenes are the ones narrated by a tree.

in one dwelling place (2k): láeg/cú chulainn/emer. vaguely smutty, vaguely fluffy.

we'll say goodbye, today (2k): cú chulainn and láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. big sad hours.

glorious as the sunrise (3k): this is just angst. cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn again. not particularly shippy but they love each other very much.

a marriage of inconvenience (3k): modern AU. cú chulainn wants to marry emer but unfortunately never bothered to get divorced after he married láeg for househunting purposes. a very silly fic.

of grief and glory (1.7k): cú chulainn deals with the aftermath of táin bó cúailnge, especially fer diad's death. more sad times lol.

flight risk (2.3k): teenage cú chulainn and láeg steal a spaceship. they get caught. fun scifi AU.

other medieval lit fics (non ulster cycle)

patron saint of toasties (2.5k): finn cycle fic. oisín took time out of uni to travel and now all his friends have graduated and he's lonely enough to text the christian union's "text a toastie" hotline. which is how he meets patrick. very silly modern AU gen fic mostly taking the piss out of st patrick

two birds of a feather (2.8k): yonec (marie de france) | togail bruidne da derga crossover fic. bird dad support group. conaire and yonec hang out and bond over their dads having maybe been birds. stupidest thing i ever wrote and i adore it.

quiver and shake (1.8k): fourth branch of the mabinogi fic. gwydion and gilfaethwy's special brotherly bonding time. canon typical content warnings apply.

other

absent thee from felicity (11k, WIP): hamlet | romeo & juliet crossover modern AU in which horatio and benvolio attempt to deal with the aftermath of their respective tragedies. sad at first, will gradually get sillier. haven't updated in a couple of years but that doesn't mean it's permanently abandoned, i'm just busy

a guild doctor and an abolitionist walk into a bar (5.5k, complete): mortimer sark/daragh vernant (the butterfly assassin by finn longman). in which they become friends while coparenting their fucked up assassin child and pretending they're not doing that. blatant pro-mortimer propaganda tbh and i'm not sorry

if you've never read any of my fics before and are wondering where to start, i firmly believe the reincarnation fic (current WIP) is a good one because it has a solid mix of angst, shenanigans, and weird fuckery, so you can experience the tonal whiplash of the rest of my fics all in one place! but it is a WIP and i make zero promises about upload schedule, it happens when it happens, so not so good if you're impatient haha. plenty of others to get you started though

[stereopticons]

Thanks for the tags, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @kiwiana-writes @ninzied! One day I’ll actually finish something, but for now, here’s more than seven sentences of something new.

Ever since he insisted on tagging along to June’s beginner ballet class, so much of his life has been spent in front of a studio mirror, pushing himself to be just a little bit better—to make his lines cleaner, his turns neater. Over time, the dance studio became a sort of refuge for him, a place where he could pour himself into perfecting his technique to distract himself from his own reality. The day his dad left, Alex spent hours at the barre rehearsing the same eight-bar combination until June showed up and dragged him back home.

June worries, but Alex knows that it’s all of that hard work that led him here. All the countless hours rehearsing and perfecting are what allowed him to become a member of the New York City Ballet, and now, if he wants the lead in Rafael Luna’s newest production of Swan Lake (and he absolutely does), he has to work even harder.

Which is why he’s here, in Studio 3, well after the streetlights have come on and everyone else has gone home, trying to perfect the series of fouettés in the coda of the Black Swan pas-de-deux. If he can get this right, Raf will have to give him the part of the Swan.

“Oh, sorry.”

Alex slips and stumbles at the sound of the voice coming from the door. From the round English vowels, he knows who it is before he even turns around.

Tagging @hippolotamus @indestructibleheart @magicandarchery @myheartalivewrites @inexplicablymine

@rmd-writes @welcometololaland @jamilas-pen @filet-o-feelings @treluna4

@lizzie-bennetdarcy @smblmn @nontoxic-writes @tyfinn @beaiola

@ships-to-sail @chelle-68 @missgeevious @mostlyinthemorning @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3

@celeritas2997 @wordthieve @dinnfameron

[chrollogy]

Please recommend us some fics from other authors

hi nonnie!! thanks for dropping by my ask :> not too sure if you’re after a specific fandom but since i’ve been reading from genshin & haikyuu lately, i’m more than happy to recommend fics from those fandoms!!

genshin impact

the laws regarding attraction (pas de deux) by euniveve on ao3 (neuvillette x f!reader; series, angst, slow burn, arranged marriage, one-sided pining)

notes: everything about this series is perfect!!! the angst the pining AAAAA it made me feel so so much things for neuvi :( <3 series is currently on hold but do give it a read!!!

doctor’s orders by joonie-beanie (wriothesley x f!reader; explicit smut)

wicked dragon, lay waste to me by silkjade (neuvillette x afab!reader; explicit smut)

an encore of betrayal by vivalabunbun (neuvillette x f!reader; historical au, reincarnation au, slow burn, angst, smut)

haikyuu

encumbrance by pantslesspanic on ao3 (kuroo, hinata, atsumu, kageyama, sakusa, bokuto, iwaizumi, oikawa, suna, daishou x f!reader; series, japanese men’s national volleyball team, tokyo 2020 summer olympics, multiple pairings, slow burn, smut)

notes: THIS was the fic making me squeal about bokuto yesterday LMAOOO it’s soooo amazing <3 it’s still on going but already has 9 chapters :>

an observer of longing by tsumoo on ao3 (iwaizumi x f!reader; friends to lovers, angst, mutual pining, smut)

notes: this one made me feel so much emotions AAAAAAA i am in love w author’s writing

tag, ur it! by hqbaby (sakusa, osamu, iwaizumi x f!reader; series, college au, slow burn, smut)

my time is important by yenonnoff (iwaizumi x gn!reader; mini smau series, college au, crack, friends to lovers, fluff)

my love mix up by boyfhees (iwaizumi x reader; school au, fluff, humour, minor angst)

kiss me maybe by mysterystarz (oikawa x gn!reader; college au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst)

second best by cr4yolaas (iwaizumi x reader; two-part series, fluff, angst, losing feelings, timeskip)

[candyriku]

I just posted my incredibly self-indulgent retired ballerina Soriku AU oneshot over on Ao3, so I drew this to celebrate! :)

Title: Pas De Deux

Rating: G

Words: 2,178

Chapters: 1/1

[cringefailvox]

hi, i'm bay or spoon (they/ze)!! i'm spoondrifts on ao3 and i'm currently writing for hazbin hotel :] if you want to see non-hazbin or more personal stuff from me, my main is @spoondrifts!!

i also have a ko-fi if you'd like to spare a broke college student a few bucks, but no pressure; i write for fun, not for money, though it can be a great motivator!

my inbox is always open, so don't be shy to shoot me a question or anything you want me to see / talk about!! i'm always down to chat :] love u guys!!

fanfic directory under the cut:

our lovely company appears so entertained — alastor/vox, rated M, 2.6k. complete. one-sided bdsm torture session where vox is into it, sexually, and alastor is definitely not

The Diving Bell — charlie/vaggie, rated T, 9.5k. complete. a pre-canon character study of their relationship progression

riding out the drop — valentino/vox, rated E, 4.3k. complete. val gets fed up with vox's fixation on the radio demon, they fuck about it

to slip such carrion ties — alastor & rosie, rated G, 1.7k. complete. missing scene between episodes 7 & 8, rosie character study

sometimes you scrape and sink so low — alastor & husk, rated G, 1.8k. complete. missing scene post-ep 5 where alastor and husk work things out

time has changed the metaphor — alastor/rosie/vox, rated T, 15.2k. complete. first installment in my meteor shower au series where alastor, rosie, and vox are in a qpr together

Featherstone — valentino & velvette & vox + valentino/vox, rated T, 7.8k. complete. accidental baby acquisition with the vees

dragging its tail in the sea — alastor/rosie/vox, rated T, 15.4k. complete. second installment in the meteor shower qpr series

pas de deux — carmilla/velvette, rated E, 4.7k. complete. plotless smut where carmilla teaches velvette a lesson about respect

ET TU, ALASTOR? — angel/lucifer + husk/lucifer + niffty/lucifer + alastor/lucifer, rated M, 4.8k. complete. crackfic of charlie gradually losing her sanity as lucifer rebounds with 80% of her staff

oleanders in june — alastor/vox, rated T, 6k. complete. pre-canon, alastor and vox share a meal and some uncomfortably intimate sadistic tension

spiraling down thy majesty — lucifer/vox, rated E, 7.1k. complete. lucifer and vox decide to vent their mutual frustration about alastor by fucking each other

the world we knew (over and over) — alastor/lucifer + lucifer & charlie + alastor & charlie, rated M, 7.9k. in-progress. time loop fic in which charlie dies during the final battle and lucifer and alastor relive it again, and again, and again

Trust Us With Your Stress Relief! — valentino/velvette/vox, rated M, 2.5k. complete. in which the vees use their monthly vacation day to blow off some steam together (read: torture their employees)

strange perfections in any stranger i choose — alastor/vox, rated G, 3.6k. complete. a take on pre-canon radiostatic's first meeting

i want your violence, your silent sedation — alastor/vox, rated M, 5.8k. complete. in which radio isn't as dead as you think, vox is an irresponsible pet owner, and alastor gets attic wife'd

even now you mark my steps — alastor/vox, rated T, 5.2k. complete. alastor, vox, and an improvised waltz at a plant nursery

come and kiss me, pretty baby — alastor/vox, rated G, 3.3k. complete. drunken queerplatonic radiostatic shenanigans

when the flies fell — alastor/vox, rated E, 32.9k. complete. human(ish) au where weird shit happens when they try to summon a demon together

a putrid feeling that i've addressed — valentino/vox, rated T, 5.1k. complete. helluva boss full moon, staticmoth edition

undone, undress — angel/valentino, rated E, 7.5k. complete. the vees have been defeated, but angel and val aren't finished with each other just yet

volta; you woke the world inside of me — alastor/vox, rated T, 9.6k. complete. queerplatonic t4t radiostatic where vox has a gender crisis and alastor handles it shockingly well

the invitation to happiness — alastor & rosie & vox, rated G, 3.5k, complete. precanon rosemedia celebrating hanukkah together

verbatim — alastor/valentino, rated E, 8k. complete. vox is unavailable for alastor's heat, so valentino steps in to help

scatterbrain — alastor/vox + alastor & rosie + alastor & lilith, rated T, 6.8k. complete. in which alastor's seven-year absence was spent catching some z's

nobody as sweet as you — lucifer/vox, rated T, 8k. complete. sequel to "spiraling down thy majesty" where lucifer and vox follow through on their fake dating plan

jeepers creepers! — alastor/vox, rated E, 8.1k. complete. precanon hypnosis practice gone sexy

[fastcardotmp3]

Nancy Wheeler needs a steadier set of hands.

It’s a vital thing, the steadiness, and one which she’s prided herself on for a long time now, but in this moment? On this endless night? Nancy needs a steadier set of hands.

She stands along the wall, close to the door because it’s crowded beyond measure in the double-wide trailer that’s used primarily as a med center and because it’s hard enough to breathe during this conversation without direct access to an exit.

The fingers of her right hand tap against the side of her thigh, a discordant rhythm which her ballet instructors of her youth would have disparaged on the spot. Stay in time, Nancy! Don’t be so hesitant, Nancy! Did you forget how to count, Nancy?!

Her fingers tap, but the beat of her heart is not much better at keeping consistent time, so what is she meant to count along with? Where is the pace being set? Where is the music to guide her through this moment as her unsteady hands reach into the bag slung across her body and pull out a bottle of lake water, black as pitch and viscous?

Where is her partner in this pas de deux as the glass clatters with the uncontrollable force she uses to set it down on the table at the center of the room?

“Jesus Christ.”

“That’s our drinking water?”

“It looks like— like fuckin’ Venom.”

“What the hell is Venom, Henderson?”

“From Spider-Man? Symbiote alien from another planet and—”

“That’s our drinking water?”

Nancy stands against the wall.

She watches and she listens as they pass the bottle around, the glass face boasting Coca-Cola loud enough that it almost really does just look like a bottle of flat soda, and she chooses to let them bicker.

There was a time, some many months ago now, when Nancy would have walked in and at the very least pretended at enough confidence and certainty to convince everyone she had a plan and they would all be okay and they wouldn’t all die of thirst because the Upside Down and the entity controlling it has finally decided that direct action against their resources might be more efficient that sending monsters through the gates has been so far.

There was a time, indeed, when Nancy might have even felt such confidence, such certainty, but she can't remember that sensation now.

Not a sensory memory within her reach, not a modicum of cautious optimism born from a girl who had not yet learned the undeniable yearning of loss.

Nancy is here, as Joyce forces them all into some semblance of focus, kids and adults and the meeting of the two alike, but Nancy is also there.

Nancy is sixteen again, making a choice which changed her life, a choice she weighs in her hands during every moment of quiet, during every moment of noise too. If she had gotten in the car with Barb, would they have been able to outrun the forces of the Upside Down together?

Would Nancy simply have been dragged to her death with her best friend instead?

Is she fucked in the head for thinking both of those options may have been better than the reality?

“We need Max,” El is saying, arguing back against the sudden surge of insistence to fight. “When I can get through to Max, then we will have the upper hand.”

She says it a little stilted, a turn of phrase she's heard more than she's used, one which she likely only knows in this specific context.

Jonathan is standing beside her, close enough to offer visible support.

Eddie has a finger looped through the belt at Steve's waist, doing the same.

Robin sits beside Erica, Lucas on the other side of his sister, and Dustin pacing in the small space behind the couch.

Nancy leans against the wall by the door.

“We can't just wait around,” Steve shakes his head, almost in apology. “Vecna or— or the other thing, whatever's in charge at this point— it's making a play, right? That's what's happening? It's going on offense and we can't just keep playing defense, we have to actually make a play back.”

Nancy feels a headache brewing behind her eyes, clenches and unclenches her right hand in a fist to try and find something like stability. Fails at it.

“We've been holding our ground long enough,” Robin agrees with him boldly, “we understand how to fight back. If we catch him by surprise...”

“But can we? Catch him by surprise?” Lucas now, deep bags of grief under his eyes which Nancy understands all too well.

She wishes for him to never understand it as well as she does.

She wishes for a lot of things.

“He's baiting us,” Dustin shakes his head. “We tried that game with— with Max,” a thick swallow, “and he's mocking us with it. We should wait. We aren't ready.”

“It doesn't matter whether or not we're ready,” Nancy hears herself speaking and the way all those eyes turn on her is the sort of being seen she's avoided all her life.

Ever since she was a child, she hasn't been able to stomach people pretending to know her. Ever since she was a child it's been a form of control, a form of expectation, another set of rules she's had to conform to and she's goddamn tired of it.

She's really just so tired.

“It doesn't matter,” she shrugs, crosses her arms and grips at her biceps so no one can see the way her hands shake. “We'll never be ready, but if we wait long enough we will get weaker because we won't have water and we won't have food and it will be winter. He'll freeze us out before we can even try. It doesn't fucking matter.”

Things are escalating where the people of Hawkins are still trapped in the wasteland. In the midst of it, Nancy Wheeler finds catharsis, and maybe even hope. sequel to "that's just wasteland, baby!"

Ronance | 15.5k words | rated E

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[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader | 18+ | ~40k words | updates on Wednesdays main masterlist | ao3

summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

full fic tags/warnings (spoilers!): modern AU, ballet AU, fluff, angst, flirting, dancing, lots of ballet terms (I’ll define things/link videos/etc. -- see below), misunderstandings, character study, romance, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful), lots of tension, later: smut, kissing, grinding, fingering, p-in-v sex, creampie, each chapter will have its own tags, Din lifts reader (see note below about reader)

a/n: welcome to the Din ballet fic!! I started writing this in April and it’s finally finished! I’ll post a new chapter every Wednesday, there are 14 total. There’s some smut coming but it’ll be a while, folks. See my notes below about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!! This fic is so much better because of you. 🧡 And thank you to @almostfoxglove for reading over it and confirming I didn't forget all my ballet, lol. 🩰

note about reader: in this fic you’re a ballet dancer, first soloist at Nevarro Ballet Theater company. I haven’t mentioned the reader’s body size or shape (or hair) basically at all, even to the point of avoiding clothing (except for costumes), but I understand the image that goes along with ballet – I danced for almost 20 years. Din does lift you many times. Please feel free to picture whatever you want, but I know that this might seem more limited. You also have a best friend named Adrian who is in the company with you. I never specified age, but to make first soloist most would be in at least their early 20s. Din is 27.

Chapter list and notes about ballet under the cut! Comment or reblog to join the tag list. 🥰🩰

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - coming Wed 11/6

...

some notes about ballet: I will share links to videos and such as much as possible, but here are some definitions to get us started – principal, (first) soloist, corps de ballet, variation, and class vs. rehearsal:

Principal - this is the highest level a dancer (of any gender) can reach in a company. Dancers are ‘promoted’ through the ranks. Principals usually have exceptional technique and artistry and can perform solos, pas de deux (partnering), headlining and/or the most challenging roles, etc. (e.g., the white (Odette) and black (Odile) swans in Swan Lake, both usually performed by one principal). Sometimes dancers are hired directly in as principals (like Din, in this fic). Smaller companies might have 5-6 principals, while larger ones could have as many as 20. Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 14 principals, including Din.

First Soloist - not every company has this rank, but it’s in between principal and soloist. Nevarro has 4 but they are counted among the soloists (12-14ish total). Soloists are often understudies for larger parts, and first soloists would do the same. In this fic reader is a first soloist, just promoted at the start of the season.

Soloist - this is sort of a middle level, for dancers who are doing very well and have proven themselves capable of taking on bigger roles. Many ballets have multiple roles, including supporting roles in the narrative, for soloists and principals to showcase many dancers’ talents. A smaller company might have 5-6 soloists, and a larger company might have as many as 20. (Larger companies also do more shows.) Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 12-14 soloists, including first soloists.

Corps de ballet - this is the lowest/starting level in a company. It’s where most would start from and has the largest number of dancers – these are the dancers who come out on stage in large groups or form the background unnamed roles in narrative scenes (like a party). Reader started in the corps and was promoted to soloist and then first soloist.

Variation - a solo dance, usually a piece from a larger ballet (e.g., the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker). We say ‘variation’ because there are many ballets that have been choreographed differently by multiple people in the ballet world (e.g., there are famous versions of the Nutcracker by Petipa, Gorsky, Balanchine, Nureyev, Baryshnikov… and more). So there can be multiple variations of a solo from a single ballet, and more can be created or altered, etc. But in general the term just means solo.

Class vs. rehearsal - most companies distinguish between ‘class’ and ‘rehearsal’. Class is for the whole company and focused on improving technique. It’s quick and often repetitive and everyone sort of knows what to do. Most people would have ‘their’ spot at the barre and fall into a typical order for going across the floor. After class, most would go into multiple hours of rehearsal, PT, strength training, etc., depending on whether it was a performance day or not. Most companies are rehearsing for more than one performance at a time, so they might have a longer rehearsal for the show coming up this or next weekend, and a shorter one for another performance a bit farther away. But in the days leading up to a show, that show’s rehearsals would probably take over. This can vary by company. On show days, most would have fewer rehearsals with a 1-2 hour break before the call time to get ready.

Season - companies have 'seasons' which just refers to their plan for shows/schedule for the upcoming year. They might refer to like a fall season and a spring season, or the might have a full year schedule with different parts (fall/winter/spring), or they might have only a spring season that runs into early summer. It depends on the company and the size! In this fic Nevarro has a fall season and a spring season, but they tend to think about it as a full year for contracts/etc. They would have 3-4 big shows planned (think Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, Onegin, etc.) in each part of the season (so, 3-4 in fall and 3-4 in spring). And then they'd fill in the gaps in the schedule with "mixed programs", which are programs with multiple smaller ballets or pieces that feature a lot of dancers. So a mixed program might have a 20 minute Balanchine ballet, a pas de deux, a full corps piece from a larger ballet, and a piece for like 8 dancers. or something. Mixed programs are often when choreographers-in-residence and on staff get to debut their own work.

[steddieas-shegoes]

chapter 3 - pas de deux

read previous chapters here

Eddie arrives at the farm a lot earlier than he told Steve to expect him. He did it on purpose, and he hopes that the key Steve leaves under the mat in case one of the kids gets locked out while doing farm chores is there so he can let himself in. He’s past the point of caring about remaining professional. He doesn’t see any of the lights on in the house, so he closes the car door as quietly as he can and makes his way up the porch steps. He smiles when he sees rain boots lined up along the wall, probably drying out before Steve brings them inside. The key under the mat is painted a bright orange color, Max’s favorite because she’s usually the one who gets locked out. Steve insists it’s because she takes the longest with her chores, but Max argues that Mike does it on purpose. Eddie thinks it’s probably both.

continue reading on ao3

[oftenwantedafton]

Pas de Deux - William Afton x Female Ballerina Reader ~ A Ballora Origin Story

Chapter 1

Rating : Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Summary: It’s your senior year of high school and at 18 you’re on the cusp of becoming one of the best students in Mrs. Afton’s ballet class, where only the most elite train and compete.

But the closer you get to Mr. Afton, the more you question what it is you truly want to be.

Also available on AO3

You see the red glow of a cigarette before you realize who its owner is, leaning against the brick and mortar of the building adjacent to the ballet studio you attend.

“Hi, Mr. Afton.”

You think he might nod a greeting, but it’s difficult to discern much when he’s cloaked in shadows.

“Mrs. Afton said she’ll be down soon.” You switch your duffel bag to your other hand. The evening air is cool against your damp skin, the moisture lingering from the rigorous exercise you’d just performed. The woman was merciless, but her reputation was well founded. She expected the best; you either rose to the top under her tutelage, or floundered and faced expulsion. There were no exceptions.

The paper roll of tobacco ignites again and this time it illuminates the older man’s features, revealing a shadow of stubble along cheekbones and jaw. There are soot colored stains beneath his pale eyes that speak of long hours at the children’s party themed restaurant again. You don’t understand precisely what maintaining the animatronics involves, but it clearly is exhausting.

He gestures with the cigarette towards the row of second story windows facing the street. “I saw you earlier. You’re the best in the group,” he murmurs.

You blush, feeling warmth creep into your face. “I don’t know about that.”

”The way you move. It’s…” He takes another long drag, leaving the sentence hanging open. The silence lengthens and you seek an end to the awkwardness.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” you blurt out.

“On occasion. Don’t tell my wife,” he adds with a smirk.

“I won’t,” you promise. You shiver suddenly, wishing you had brought your hoodie with you; it’s getting colder at night now.

“Here.” He shrugs out of his blazer, stepping forward and draping it around your shoulders. You’re suddenly enveloped in warmth, his lingering body heat covering your skin. He’s so tall compared to you, another exhalation of smoke wafting down. You inhale deeply and drink it in. He’s made no move to step back, studying you with those icicle pale eyes. “You ever smoke before?”

“I’ve tried it.” You swallow, refusing to falter beneath his gaze. “I liked it.”

He hums thoughtfully, removing the cigarette from his mouth. “You want to finish it?”

“Okay.”

He holds it just before your lips, so the lit end faces away from you. You lean forward slightly, accepting the offering, shivering again when his fingers brush your lips.

Behind you, you hear the sound of the stairwell door clanging shut and you hurriedly remove the cigarette, tossing it to the ground and grinding it beneath your sneaker. The brisk click of high heels can only belong to one person.

“William, why haven’t you started the car yet? It’s freezing out here.”

“Needed some fresh air. I’ve been indoors all day.” He rummages in his pants pocket and produces a set of keys. He unlocks the trunk and relieves you of your burden.

“So have I,” the other woman snaps impatiently, dumping her bag next to yours.

William unlocks the front passenger door and then the rear, holding the door as you slide in. You’d been getting a ride home from ballet lessons for several weeks now, an arrangement your mother had made since you didn’t have your own vehicle and she was now working second shift.

“Can we get going? I have an early class tomorrow.” Mrs. Afton drums her perfectly manicured crimson nails on the door handle impatiently.

You’re well accustomed to the female instructor’s abrasive nature by now. Her husband’s eyes meet yours in the rear view mirror after he closes the door and gets behind the wheel. You’re not entirely sure you comprehend how these two had ever become a couple. Sure, she was pretty, thin and willowy, with full lips and sparkling eyes. Maybe she’d been kinder when they’d been younger. Their personalities were just so different. William was quiet and reserved, while she was loud and energetic.

Perhaps it was the old adage opposites attract.

When you move to return his blazer after you reach your destination, he insists you keep it, touching your hand briefly before handing you your bag and shutting the trunk of the car.

”I’ll see you Friday,” he says, hovering near the car, seemingly reluctant to part ways.

You nod and say goodnight, hearing another sigh of exasperation from the passenger before you turn away.

You spend a long time in the shower letting the hot water cascade over you and soothe sore muscles before changing into your favorite pajamas, oversized and well worn. You cannot resist bringing the loaned fabric to your face, inhaling William’s scent. Nicotine and that morning’s aftershave fill your nostrils and you think about your mouths sharing the same cigarette, a virtual kiss.

***

The fragrance dissipates over time but still you keep the blazer hidden deep in your bedroom closet. William never asks for it back and you don’t think you’re willing to part with it.

One evening you share another cigarette and lean against the building next to him, so close your arm brushes his each time you move to take another drag. His fingers tangle with yours in a seemingly accidental collision during an exchange and you drop it. He doesn’t let go and you let him caress your hand. You can feel the shiny taut lines of well healed scars and the rough edge of a newer scab across one knuckle. He hisses and you think maybe you’ve hurt him until you see his head rock back, striking masonry, teeth catching his bottom lip. Your heart pounds as you continue to stroke the injured area.

Your companion curses, grabs your upper arm and pulls you further into the alley. He presses you against the rough side of the building, one forearm braced above your head, his tall figure looming over you.

“What are you doing to me?” His lips graze one ear and ghost over your throat, brushing feather light against your mouth and then he’s gone, moving back towards the entrance of the studio.

He watches you in the mirror the entire ride home and you wonder how he manages to operate the vehicle safely.

You tremble like an addict going through withdrawal and your heart continues to jackhammer long after he’s dropped you off.