#studio killers reference

[jugger-heads]

do you wish to be saved?

[campbyler]

What are Mike and Will’s top three artists? (Idk if you’ve mentioned it before sorryy)

oooh i don’t think we’ve named specific favorites for them before!! i don’t know if we’ll be able to just name Three (edit: coming back to proofread after typing out this ask. i did not just name Three), bc to me acswy mike and will both have pretty varied music tastes — i think they’d both listen to a lot of different genres and artists, especially music that their friends/family/assorted loved ones introduce them to that might not be something they’d usually go for.

mike: we did mention in ch2 that mike has a demon days poster above his bed in the blue cabin, and while i don’t think gorillaz is one of his Favorite groups by any means, i do think he 1. listens to them a lot while driving specifically and 2. just reallyyyy loves their album art. to me mike is also such a pop punk enjoyer, so i think some of his go-tos include bands like all time low and paramore and blink-182, probably with a little midwest emo thrown in bc the boy did literallyyyyy grow up in indiana. i do also think he has a soft spot for feel-good pop, especially boyband music like 1D and BTR, and i think 5sos is not technically a boyband (or that they don’t like to be called one? iirc? maybe?) but i think he would listen to them quite a bit as well! really and truly i think mike would just like a little bit of everything, and his fav artists probably rotate a lot depending on his mood.

will: always a jeff buckley enthusiast across universes to meeeee, and the clear answers here are also the cure/the clash and other oldies rock OBVIOUSLYYYY but i think he would also totally dabble in typical 2020s Male Manipulator Music lol with likeeeee peach pit and the backseat lovers and the strokes especially. i think he’d also be into midwest emo (cannot escape his fate), and maybe also deftones and ptv a little bit (<- self indulgent and me projecting but i am not sorry). i think he also has a soft spot for pop, but not really in the same way mike does — for example, el definitely makes him listen to a lot of carly rae jepsen and the like when they’re together, and he also has a lot of good memories of listening to older pop songs with his mom when he was younger! like. he hits shuffle on his liked songs and it’s destiny’s child followed by radiohead followed by jenny by studio killers. he contains multitudes i’m afraid

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr. Gaiman,

I know you are not a copyright lawyer, but you are an author who has been producing and interacting with copyrighted works for longer than I've been alive, so I thought I'd just ask: Where is the line between making a pop culture reference in a work and infringing on copyright?

I sincerely struggle to believe that every mention of characters like Yoda, Wonder Woman, or the Doctor in books, movies, songs, etc. gets approved by Lucasfilm, DC Comics, or the BBC before going out in the world, but am I wrong? Does having a character in a novel or comic book dress up as, say, Coraline for Halloween require coordination with you (and possibly Laika as well)?

While it's a long shot, I thought I'd ask you, in case you see this and have an answer.

Thank you for your time,

Brian

I can give you the same answer that a copyright lawyer would. At least at the beginning. "It's complicated, and it all depends," is how it would begin.

After that it moves into specifics. In the last season of Good Omens, for example, I got permission from Iain Banks's widow to have The Crow Road front and centre and to see the first sentence on screen. On the other hand I didn't get specific permission to talk about Doctor Who (or invent the 1964 Doctor Who Annual). (On the other other hand I knew nobody was going to complain about that because the BBC were the production studio making Good Omens and if they had wanted to grumble they would have let me know early.) We got permission from the Buddy Holly estate/music publishers to use Buddy Holly's song Everyday, but we didn't seek or get permission to use the song in the plot.

Fair use exists, transformational use of copyrighted material exists, and parody exists, and all of these things mean that if you're watching a Halloween episode of something where the kids are dressed as Coraline, Freddy Krueger, the Scream killer, and Pinhead, permission might have been granted or it might not have been requested.

[melanchoire]

I just read your “killer” story with yujin and Karina and omg you’re an amazing writer; the detail and descriptive sting you use makes it so much more immersive!(which I love). I was wondering if I could resist a Ryujin x yeji x reader nsfw fic?

BEHIND THE CAMERA, BESIDE THEM ──── hwang yeji & shin ryujin

── ( 💜 ) from debut until now, the fans have adored your unbreakable connection with yeji and ryujin — little do they know, the true chemistry burns brightest when the cameras are off, and the line between platonic friendship and something intoxicatingly taboo begins to blur with every lingering touch and unspoken desire.

pairing. soft dom!yeji x sub!6th member!fem reader x mean dom!ryujin

warning(s). bitting, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out, pet names, spanking, use of strap—on (and refer to it as a dick like once or twice).

word count. 7,0k

author's note. this took SO LONG but it’s finally here 🙌🏻

the weight of the stage lights always felt heavier than they were, the heat radiating down onto your skin as you took your place. years of training, grueling schedules, and the endless push for perfection had led you here, to the gleaming spotlight of your dream. you were finally part of itzy, a name that echoed with power and precision, a group of six distinct individuals bound together by a shared ambition. and yet, even amidst the rush of adrenaline and the cacophony of cheers, a current of uneasiness would sometimes simmer beneath the surface.

before debut, the connections were different. you’d known the other girls as trainees, shared countless hours in the practice room, but outside those walls, your lives had diverged. you existed in a parallel world outside the company. studies, a part–time job to help your family, those things claimed you when you weren’t under the fluorescent lights of the practice rooms.

you knew the others, yes, but true closeness had been a gradual bloom. it was strange how you gravitated towards yeji and ryujin. yeji, the ever–composed leader, and ryujin, with her effortless cool, were magnets in their own right. you, caught in their orbit, discovered a peculiar resonance. you were the same age as ryujin, and maybe that's why you got along better, but the thing you had with yeji was different. lia and chaeryeong, despite being the same age as yeji and ryujin, respectively, seemed to have their own established dynamic, one that didn’t quite include you.

initially, it hadn’t been romantic at all. you’d just clicked, your conversations flowing easily, a shared understanding forming with each passing day. while you enjoyed the company of all your members, the connection with the other two felt like a shared language, a comfort in the intensity of your demanding schedules. but the fans noticed, and they were very, very good at turning everything into a ship. at first, the pairing of yeji and ryujin seemed normal, the dynamic of the charismatic leader and the playful one playing out naturally on screen. but then, you were pulled into their orbit.

it started small, casual touches, a hand lingering a moment too long on your arm, an extra squeeze during a group hug. soon, it escalated. it was in the moments where you were all on stage, the girls being touchy with you, and you tried to focus on your performance, but the warmth of their skin next to yours kept distracting you.

and that’s how things started to blur, how the fans began to weave stories around the three of you. the others had their established pairings, lia and yuna, and chaeryeong with anyone she decided to joke with. but the dynamic with you, yeji, and ryujin had another flavor. when the fandom’s “two main characters” started to include you in their interactions, your ship quickly became a love triangle. a particularly dramatic one.

the studio choom set was a stark white canvas, the neon purple lights casting long, dramatic shadows. the air crackled with the energy of their performance, a showcase of fierce precision and undeniable chemistry that left you breathless. yeji and ryujin looked like visions, their dark makeup accentuating their sharp features, the black eyeliner and dark lipstick giving them an almost dangerous allure. the grey–blue tank top and pants on yeji clung to her lean frame, while ryujin’s military green outfit mirrored the same edgy aesthetic. even their hair, straight and with blunt bangs, had the same sinister and powerful vibe. the air crackled with their combined energy, the kind that made your stomach flip even if you weren’t the one performing. the staff milled around, capturing the behind–the–scenes moments, the casual banter, the stolen glances.

you watched, a quiet observer, as they posed for photos. their lean figures outlined by the vivid light. the camera zoomed in, capturing their raw, untamed aura. you felt a slight pang of jealousy, a feeling you were trying to understand. then, suddenly, they turned, their eyes locking onto you.

“come here.” ryujin had said, the command half–teasing, half–serious. before you could react, they were flanking you. suddenly, you were the center of their attention, the cool steel of their gazes pressing in on you. you were pulled between them, ryujin’s arm snaking around your waist and yeji’s hand settling heavily on your shoulder.

“like this.” yeji murmured, her voice low. you felt the heat of her body pressed against yours, the ghost of her fingers grazing your shoulder. ryujin’s hand squeezed your arm, a subtle possessiveness that made the hair on the back of your neck tingle. the cameras clicked, capturing the tableau of light and shadow, the intensity of the three of you. it was like being caught between two forces, a dynamic you weren’t entirely sure how to understand. the fans did, of course. they were quick to interpret the images, calling yeji and ryujin your “devil twins”, with you in the middle, like a prized possession.

the red carpet of the awards ceremony was another battlefield. the photographers’ flashes were relentless, a sea of light that highlighted every detail of your carefully curated outfits. lia, chaeryeong, and yuna had created a moment for the cameras, their playful half–hearts a display of their affection. you remember feeling a pang of fondness as you watched them, their laughter a light melody in the chaos. then, yeji and ryujin entered the fray.

then, you felt the familiar tug on your arm, breaking your gaze. you turned to find yeji, her eyes alight with mischief. she moved smoothly, her arm looping around your shoulders from behind, her other hand reaching across your chest to meet the other on your shoulder. her touch was warm, possessive, her fingers brushing against your neck sending a shiver down your spine — at the same time, ryujin mirrored her actions, her arm low on your waist, hands settling on your hips, her fingers pressing into your side. the sudden contact made you catch your breath. and you didn’t know what to do, if you should move away, laugh about it, play along, or keep staring blankly at the camera.

before you could even process their actions, they were both pressing closer, surrounding you in a cage of their affection. you could feel the heat radiating from them, their gazes intense on your face. both girls were like predators marking their territory, each touch a bold statement. you felt caught in the middle, your arms hanging uselessly at your sides, your expression a mixture of confusion and bemusement.

the cameras continued to gleam. you could see the surprised looks from some of the cameramen and paparazzi, but they had gotten used to you and your group’s antics. but you, you felt trapped, almost suffocated by the sudden intimacy. you were always the one to take the back seat, letting others have their time and space, so this was a new experience for you.

you could smell their perfumes, a fragrant mix of floral and musk, and you felt lightheaded. it was a whirlwind of flashing lights, soft touches, and a dizzying sense of being watched. the contrast between your stunned silence and their bold affection was the perfect fodder for fan speculation, the love triangle becoming a headline.

the next thing you knew, yeji and ryujin were turning their heads slightly, puckering their lips towards your cheeks. you could feel the soft touch of their lips against your skin, the briefest of kisses that set your heart racing. your hands moved without you wanting to, rising to your chest, unsure of whether to push them away or just… let it happen. your face, no doubt, was a mirror of your internal turmoil, a mix of confusion and something akin to exhilaration. how could you have gotten here? how had you and your friends gotten to the point where you were the center of a love triangle? you knew their actions were meant to excite the fans, to start new rumors, but was it really like that? or were they playing a game that you weren’t aware of?

the fans were ecstatic by the pictures. they were quick to comment on the interactions, calling you out for being oblivious to the situation, but they didn’t know that you were trying to figure it all out. you were never one for romantic relationships, you never had time for them between school, work and now training to be an idol. snd now, you had these two girls, full of chaos and affection for you, and you didn’t know what to do.

after the event, when you got back to the dorms, you found yeji and ryujin already on the couch, waiting for you. yeji patted the space next to her, while ryujin just looked at you, with those familiar eyes you couldn’t place, the ones that gave you chills and made your heart race.

“you did good out there. you looked pretty on the red carpet. also, you performed amazing on stage, leather suits you well.” yeji said, her voice soft, contrasting with the playfulness she had shown earlier. ryujin hummed in agreement, her gaze never leaving your face.

“you were really cute.” this time it was her, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. you sat in between them, feeling their eyes on your face. you tried your best to not react to them, afraid that you might give the other members some ideas.

“you guys were too.” you replied, your voice a tad shaky. you were always trying to be the mature one, the one to follow the rules, but at this point you found yourself wanting to lose yourself in their games.

they just smiled at you, and you knew, in that moment, that this was not going to end anytime soon…

summer is here and that means vacations finally, but do you know what that also means? having to work during the holidays… the company definitely wouldn’t let any of you have a proper break during the holidays that you have after an exhausting year working in the music industry. of course, what could be better than creating a new show and spending all the time filming your life during the time you have to rest from the exhausting schedule of an idol?

the van hums, a low thrum against the backdrop of los angeles traffic. you hold the selfie stick, the camera lens capturing the three of you in its frame. the bright californian sun streams in, illuminating the happy chaos unfolding around you. you adjust the angle, wanting to make sure everyone is visible. yeji, ever the composed leader, sits to your right, her smile serene and radiant. to your left, ryujin leans close, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“hi, midzy! we’re on our way to the hotel, and we’re so excited to show you all of LA!” you spoke, voice bright and enthusiastic, even though you felt a little self–conscious talking to a lens.

“you look good between the two of us.” ryujin murmurs, she murmured, a smirk playing on her lips as she hummed, her breath warm against your skin. you feel her warm breath on your neck, a ticklish sensation that sends a startled blush rushing to your cheeks. she hums, a low, contented sound, and her face slips further into the crook of your neck, her soft hair brushing against your skin. you could feel your heart pounding a little faster than normal.

your breath catches. this is… a lot. the camera is still rolling, the red light a glaring reminder that thousands of midzy will be watching this later. you steal a glance at yeji, hoping for some kind of intervention, some guidance, but she’s just smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

yeji, noticing your surprised expression and the blush creeping up your neck, chuckled lightly. “ryujin!” yeji exclaims, her voice laced with mock exasperation, “she looks good with us hugging her, not just between us. you’re making it sound like she’s a sandwich.” yeji reaches over, pulling you into a gentle hug. “see? like this.” she says, pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your head. her head rests against yours, a comfortable weight. for a moment, the chaos swirling around you fades away, replaced by the warmth of her presence.

you manage a weak smile, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. you look back to ryujin and she raises an eyebrow at the camera, a subtle arch that speaks volumes. it’s a look that says “i know what i’m doing” and you swear, for a split second, you see a glint of mischief in her eyes. you quickly refocus your attention on the camera. “we’re almost at the hotel! can’t wait to see what surprises LA has in store for us.”

you tried your very best to avoid eye contact with her, but it was impossible, you felt her stare penetrating you. you cleared your throat and shifted the camera slightly to a better angle of all three of you.

“yeah, we’re having a blast already!” you added, forcing a wide smile, hoping the camera wouldn’t pick up on your inner turmoil. ryujin simply snickered.

later, after the whirlwind of unpacking and settling into your rooms, the six of you gather by the hotel pool. the california sun is setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the water. lia and yuna are already engaged in a water fight, their laughter echoing around the pool deck. chaeryeong, perched on the edge of a sun lounger, watches them with amusement, occasionally chiming in with a teasing comment.

you take this opportunity to record a solo segment for the vlog. adjusting the camera to selfie mode, holding the camera up in front of you, you talk directly to the lens. “hey midzy!, as you can see, we’ve arrived at the hotel and everything is so amazing! the pool here is so nice and everyone is already having fun! it’s so warm and the sun feels amazing…” you continued, speaking to the camera as if you were having a one–on–one conversation with each and every one of your fans, sharing your excitement and happiness.

suddenly, you felt warm arms wrap around your torso from behind. yeji, with a mischievous grin, was attempting to lift you up, trying to throw you in the pool. you braced yourself, digging your heels into the ground. “yah! yeji unnie, no!” you exclaimed, giggling as you struggled against her.

“let’s go swimming!” yeji exclaims, her voice full of playful energy.

you put up a resistance, gripping the edge of the pool deck as yeji tries to pull you forward. “yeji, no! i don’t want to get my hair wet!” you laugh, struggling against her surprisingly strong grip.

“just a little dip.” she teased, her voice laced with playful menace. her attempts at picking you up weren’t very successful, to say the least. “ryujin, help me!” yeji yells, desperation creeping into her voice. you’re momentarily distracted by her plea, which gives her the necessary moment to push you.

before you can react, a pair of hands grips your thighs from under the water, pulling you downwards. you gasp, the shock of the cold water stealing your breath. you don’t even remember seeing ryujin go in the water. you saw her go in some moments ago, when yuna started the underwater breath–holding contest, (which yuna lost almost immediately), but how could she have stayed under for so long? it had honestly slipped your mind that she was still in there with how much time passed. you’re certain that she didn’t even come up for air after she went in.

a surprised yelp escaped your lips as you felt yourself being pulled downwards. you could practically hear yeji laughing as she was using this help as an opportunity to push you from behind, pushing herself into the water along with you. you hit the water with a splash, the shock temporarily taking your breath away.

you surfaced coughing lightly, your hair plastered to your face as you grabbed onto ryujin’s shoulders for support. her dark hair clung to her forehead, beads of water glistening against her skin. she offered you a dazzling grin, her hand moving to brush the wet strands of hair away from your face, brushing your sopping wet strands away from your eyes, and you feel her fingers graze your temple, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. you found yourself caught in her gaze, the familiar spark in her eyes sending shivers down your spine.

behind you, yeji is laughing, the sound of a melodic chuckle that resonates through the water. “you look like a wet cat!” she teases, her hands resting on your hips, keeping you steady.

ryujin’s hands move to your waist, her fingers gently squeezing your skin. “a very cute wet cat, i must admit.” she shoots you a wink and a playful smirk.

you’re surrounded. yeji’s hands on your hips, ryujin’s hands on your waist, and you find yourself thanking the universe for the fact that you're underwater. the blush that you feel rising in your cheeks would be enough to rival the brightest sunset. you suddenly hope that none of the other cameras are recording this moment, otherwise you would have to invent a new name for the shade of red that will be shown on your face.

“you two are going to be the death of me.” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse from the water, and the adrenaline from your sudden plunge.

“oh, we’re just getting started.” ryujin replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

yeji simply smiles, her eyes locking with ryujin’s for a brief moment, before turning her attention back to you. “you know you love it.” she says, her voice a soft murmur that sends another shiver through you. and despite the chaos, the teasing, the unexpected plunge into the pool, you can’t help but smile. maybe, just maybe, you do.

you glanced down at your now slightly wet camera, feeling relieved that the company provided waterproof equipment. trying to keep your voice steady despite your racing heart, you turned the camera back to face you.

“well, i guess i’m in the pool now! this is my punishment for talking too much!” you exclaimed with a forced laugh, your eyes darting between yeji and ryujin. you tried to move your body to get out of their reach and find some space, but you were tightly trapped in the middle of both of them.

“it’s okay, we’ll keep you company.” ryujin said, her voice a low murmur as she moved closer, her arm wrapping around your waist, bringing you closer to herself.

“yeah, it’s not like you can go anywhere now, are you?” yeji added, her voice full of teasing playfulness, tightening her grip around you.

you felt your heart leap into your throat as you looked between them, your voice catching in your throat. “i… i guess not.” you replied, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. you suddenly became very aware of the closeness of their bodies, their warmth radiating and surrounding you. you swallowed thickly, the rapid pace of your heartbeat was almost deafening.

“we’ll make sure you don’t get lonely.” ryujin whispered, her lips dangerously close to your ear. her touch sent a jolt through you, causing your cheeks to flame even more.

“oh we definitely will.” yeji added, her eyes gleaming with pure mischief. “we’ll just need your full attention, is that okay?” she continued, her voice dripping with honey.

you suddenly felt so overwhelmed with emotions. you loved these two, you did, with everything you could give. but you weren’t sure how much more of this you could handle. you had to get out of this situation, and fast. your mind raced as you desperately searched for a way to de–escalate this situation.

“wait, wait!” you said, raising your hands in front of you, turning the camera towards your two bandmates. “i think we need to involve our midzy in this!” you proclaimed, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “what do you guys think? should yeji and ryujin team up to throw me in the pool again? or what else should we do?” you finally finished, taking away the attention from yourself and placing it on the camera, hoping that your fans would find some fun activities to do, and hoping they would forget about the current situation involving you and the two girls.

you could feel their stares on you, their amusement palpable. you didn’t dare to look in their eyes, simply continuing to talk to the camera and pretending that everything was okay, while trying to avoid the two girls’ gazes.

“okay midzy, so let’s see your proposals. i’ll wait for them in the comments!” you announced finally, ending the recording. you looked down at the camera, turning it off. you took a deep breath and turned your attention back to the two girls, unsure if you should laugh or cry at the situation you just put upon yourself. one thing was certain, this LA vacation was going to be very interesting…

the heavy door of your hotel room thuds shut behind you, the sound echoing the exhaustion that reverberates through your very bones. you’d spent the entire day under the relentless california sun, filming content for your vlog, the vibrant blue of the pacific ocean acting as a backdrop to your every move. it had been a dream, a perfect blend of work and vacation, but now, all you craved was the soft embrace of your bed. you’d already called it a day, knowing the footage you had was more than enough for one vlog, and the chaotic brilliance of lia and yuna’s combined efforts would surely be a highlight reel on its own.

you drop onto the bed with a groan, landing on your stomach, your limbs splayed out like a starfish that washed ashore. a loud moan escapes your lips, a testament to the sheer weariness you feel. the mattress dips on either side of you, and you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. yeji and ryujin, always close by, always a comforting and playful presence.

yeji’s hands find your shoulders immediately, her touch gentle as she begins to knead away the tension. “are you tired, hun?” she asks, her voice soft and concerned, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy she had displayed poolside just hours ago. “you worked really hard today.”

on your other side, ryujin is a whirlwind of mischievous energy, her focus immediately drawn to the discarded camera. she picks it up, tilting it towards herself, her lips curving into a playful smirk as she watches her reflection on the small screen. it’s almost as if she’s flirting with the lens, and with the image she sees staring back at her.

she abandons the camera soon enough, letting it fall onto the bed with a soft thud. her attention is now fixed on you. she shifts onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow, her other hand slipping under the short sleeve of your t–shirt, her fingers playing with the thin strap of your bikini top that rests on your shoulder.

“i really like the color.” she murmurs, her voice dropping into a husky purr as she studies the shiny color fabric against your skin. “it looks beautiful on you.” you had on a simple black t–shirt and short shorts for the camera, but underneath, you were already prepared to enjoy the pool with the rest of the girls.

you smile, a genuine, tired smile, turning your head to look at her. “it’s a new one.” you explain, your voice a bit raspy from the day. “my mom picked it out for me, for this trip.”

ryujin raises an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “your mother makes good things.” she says, a suggestive tone coloring her voice, her gaze lingering a beat too long on the curve of your breasts.

you let out a playful snort, swatting at her shoulder with the back of your hand. yeji lets out a soft giggle from behind you, the sound a comforting melody.

with a sudden groan, you roll onto your back, your eyes widening in mock–horror as you take in the scene around you. yeji and ryujin are perched on either side of you, practically straddling you, their bodies a tantalizing presence.

“you two.” you say, letting out a breathless laugh that's half–exasperated, half–fond.

it’s all the invitation they need. the onslaught of attention is immediate, dizzying. yeji’s hands return to your scalp, her fingers gently combing through your hair, her touch creating a soothing wave that washes over you. she then trails them down to your shoulders, letting her fingertips dance across your skin.

ryujin is equally captivating, her hands finding the curve of your hips, then moving down to your thighs, her touch sending shivers down your spine. it’s a warm, possessive caress. Both of their attention is making the heat rise under your skin.

then, yeji’s face lowers, her lips brushing against yours, a soft, tender kiss that sends warmth flooding through you. you close your eyes, leaning into the touch, wanting more of her.

at the same moment, ryujin brings her lips to your neck, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path, nibbling and kissing at your sensitive skin. a gasp escapes your lips, feeling the wet trail of her kisses heat up your skin. she continues her ministrations, her lips traveling from your jaw to your chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses and a promise of things to come.

the gentle pressure of yeji’s hands on your face is the only thing keeping you grounded, her soft lips allowing you to keep some semblance of sanity. but it’s slipping, fast. it always does when it’s both of them.

ryujin, pulling back for a moment, her eyes dark with desire, tugs at the hem of your wet t–shirt, pulling it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly somewhere across the room; a dismissive move. your bikini top is now in full view, the wet fabric a striking contrast against your skin, the molded cups hugging your curves in a way that makes both their breaths catch. your gaze drifts from ryujin to yeji, your eyes asking a question without uttering a word.

ryujin’s gaze is fixed on your chest, and you can practically feel her gaze on the fabric covering you, her lips pulling into a bite as her fingers begin to trace the edges of your bikini top, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

she then takes your mounds into her hands, her fingers giving them gentle caresses and squeezes. you can’t help the moans that escape your lips at the pleasurable sensation. she continues her descent, leaving kisses and bites across your chest, moving down towards your ribs, then your stomach, her lips leaving a fiery trail in their wake, stopping at your waist and hips, her hands holding you firm.

yeji, noticing your sounds, takes your face into her hands, and silences your moans with her kisses. it is a deep, passionate kiss, her tongue dancing with yours, exploring every corner of your mouth, stealing the sounds that were previously escaping you.

under the combined assault of their ministrations, you feel your resolve crumble. your hands move to their hair, gripping it in a desperate plea for them to continue, to never stop. the world around you dissolves, leaving only the two of them, their touch, their kisses, the intoxicating blend of comfort and desire that only they can evoke. the exhaustion is gone, replaced by a burning need, a primal yearning for more. you’re lost to them, surrendered, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

ryujin’s fingers splayed across your lower back, her thumb brushing tantalizingly just above the curve of your ass. she leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of your ear as she whispered. “we’ve been thinking about this for so long... thinking about having you this alone.” her voice was low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

“mmmh, ryujin was right. taking this opportunity doesn't seem like such a bad idea.” yeji murmured, her hand sliding up your stomach to cup the swell of your breast. your nipple pebbled beneath the lace at her touch, straining against the smooth material.

ryujin chuckled darkly, nipping at your earlobe before soothing the sting with her tongue. “i told you she was a keeper, yeji. i think it’s time we showed our girl here a really good time…”

with that, ryujin captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly. behind you, yeji’s hands continued their exploration of your body, sliding over every curve and hollow until you were aching with need.

ryujin’s kiss deepened, her tongue dancing with yours as she explored every inch of your mouth. her fingers tangled in your wet hair, gripping it tightly as she held you in place, dominating the kiss. behind you, yeji’s hands slid around to your back, deftly unhooking your bikini top with practiced ease.

the soft fabric fell away, baring your breasts to the cool air of the room. your nipples hardened instantly, straining towards the warmth of ryujin’s chest pressed against yours. ryujin broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your collarbone before she sucked hard, no doubt leaving a mark.

yeji’s hands slid down to your hips, hooking her fingers in the waistband of your shorts and panties. with a swift tug, she yanked them down your legs, leaving you bare and exposed. ryujin’s hand slid around to grope your ass, squeezing the supple flesh roughly.

she nipped at your shoulder, her breath hot against your skin as she growled. “i want to taste every inch of you, babe. i want to make you scream my name until you’re hoarse... until you forget every other girl’s name except for mine.”

yeji chuckled darkly behind you, her hand sliding up your inner thigh, her fingers brushing maddeningly close to your aching core. “mmmh, i can’t wait to see you come undone, baby.” yeji purred, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. her fingers found your slick folds, stroking them teasingly, not quite touching where you needed her most.

ryujin’s hand slid up from your ass to your breast, cupping the weight of it in her palm. she rolled your nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging at the sensitive bud until you gasped. her mouth found yours again, swallowing your cries of pleasure as she kissed you deeply, her tongue plundering your mouth with ruthless intensity.

ryujin smirked against your lips, her eyes glinting wickedly as she pulled back from the kiss. without a word, she reached over to her discarded purse and rummaged inside, pulling out a strap–on dildo and a bottle of lube.

she held them up, grinning at you and yeji with a lascivious smile. “ready to have some real fun, girls?” ryujin asked, her voice dripping with lustful promise.

yeji giggled, biting her plump lower lip as she nodded eagerly. “i thought you’d never ask.” she purred, hooking her fingers into the waistband of her jean shorts, sliding them down her long legs along with her panties. leaning back against the headboard of the bed, she spreads her thighs, exposing her wet folds to your shy gaze.

ryujin licked her lips hungrily at the sight, but she turned her attention to you first. she pushed you down onto your hands and knees, your ass raised high in the air. the position left you vulnerable, exposed, and aching with need. she ran her fingers down the curve of your spine, tracing the dip of your lower back before delivering a sharp smack to your ass. the sting of the slap sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

yeji grinned, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation as she watched ryujin buckle the harness around her hips, securing the dildo in place. she squirted a generous amount of lube onto the thick, girthy cock, stroking it a few times to ensure it was slick and ready. the toy bobbed obscenely as ryujin moved, the thick head glistening with a bead of moisture. ryujin had clearly prepped it, eager to be inside you.

in front of you, yeji watched with rapt attention, her blue eyes dark with desire. she crooked a finger at you, beckoning you closer. “come here, baby. i want that pretty mouth of yours on my pussy. now.”

with a final glance over your shoulder at ryujin, you turned your attention to yeji, crawling forward until your face was mere inches from her dripping sex. you could smell her arousal, could feel the heat radiating off her skin. your mouth watered at the thought of tasting her.

ryujin, meanwhile, positioned herself behind you, her hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. she rubbed the head of the strap–on against your ass, teasing your crack and your dripping slit before pushing forward, the thick cock spreading you open as she hilted inside you with one hard thrust.

you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure as ryujin entered you in one brutal thrust, her thick strap–on spearing your tight heat open. your back arched, pushing your ass higher in the air as your body struggled to adjust to the sudden intrusion. ryujin groaned, her fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as she held you in place.

the thick strap–on stretched you deliciously, filling you so completely that you could feel every ridge and vein of the silicone cock pulsing inside your tight heat. your inner walls clenched down, fluttering around the intrusion as your body adjusted to the sudden penetration.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” ryujin groaned, her fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as she held you in place, impaled on her thick shaft. she started to move, pulling out until just the tip remained inside you before slamming back in, setting a hard, fast rhythm that had the bed shaking beneath you.

the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with ryujin’s grunts and growls of pleasure. her hips smacked against your ass with each powerful thrust, the lewd sound echoing in your ears.

in front of you, yeji watched the lewd display with hooded eyes, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. she tangled her fingers in your wet hair, gripping it tightly as she pulled your face against her dripping sex.

“put that tongue to good use, baby.” yeji panted, her hips rolling against your face in a silent demand. you could feel her wetness coating your cheeks, smearing across your skin like a perverse paint.

obediently, you leaned in and dragged your tongue along her slit, moaning at the tangy–sweet taste of her arousal. you could feel ryujin’s strap inside you, stretching you deliciously as she continued her relentless pace. your pussy clenched around her, trying to draw her deeper, to hold her inside you.

yeji gasped, her head falling back against the pillows as you explored her most intimate places with your tongue. her fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she ground against your face, riding your mouth with wild abandon.

ryujin leaned over you, her chest pressed against your back as she bit down hard on your shoulder, marking you as her own. her hips never stopped their brutal pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room along with your combined moans and cries of pleasure.

“that’s it, baby.” ryujin panted against your ear, her voice a low, guttural growl. “take my cock like the good little slut you are. fuck, i can feel you squeezing me... you love this, don’t you? love being used like a fuck toy.”

yeji’s moans grew louder and more urgent as your tongue delved deeper, exploring every fold and crevice of her dripping sex. her clit throbbed against your lips, the sensitive nub swollen and aching for your touch. you oblige, flicking your tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves, feeling yeji’s body quiver and shake in response.

“don’t listen to her, love. she’s just messing with you. just keep what you’re doing, you’re being so good for me…” her thighs clenched around your head, holding you in place as she ground her cunt harder against your mouth, coating your lips and chin with her slick arousal.

ryujin’s thrusts grew more erratic, her hips slamming against your ass with bruising force. the strap–on plunged in and out of your dripping pussy, stretching you wide around its girthy length. you could feel every ridge and vein of the toy as it ravaged your most intimate depths, stoking the fire building low in your belly.

ryujin’s hands slid up your back, her fingers splaying across your shoulder blades before pushing down, forcing your chest to the mattress. this new angle allowed her to drive even deeper into you, the head of the strap–on kissing your cervix with each brutal thrust.

the room filled with the carnal symphony of your combined lust — the slick, obscene sound of ryujin’s hips slapping against your ass, yeji’s wanton moans, and the wet, filthy noises of your mouth working over her weeping cunt. your own cries of pleasure were muffled against yeji’s sex, vibrating deliciously through your throat.

you could feel your climax building, your inner muscles starting to flutter and clench around the thick intrusion stretching you wide. your fingers clenched in the sheets, fisting the fabric as you teetered on the edge of ecstasy, desperate for release.

ryujin could feel your pussy starting to spasm around her cock, your walls clenching and fluttering as your orgasm approached. she groaned, her hips slamming against your ass with renewed vigor, determined to make you come undone.

“that’s it, baby, come on my cock.” ryujin growled, her voice a low, guttural rumble. her fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake as she held you in place, fucking you with wild abandon.

yeji’s moans reached a fever pitch, her body tensing and shaking as she teetered on the brink of her own release. “i’m... i’m gonna come, fuck!” yeji screamed, her voice cracking with the force of her impending climax. her pussy clenched, the walls fluttering wildly as a gush of fluid spilled from her core, coating your chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.

ryujin felt your pussy clamp down around her like a vice, your inner muscles rippling and squeezing the strap–on as your orgasm crashed over you. she let out a guttural moan, slamming into you one last time before stilling, buried to the hilt inside your spasming cunt.

wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, your body shaking and trembling as you came harder than you ever had before. your vision went white, stars exploding behind your eyelids as ecstasy consumed you utterly.

behind you, ryujin shuddered, her hips giving a few last, erratic thrusts as she rode out the aftershocks of your mutual climax. she collapsed against your back, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

yeji went limp above you, her thighs falling open and her chest rising and falling rapidly as she too tried to regain her composure. she stroked your hair almost tenderly, petting you as you all came down from the high of our shared release.

in the aftermath, the room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the occasional aftershock that still made your bodies jump and twitch. the scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, a testament to the passion and lust that had just been unleashed.

as the initial intensity of your shared orgasms began to subside, a comfortable lassitude settled over the three of you. ryujin rolled off of you, slipping the strap–on out of your sensitive pussy with a soft, wet sound. you winced slightly at the sudden emptiness, your muscles still fluttering and clenching around the space where the toy had been.

ryujin disposed of the strap–on, tossing it carelessly towards the foot of the bed before pulling you into her arms. she curled around you protectively, your back to her front, her arms wrapped around your waist. yeji, not to be left out, rolled to face you both, her hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

for a long moment, the three of you simply basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking, the warmth of your naked bodies pressed together a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room. ryujin’s fingers traced idle patterns on your stomach, dipping teasingly into your navel before sliding back up to cup the soft swell of your breast.

yeji leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. it was a kiss filled with lazy satisfaction and a promise of more to come. when she finally pulled back, her eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of something deeper and more tender.

“that was incredible.” yeji murmured, her voice low and slightly hoarse from her earlier cries of pleasure. “we’re definitely going to have to do this again sometime…”

ryujin chuckled, nipping playfully at your shoulder before agreeing. “you can count on it, baby. a sexy little thing like you will be seeing a lot more of us... if you play your cards right.”

she punctuated her words with a teasing smack to your ass, making you gasp and squirm in their embrace. yeji giggled, her fingers squeezing yours gently as if to reassure you that you were in good hands... and that those hands would be all over you again very soon.

[gublerryswift]

Museum meet cute | Spencer Reid x Reader

meet cute | fluff

In which you have your own meet cute in a museum visit

Warnings: None

Content: Reader meets spencer in a museum and he does a classic Reid ramble (she loves it, it's cute)

All the studying for your master’s degree was starting to get to you, the sleepless nights, the stress and one of the most draining: the lack of fun. You had never been one to spend weekends in parties and clubs, hating the crowded spaces and loud music, your type of fun consisted more of slow things like vising libraries, museums and expositions, but lately you couldn't even find time for those little things that brought you so much joy. Well, this ended tonight. 

After sending what you hoped would be the last draft for your thesis, you decided you deserved to finally have some fun. You got ready in your favorite outfit, and stepped out the house, the first stop was your favorite coffee shop to grab a caramel macchiato before heading to your favorite museum. You had heard of this new exposition of a painter caller “Walter Sickert” that sounded fascinating and were excited to finally see it, as you walked into the exposition you were mesmerized by the beauty of the work there, never been one to totally understand art and all the meanings and references, but you always had a soft spot for it, a thing that captivated you to those paintings and sculptures. 

As you walked into the exposition, the soft lights above the paintings, the faint sound of the surrounding conversations, it all made you feel at home, you noticed how much you had missed these places. One in particular caught your attention, a painting of a woman looking straight out, her gaze seemed lost and half of her face was not painted, you were intrigued by it and stood there trying to make understand what might be the history behind what you were seeing.

A couple of minutes later, you felt a presence beside you, you looked to the side and saw a tall man standing there dressed with a cardigan you internally wished were yours and these glasses that made him look like one of those philosophy professors, his hands inside his pockets also admiring the painting. 

“Mesmerizing, isn't it?” He speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is soft and quiet as to not disturb the other people in the gallery, you look over to him, a small smile forming on your lips as you nod. 

"Absolutely." you reply. "There's something about this style of art that just catches my attention, it's so…" You drift off, trying to find the right words for how you were feeling 

“Hauntingly beautiful” He completes your sentence, giving you a small shy smile that made your heart flutter 

“Yeah, exactly that. I couldn't put it into words before”

You two fall in a comfortable silence, admiring the painting in front of you until he breaks the silence. “You know, some people believe that this artist was actually Jack the ripper”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not expecting the random mention of a serial killer,  “What, really? Why?” You turn to him, your genuinely curious expression seems to only fuel his excitement, he smiles and begins talking. The words roll out his mouth like he’d just been waiting for the moment to drop this. 

“Some DNA analyzed from the letter jack sent to the police matched with the author's, also he has a series of paintings called 'Camden town murder’ which were made at the same time jack committed his crimes in the same town, also he is said to have worked in a studio that once was occupied by the ripper himself” You nod along and smile, being a sucker for true crime and history you really were interested in what this guy was saying, plus the speed in which he talked was perfect for your brain, and you found yourself immersed in his explanation. 

“However” He lifts his pointer finger in a way that makes you hold back a giggle, god this man was cute – Why were you finding a man who was talking about a painter possibly being a killer cute? Maybe all the time inside your house made you lose your self-preservation skills. “Forensic scientists believe that most, if not all the letters sent to the police weren't actually sent by the killer, and all the other possible evidence is very circumstantial so the probability of him actually being jack the ripper is almost none, still an interesting hypothesis though.” He smiles and nods as he finishes his explanation, and he starts fidgeting with the strap of his satchel bag. 

“Wow, that's actually really interesting, I would never imagine it” You smile at him “It's really impressing how you just know all that” 

“Thank you, my brain is basically filled with a bunch of random facts just waiting to be said” He chuckles, and you notice a light blush showing up in his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, going back to staring at the painting. 

“I never got your name” You say, trying to keep the conversation going, you were drawn to him for some reason and didn't want to part ways so soon. 

“I'm Spencer, and you are…” You tell him your name, smiling at him. 

You were never the girl who would ask guys out or try their number, always being shy you were terrified of rejection, but right now you met this really cute guy who seemed so smart and was exactly your type, and you really didn't want to just leave it at this, so with a sudden courage you decide to take the plunge.

“You know, this museum has a really good coffee shop downstairs, would you like to go?” You smile at him, feeling your heart thump on your chest from the nervousness. 

Spencer's eyes widen in surprise, but a warm smile spreads across his face as he nods eagerly, agreeing to your spontaneous invitation “Yes, I'd love to, maybe I can find more painter fun facts to tell you”

“Oh can't wait” you let out a giggle as you both start to walk out.

[yumepedia]

Dance Sans poses and other AU Sanses I made in a rush !

Horror Sans- Sour Apple Studios

Geno, Error, Fresh- @/ loverofpiggies

Farm Sans- GuinongTale_AU

Dance Sans- Teandstars and Sterrenschijnse

Murder Sans- @/ ask-dusttale

Killer Sans- @/ rahafwabas

Cross- @/ jakei95

Reaper Sans- @/ renrink

Meme drawing references below

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

is “villain” the best word to use in a scene description or a dialogue prompt between characters?

since I came across this poll and gave my little opinion on the matter there, I thought I would make a separate post about it too.

now what I’m not gonna do is tell my fellow writers what to do or what not to do. however, if I may, I hope you’ll allow me to give you my advice.

writers — especially those who write about superheroes, fantasy, etc — you may have used the word “villain” in your works before, and you may have thought nothing of the word itself; I mean, it fits best, right? a bad guy in a story where characters have superpowers is a villain.

I mean that’s the word for it. because for us, these are fictional works about fictional characters.

but…

for those characters in your work, the world you created for them are real for them. I mean… your characters don’t know they are fictional characters in a fictional world, correct? (unless you specifically write a story in which the characters know they’re fictional characters in a fictional world).

therefore you might want to ask yourself how realistic it is for these characters — who have no idea they are fictional characters and think they are real people — to call bad people “villains”

how realistic it is for us — real people — to call real-life criminals “villains”

what are the chances of us reading the news with the headline “two villains caught and in custody after a robbery attempt”?

the word “villain” just… doesn’t sound realistic in real world.

ask yourself how realistic you want your stories to be, as a writer who created a world in which the characters don’t know they are fictional.

how realistic it is for your characters (who think they are real people) to say, “there’s a villain around. we have to go.”

for your characters, they aren’t fictional characters, they are real. and these fictional worlds are real for them. if we’re not calling real-life criminals villains because they are real people to us. would your characters call someone who were real to them villains because they were bad?

now ask yourself how realistic you want your stories to be, as a writer — of course, a story where characters have superpowers or the one where characters live in a fantasy world aren’t so “realistic” for us, but if, as a writer, you want your readers to feel as though they live in that world you created while they read your work, you might not want to subtly remind them they’re reading a fictional work by directly referring to the bad guys as “villains”.

the key to professionally writing a story is that you make your readers forget they are reading a fictional story.

the key to professionally writing a story is that you make your readers feel as though they actually live in that world you create and are a part of that story.

there’s a reason most (if not all) superhero movies we see don’t include a scene where the hero refers to the bad guy as “a villain”. and that reason is that, for these characters, what happens in the movie is real to them. and also because the studios want their audience — us — to feel as though we actually live in that world. they don’t want to keep reminding us that “hey, this is a movie, it’s not real” by having the hero call the bad guy villain.

reminder: the world you create are real for those characters, and it should feel real for your readers to.

words to use instead of “villain”

murderer

monster

bad people / bad person

killer

son of a bitch

dick

cunt

dickhead

convicted

abuser

prick

dangerous (person / people)

predator

rapist

violent (person / people / man)

manipulator

traitor

unreliable

liar

troublemaker

troubled

unstable

corrupted

psychopath

capable of horrible, violent things

[vanglaggle]

it's mildly funny to me when people draw horror and dust in slippers n shit. none of those guys wear slippers lol 💔

here's some instances where horror's shoes are clear (spoilers for the comic ofc) ; ★ . ★ . ★

some of the clearer images i found of them

plus his official references (which i could not find the source but it is on sour-apple-studios's deviantart) ;

dust has an official ref despite not having a comic

★

in killer's reference he doesn't have slippers, again, like the rest of them.

★

[by-wronged-hands]

What a good boy you are…

(Thomas Hewitt x M! Reader)

Warnings: smut, insults

DISCLAIMER: This scene is from Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, but Bubba Sawyer is replaced by Thomas Hewitt in this story.

It was a quiet night in K-OKLA’s office. Dark alleys were covered by the light of an almost full moon. No noises disturbed the silence. Regardless of this, you could not help but be worried. Half an hour ago, you had played the recording of a supposed murder by a killer who disappeared 14 years ago.

Your heart raced when a strange silhouette roamed around the lower room of the office. Cracking the door open, you were met by an eerie looking man. He begged for an autograph, a tour, songs, and hundreds of other things your mind wasn’t able to catch. Trying your best to push him away, his feet moved him closer.

Finally, you were both standing in front of a small closet. Inside, there were nothing more than countless vinyl records. Or, at least, that’s what you thought.

Seconds after he referred to them, a horrifying motor-like sound skyrocketed your fear. Almost losing your life to a chainsaw, you ran with every ounce of strength left in you after a tiring day. The adrenaline dragged your body to safety, immediately blocking the way with a resistant metal wall.

“Get that motherfucker, Leatherface!” The strange man from before yelled.

Metal against metal, a cacophony stirred between that irritating crash and your screams. Your throat felt as if it was burning away, with each screech full of fright.

Suddenly, the silence made its way back to you. Not for long, though. The wall on your left was brought down, and you recognized the sound of the chainsaw.

Taking a closer look to the man who held it, his long hair danced at every movement. His rough grip made you wonder how his fingertips would feel against your skin. His staggering height was highly intimidating. Yet, as soon as your eyes were set on his body, your terror began twisting into something else.

Something gut wrenching—you were bewitched by his size.

“Please…” you began speaking with no hesitation, “show me how good you can be”.

His chainsaw, which was now steady, began lowering. His eyes studied your body, seemingly curious. A barely audible huff left his lips.

“How good can you be? Huh?” You began teasing him.

A part of you wished to survive, but another part wished to see how far you could take this wicked arousement of yours. Thankfully, he began playing along.

You spread open your legs, and your hands travelled up your thighs. He followed closely with his gaze. At this point, every action of yours was careless. You allowed your lust to take control.

After staring for long enough, Leatherface took the blade of his chainsaw closer. Tracing the way from your ankle to your inner thigh, he stopped himself on top of your crotch. Putting pressure on it, your hips began rocking forward softly.

“Oh—you’re very good” you moaned under your breath to not alert the killer next door. Leatherface, visibly flustered, moved one of his hands away from the chainsaw handle. It was laid on top of his pants, which made you notice his growth.

Before he continued, he backed away. The man went into a spontaneous rampage, destroying the studio until nothing was left. You abstained from screaming.

He looked back at you for a second, and you caught a glimpse of his hunger. He then walked to his companion, and both crossed the exit. You could’ve sworn it was the end, and you were left with a problem to take care of, but he came right back.

He clumsily walked inside, and while leaning on a door frame, he grunted in discomfort. A cocky smile was shown from your side. You opened your legs once more, but this time he threw his weapon out of the way.

“What a good boy you are…come on”

He approached you in a rather awkward manner—a shy killer, who would’ve guessed?

You were desperate for his touch, and decided to walk over to him. You pushed him down onto a chair, and stood between his open legs. With a knee on his erection, you kissed him. Waiting for his permission to slide your tongue inside his mouth, your hands caressed him.

Every time you tried taking a slight peek at his face, he would either turn his head around or shove your face back in place.

His hands wrapped around your hips, pulling down on your knee.

“Should I call you Leatherface?” You said, between warm kisses. “Or, will you give me a proper name to moan?”

He grunted, and his grip became weaker. “Thomas…” he rushed out of his mouth. You went on to kiss his neck, also guiding his hand towards your little problem down there. The temperature rose between you two.

It was mostly you who initiated anything. Even opening his pants, or taking any clothing off of yourself.

“Can I see what’s under that mask of yours, big boy?” You were straightforward, yet you felt anxious to ask such a thing. He stiffened up a bit. Your hand held his cheek with delicacy, and his muscles once more eased.

Moments after, he allowed you to take a look at his face. His eyes ran away from yours, ashamed to confront your reaction. But, to his liking, your body only craved him more. As your knees touched the floor, you prepared your tongue for him.

“You’re still precious to me, Thomas.” His expression showed surprise, embarrassment too. “You…are so beautiful”.

Your mouth wrapped around him, fitting perfectly. Both craved the touch of another being, the love of another heart. He had sparked interest within your chest.

“I won’t be letting you go soon,” you said, cutting off his moans. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time you explored his body.

[keuwibloom]

Its been a while since ive posted anything Parasynth, so I thought id make these polaroid-inspired drawings to make up for it!

As an added bonus-- I have nicknames for the guys! I actually made these a while back, but I figured id post them here for organization purposes, and so its easier to differentiate when talking about Parasynth.

The nicknames + my reasons behind choosing them listed below the cut!

Blue "Polaris" - Also known as the "north star", polaris is the only stationary star in the night sky, commonly used as a compass for navigation. A star that symbolizes stability when you've lost your way.

Dream "Apollo/Pol" - Named after the Greek god of the sun, music, medicine, and archery, twin brother to Artemis. Went with this because of the twin thing and sun symbolism, plus the healer and archery association.

Ink "Opal" - Opal is a gemstone that shines with rainbow colors. A true opal gem also has a base color of white, which fits with Ink's whole thing. Ink also calls others "pal" so I thought the name would be a nice reference to that.

Axe "Condor/Kon" - A large scavenger bird, related to the vulture. One species of it is the largest flying bird in the world. A condor's head also has no feathers, which kinda reminds me of Axe's skull.

Nightmare "Artemis/Arte" - Named after the Greek goddess of the moon and the hunt, twin sister to Apollo. Chosen for the same reasoning as Dream's nickname. Artemis is also the goddess of wilderness and wild animals, which fits with the gang (in a "they're a group and they are dangerous" way).

Killer "Shrike" - A cute little passerine bird that is known to impale its prey on sharp things, usually thorns. Shrikes are also known as "butcher birds". I think it fits with his vibe, plus shrikes have these black markings over their eyes that remind me of Killer's eyes.

Dust "Owl" - A nocturnal bird that has eerily silent flight and large eyes that reflect light in the dark so it looks like its glowing. I was in between this one and "Kestrel", but I feel like Owl fits Dust's general vibe better.

Cross "Cypress/Cy" - A tree that symbolizes longevity and endurance, but also mourning. It's also associated with protection and strength. I was looking for stuff that was associated with the goddess Artemis and the cypress tree was one (also the gang as birds and Cross as the tree they rest on).

Error "Oregano" - An herb that has a very strong bitter/peppery taste and smell. It's known to have antiviral properties and other benefits, but it is best used in small amounts. I also chose this name to parallel Opal (rock VS plant).

Swap/Blue belongs to the AU Community

Dream and Nightmare belong to Jokublog

Ink belongs to Comyet

Horror/Axe belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios

Killer belongs to Rahafwabas

Dust belongs to Ask-Dusttale

Cross belongs to Jakei95

Error belongs to Loverofpiggies

[incelcorewojak]

Studio Killers reference??

[scribbleseas]

Straight Laced, Chapter X: To Be A Hidden Treasure…

Description: After the London’s Royal Ballet company’s prima ballerina goes missing within a string of mysterious disappearances among the ballet’s young ballerinas, you finally get your chance to debut in the leading role, taking on the position’s physical toil and immense social pressure. Although this role was supposed to be your grand jeté into the spotlight, it is quickly complicated when these disappearances catch the eye of Ciel Phantomhive — the Queen’s Guard Dog. He is a captious and shrewd man who also happens to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors.

For enough profit for you to secure your freedom for the first time, Lord Phantomhive double casts you as both his accomplice to solving these dancer disappearances and… his pretend lover. While debuting as London’s new prima ballerina, you must perfect a brand new routine: deceiving all of the nation’s polite society while actively searching for a serial killer — all while being an immigrant from France with a dancer’s reputation.

What could go wrong when you realize this off-stage performance of yours may not be an act at all?

Story Warnings: mentions of suicide, detailed description of gore, pain, and violence, detailed death, smut & explicit sexual scenes, allusions to non-consensual sex, objectification, prostitution, allusions to under-aged prostitution, smoking, drinking, body shaming, eating disorder tendencies (food restriction, frequent references to wanting to maintain a certain weight, over-practicing & exercising), infidelity, fake courtship, swearing

REMINDER: This is a heavier chapter that hits MOST of those warnings and your safety and comfort comes before everything! Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you would like clarification about this chapter’s subject matter.

Author’s Note: Hi Everyone! Thank you so much for reading Straight Laced, I'm so happy I can finally show you the last chapter of this exhilarating story. Including this chapter, you will have read 70,249 words of my writing, and I'm so, so grateful for your time. I have more to say about this fic all the way at the bottom of this post, so I'll keep this brief and leave you with one helpful hint: the part of the grand pas that Y/n is talking about can be found at 2:56 in the video I linked. With that, I hope this chapter is everything you've all been so patiently waiting for. And more.

Happy Reading!!

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS CHAPTER |

MASTERLIST

Postlude

February, 1889

The Imperial Ballet School, Russia

The frosty draft of St. Petersburg’s unforgiving winter slipped underneath The Imperial Ballet School’s multitude of long windows, sending a chill through the air. A thick layer of frost shrouded the dance studio’s large windows, both shielding the expansive room from both the outside, and the outside from seeing inside. 

The soft piano played the beginning notes of Giselle’s Act I scene where she realizes that the young man who had been courting her had been lying about his identity. The Duke Albrecht had been posing as a peasant to woo the beautiful village girl, but now, one of the woman’s competing suitors exposed his lie. With the truth exposed, Giselle fell into heartbroken panic. 

The first ballerina of two in consideration for the role started to arrange her body into the beginning steps into Giselle’s pained rendition of her previous pas de deux with the disguised duke. The dance, once loving and serene, was now supposed to be frantic and wrecked with pain, as displayed by the ballerina’s stricken expression. 

Seconds before she could begin, the ballet master knocked her cane into the floor, halting all—the ballerina, the music, any onlookers. When the cane came crashing down, nobody breathed.

“Anastasia Gusev. How many hours did you rehearse this week?” Irina Abramova demanded, scrutiny weighing heavily on her drawn eyebrows and pursed lips.

Without waiting for Natasha’s response, the ballet master continued in Russian, shaking her head, red-rouged lips pursed. “Whatever it was, it is far from enough. The combination has not even started yet, and I can already see you are doing it wrong. In fact, if I made you step outside naked and beg for change, holding a sign that says ‘I cannot dance,’ you would not feel anywhere close to the amount of shame I feel at this moment for considering you,” the retired prima ballerina noted. “I may even hate myself now. Because of you.” 

No matter the chill of the gelid weather that the winter sighed into the room, nothing was more biting than Irina’s commentary. Still, in the face of her heart shattering, Natasha held her chin high and rolled her shoulders back, biting down on the fact that she’d put in over 50 hours of work in that past week. She’d skipped most meals, most full nights of sleep, with the specific intent to secure Giselle. 

Now? The young ballerina felt her eyes sting with tears that threatened to fall. Fury squeezed at her chest.

Clearing her throat, Irina addressed the rest of the class. Her gnarled hands tapped her cane against the smooth floor, her onyx gaze alight with determination. Per usual, the ballet master kept her wiry gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, reminiscent of the ballerina bun she wore in her prime. 

“Does Anastasia here resemble our Giselle, right now? Does she portray a woman descending into madness after her lover has betrayed her? I want to see a heartbroken tour de force. I want to be rendered speechless from the sheer depth of emotion on your face.” 

Giving Natasha another bored once over, Irina looked disinterested. She addressed the class once more. “Honestly! Is anyone rendered speechless? I certainly am not.”

As Natasha expected, the rest of the company betrayed her, mumbling their doubts, shaking their heads, weakly suppressing their snide smiles. They never failed to disappoint her. Natasha bit her tongue, swallowing down her desire to challenge them to portray Act One’s infamous Mad Scene better than she. No one else wanted this role like she did.

The wrinkles marring Irina’s face creased with her satisfied expression, watching Natasha’s face redden. She was well-aware of the young ballerina’s hatred of her first name, her hatred of her company members. This humiliation was more effective than anything—more than the feeling of Irina’s cane digging itself into Natasha’s lower back to correct her posture, or dodging a swing at her lowering leg. Irina swung at lowering legs to inspire dancers to hold arabesques more firmly. 

The young dancer could withstand any pain, save for this public humiliation.

“Anastasia, show yourself to the barre. I am growing tired of your mediocrity—your intent to waste our time. Faina Nikotinova, you will be my Giselle. Anastasia, do try to improve. Before I send you outside to freeze some talent into you,” her eyes flashed meaningfully, insinuating that her earlier words were not just a threat. They were a promise If Natasha couldn’t improve her dancing. 

But she had. Irina was simply refusing to allow her to perform.

“You did not let me start,” Natasha snapped, raising her blue eyes to meet Irina’s. Her hands curled into fists, her manicured nails digging into her palms. Faina wasn’t half the dancer she was—her jumps were lazy, she was too chubby to last much longer. Irina had said it herself, and that was the most offensive aspect of this.

“There was no need to. Now, go away. Better yet, leave my school. I do not tolerate this attitude in my company and I have no desire to see you again,” Irina replied coolly, motioning for Faina to take the center of the floor. She tapped her cane against the floor to cue the piano back. 

Hot, angry tears brimmed in Natasha’s eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. Fine. Fine. If Irina wished for Duck Butt to lead the company as Giselle, she was more than welcome to choose her and watch the company sink under her mediocrity.

The force Natasha slammed the door with caused the walls to tremble. The muffled laughter from behind her sparked molten rage to flow through her veins. Surely she’d go mad if she was made to face such a stunning defeat again.

May, 1890

The Royal Opera House

No one could compare to Natasha Gusev‘s Aurora in The Royal Opera House’s first and breathtaking run of Sleeping Beauty, the product of sleepless nights spent slaving at the barre. Spent rehearsing her expressions in a mirror, forcing herself to learn to tear up on command, envisioning the very moment that Faina stole her opportunity. 

Anastasia died in Petrograd. Natasha would never allow herself to be humiliated in such a way again. She’d sooner die.

Natasha practiced until she passed out, until her feet bled and swelled, and her legs cramped. She worked herself harder than Irina could ever dream of, drilling the same moves and sequences into her body until she could dance them in her sleep. 

The ballerina had fought for this, brandished her soul for it, pushed herself through classes that were taught in a language she couldn’t understand. The only language Natasha shared with Londoners was the French terminology used in ballet. She could hardly decipher the rest: not the abuse, not the praise. It took much longer for her to master English than it did for her to secure this coveted role.

And Natasha’s reward was thundering applause, night after night. Each adoring yell louder than the last. They had come to watch her, in spite of the lies that cursed school poisoned her mind with. She made this company the best in London—if not, Europe. She had no idea what came of Faina and The Imperial Ballet’s run of Giselle, but it didn’t matter.

Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for Natasha’s star to capture more attention than she had initially bargained for, either. Alongside the unabashed adoration for her dancing came competition for her. That was how she found herself at the center of William Wood’s attention—his gray eyes lingered on her, no matter where she found herself. 

They would narrow each time she met with a new subscriber, they’d scan her with consideration each time he pulled up a chair and watched the company rehearse. William liked to claim that he was merely interested in the artistic integrity of the show, but from the way he’d bite his lip and adjust his trousers, everyone knew better. Everyone understood that he was the heir to the business supporting the Opera House—everything would belong to him in a decade or so. 

Natasha was the center of her own world. She had her patrons to satisfy, the stage to alight with her talent. The ballerina made a careful effort to rebuff William without ever needing to speak with him. 

That was, until he outsmarted her one dawn. He’d waited in the Opera House’s main rehearsal room—Natasha’s favorite because of the tall mirrors that lined the walls. 

“Hello, there,” William said, flashing his most winning smile at her. He couldn’t have been much older than Natasha. “You’re the principal dancer, aren’t you?” The young man had been poised on his usual chair from the side of the studio, but he stood to meet her. 

“Yes,” Natasha’s words were clipped because she could see through his disposition. He knew who she was—he was pretending not to. “If you would excuse me—” she immediately took a step back, preferring to rehearse in private. Or anywhere William was not. The prima ballerina shouldered her bag and turned to leave, only to freeze at the sound of her full name.

“Anastasia is a powerful name. Did you know it means resurrection?” William asked, chancing several steps closer. He caught her wrist, but maintained a lax grip. She could pull away if she wished to. 

“My name is Natasha,” she corrected crisply, her blank expression unchanged. 

“I’m William Wood,” he ignored her, gently guiding her closer. Now, she could see a kaleidoscope of different gray shades, ranging from near-white to intense storm clouds. “Did you know my name means desire?” 

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed, unimpressed with his onomastics lesson. “How lovely,” she answered flatly, extricating her hand. Now, his sterling gaze landed on her thin lips, wanting to kiss her, presumably. “I really should be going. I have to rehearse—if you know that I am the prima ballerina, then…” leave me be, she wanted to conclude.

Instead, Natasha let her words hang in the air, allowing William to put them together on his own.

“Look—wait, all I mean is…” William paused, moistening his lips. Clearly, he was unused to the prospect of no.  “You’re flawless. And I would simply like the chance to…”

“To what?” Natasha asked indignantly, allowing the offense she took to show on her face. Normally, she wasn’t quite so harsh against these advances—she had a tendency to simply allow herself to enjoy the attention she received from such men—but William? Now? The sun hardly had a chance to start the day, and this man had put all of this time and planning into seducing her? 

“I like you. I would like the chance to get to know you. Beyond the dancing because there’s clearly so much more to get to know,” he clarified, softening his expression into something more intimate. “Please, Natasha.” 

The ballerina was unsure if she relented because of William’s honeyed words, the way his steel gaze reminded her of a singular spotlight focused on her, or because he was the heir to the Opera House, but she felt her resolve crumble. After all, there were plenty of other ballerinas who glowed with envy of her in the first place. Natasha loved to imagine how their hatred of her would intensify with William Wood courting her. That thought would feel better than any seduction tactic he could try on her.

It took weeks of flowers, lavish gifts, and fiery touches stolen between rehearsals before Natasha agreed to marry him. They were in William’s Southampton home, entangled with one another in his bed, unclothed. Sweaty after a round of passionate sex because it made William tired and affectionate. The perfect combination for an agreeable mood in a man. 

“Marry me. Be my wife,” the man practically begged, kissing Natasha’s knuckles. It wasn’t the first time he asked, his father John having pressured him into proposing ever since the rumors of their sneaking around began. It was indecent behavior of William—not unexpected, but embarrassing to the Woods, their eldest son messing around with a foreign dancer. “Please. You’re all I want, Nat,” he sighed, burying his face into the crook of her neck, kissing the clammy skin there as well. 

No one in the company could claim that Natasha was the principal dancer because she was sleeping with William, either. Her talent more than spoke for itself, illuminating the stage just as much as the spotlights did. The ballerina was addicted to this pining of his, the fortune she’d come into by taking his name. He was a puppy of a man that would be at her side, hanging onto her every word, touch, and glance so long as she could maintain her perfection. It just so happened that he had direct access to generations of wealth and influence.

“All right, Will. We can get married,” she relented, only for the man to pull her into an intense kiss, his fingers running through her unruly brown curls. 

For months, her life was blissful. 

Natasha maintained her position as prima ballerina, and they were married, which also ended her responsibilities at the dance foyer. Being married to William gave Natasha the right to all of the Opera House’s paperwork, granting her information on each of her company members, the ballet’s revenue—noting the spike in sales with delight, considering it had come in tandem with her publicity. Having a run of the same show continue for so long was unprecedented, but Natasha’s performances sold out each night. The company was only beginning its considerations for the next ballet’s lead.

Accordingly, Natasha would dance almost day and night. She ate once a day, if she remembered to, more intent on maintaining the lean body that kept jealous suitors leering. The more they looked, the more William spent for her, the more he doted on her. All the more fulfilled the young dancer felt, the more she desired.

Another starring role, more lovers, more press coverage. More rehearsal time. 

Natasha etched the hard work into her bones... until it broke her. 

She remembered searing pain in her hip, crashing to the floor. And she found herself undone against the rehearsal room’s floor, the clammy wood cold against her cheek. Yelling out for William, lips pursed with pain she refused to allow to surface past. She would never allow herself to cry. 

The doctors had given her a prescription for morphine powder for the pain. They suggested she stop dancing for the next year or two, but the morphine had done plenty for her discomfort. Enough for Natasha to refuse giving her position to a ballerina who couldn’t have put a quarter of sacrifice into earning her role. 

No—anyone else interested would need to pry it out of her cold, dead grip. 

Each day, Natasha’s extensive routine only grew harder to sustain: rehearsing for the company’s future run of Mlada and perfecting any movement she might have mishandled as Aurora from the evening before. She would mix the morphine powder into her tea between rehearsals, between acts, before she met her husband each night.

Stopping now would be a death sentence with early casting for Mlada so close…there was no doubt the director would care to cast Natasha in the lead if she seemed unreliable. 

Anyone who wanted it enough would see themselves through, Natasha reminded herself. In time, my body will learn to keep up. 

Smile through it. Hold back your tears. Smile through it.

Natasha held her life together through the painkiller and sheer force of will, but it was only a matter of time before the injury became unbearable. Overly stiff, Natasha’s hips began to lock, ruining her range of motion. She could no longer hold her arabesques. 

The pain had spread down to her groin and her backside, those joints as good as rusting door hinges, stiffening with each movement.

Weeks after her initial fall, Natasha collapsed on the rehearsal floor. Again. Only this time, she couldn’t hold her tears at bay, an incredibly dark (and realistic) part of the young woman knowing fully well that it had been her last day in pointe shoes. 

“You need a break. Be reasonable, Nat.” William ordered bluntly, shoving the cane in her hands days after. Weary of her and the same tedious argument. “Would you prefer to need a full-time wheelchair before 25?”

Natasha held the ivory cane in her hands, testing its weight. She frowned at the medical accessory, feeling her life slip away each second she held the cursed thing. Her husband, as typical of him, didn’t understand. Ballet had been her purpose—she’d been put on the Earth to capture the breath of an audience. And now?

She was a disturbing failure. How could she look at herself in the mirror?

“Will…” Natasha fixed her hard gaze on her husband, reading his mounting frustration with her like a book. 

“Shut. Up.” She all but threw the cane back at her husband and the offending doctor who brought it into their home. She slammed the door behind her in an attempt to charge back to their shared bedroom. Though unsurprisingly, she only accomplished a few short paces before her hip locked, failing Natasha’s next step and sending her to the ground again.  

The former ballerina couldn’t hold back her tears, this time. They fell in droves, in pained sobs. The grievous sound of an ingénue knowing her life was over.

“Come on, Nat,” William said in the same tired voice, attempting to help lift her off the floor. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” Natasha waved him off haphazardly, hiding her face. She heard William's heavy, retreating steps.  

Nearly a year into Natasha’s injury, she’d become proficient with her walking cane. Technically, she could hobble clumsily without the assistance, but watching the rest of the company’s pitying gaze at the sight of her ungainliness became overwhelming. If she was to be the Opera House’s new ballet master and director, no one could pity her.

There was no room in ballet for pity. Only perfection.

So, she preferred to test the dancers around her. Break the weak ones—the ones who turned to dancing out of desperation, failing to understand that it was an elusive skill that required years of nurturing. She liked to push them until they fractured like a mirror, leaving the company on their own accord or giving Natasha a valid reason to excuse them. Particularly the ones her husband was bedding behind her back and mortifying her with. 

“I’m so sorry, Natasha, I didn’t even– I don’t even want him!” Norah Vincent cried out, “please just listen to me, please!” 

The young ballerina chased her director up the cement stairs leading from the Opera House’s lowest floor—where the largest rehearsal room was located—to the first floor. It was late at night, and there wasn’t a soul on the property, save for them. Natasha had reserved the pleasure of informing Norah that she knew fully well of the liberties she’d taken with William until they were alone, more interested in watching the young woman’s composure implode as a private show. To ensure such an outcome, Natasha waited until the end of their private rehearsal to inform Norah of her termination. The ballerina didn’t even have the chance to unlace her pointe shoes. 

“No. You will make yourself scarce from my company. I like Analisse better for Mlada, so you were bound to be let go soon, anyhow,” Natasha answered indifferently, keeping her face impassive. She knew that the aloofness in her statement would make Norah feel just as worthless as she was as a dancer.

“I don’t understand, please. I need this work. Please. Just allow me one more chance,” Norah continued, struggling to keep pace with Natasha. 

“You sleep with my husband, and even worse, you continue to curse my stage with your mediocrity, and you have the audacity to ask me for another chance? After all of the chances I’ve already given you?” The ballet master plunged her cane against the top of the final stair for leverage to reach the top. “I told you that if I gave you Mlada, you would need to work on your stamina and flexibility night and day. I see no change.” 

Natasha finally turned around to face the weeping ballerina, watching her trudge up the remaining stairs. Crying was so ugly.

“I swear I practice every day, I-I-I…” Norah couldn’t even decide which claim to refute first. “I only…I just,” she wiped her face. “I love this company, and dancing, and…” she begged. “I do my very best each and every day, I practice, I stretch, I observe, I listen. Don’t you see?”

Norah still had a functioning body. Her health and mobility. All the time in the world. There was no excuse. Natasha practically gift wrapped and handed Norah her career.

The director’s head pounded, frustrated tears begging to fall from her eyes. What was there to not understand? Norah simply didn’t want the success enough or she would give every spare moment to cultivating her skills.

“Stop. Blubbering.” Natasha ordered sharply, turning on her heel to continue to her office. Norah had just stepped up to the level floor, the expansive staircase behind her. 

“N-No! I need you to hear me! Haven’t you ever made a mistake? You know, I don’t understand why you always have to demand perfection! From everyone! No matter how hard we try or how hard we–” 

“That’s enough!”

Without another thought, Natasha found herself turning around. Her cane fell to the floor as she put all of her strength into shoving Norah down the stairwell. Of course, it hadn’t been her plan to dispose of the ballerina in such a way. Really, it should have been horrifying, but Natasha couldn’t force herself to feel any bit of remorse. Her squealing had given her quite a headache.

In fact, when Natasha failed to find a pulse from the young woman’s lifeless body, she felt the first sense of true gratification she’d felt in months. As her shoulders had been relieved of a burden as heavy as the world.

And each time afterwards, it only grew easier. Each time, Natasha planned a bit more intricately. She could only win: if the Yard took notice, all signs would point to her power-drunk husband, leaving Natasha to his assets. Revenge.

It became a game of strategy: who, when, where, how. 

Louise, Georgina, and Mabel were a blur over the course of the next few weeks. They disappeared, Natasha explained they couldn’t handle the burdens from the company and resigned, no one questioned her. Most ballerinas didn’t have family, the profession often a last resort for income. The public deemed them prostitutes: unworthy of care.

Sophia, Harriet, and Analisse had moved to new companies, but that didn’t stop her. Natasha knew who her husband had seen. Who betrayed her. They wore their guilt on their sleeves. It didn’t matter if they transferred to new companies—how could they be allowed to live after betraying their mentor? They were mediocre ballerinas, anyhow, merely ensemble members that Natasha stuck in the back of formation. 

The Yard was never finding them.

Eliza had a host of lethal allergies. All it took was a well-timed cross-contamination—it was only a matter of time. 

Janet was weak. Natasha probably could have asked the girl to jump off of the Tower Bridge and she would have done it, surely. 

Amelié never noticed that her perfume bottle was tampered with. Dimethylmercury was a life-changing discovery on Natasha’s part. Honestly, Natasha wished she’d used it with all of the nuisances that came before her… and after. 

The new success should have satisfied Natasha. Until Maisie—her first mistake. As if marrying some fraud was a feat to be proud of. Maisie thought it appropriate to inform Natasha that she was leaving the Opera House company for a new opportunity, an unseemly topic at her husband’s gallery reveal. Somehow, Terrance had offered to co-found his ballet company with Maisie as the star. And this came a week after the Yard fell for the trap Natasha had set, having followed her carefully planned trail of breadcrumbs that implicated her dear, cheating husband for murdering his company members. She simply had to make an appearance at the event to save face for the Wood family—setting the narrative straight before the press could.

Natasha would have been able to successfully send William to prison in her stead, had she not lost her temper the night of that bloody gala. She;d only gone to safe face after William’s arrest, after all. To manage the poor publicity his infidelity would poison Natasha’s hard work with.

“My husband is renovating the Pavillion Theatre. You know what that means? It means that I don’t need you pestering me anymore! You’re practically an old maid, a bloody relic now, you know that?” Maisie grinned, euphoric with the ability to finally speak freely. She’d asked Natasha to step out from the museum with her, and the ballet master had suspected it was to discuss something unseemly when there was a lack of witnesses around. 

“You have no idea how much we all hate you, Natasha.”

Those were Maisie’s last words. Because Natasha had pulled out William’s Flintlock Pocket Pistol and shot her. She hardly had any time to ensure Maisie was dead before fleeing the scene, tucking her walking cane under her arm. Best of luck with your new company, Blondie. 

After that blunder, Natasha had a choice. Herself, or Y/n Y/l/n, a French girl who happened upon the wrong man and his misguided investigation at the wrong time. In Natasha’s haste, she’d also lost control again, landing her at a criminal sentencing at London’s City Hall. 

Y/n was willing to destroy her opponents to succeed. Y/n had been the first ballerina Natasha had finally considered to be somewhere near the eminence of her own former glory, and had ended her, handing her a crushing defeat. 

Natasha should have put the dimethylmercury in Y/n’s make-up much sooner, arsenic in that wine she self-soothed with. By the time Natasha had offered Y/n that toast, there was no chance that she would have accepted a drink from her. Waiting had sealed Natasha’s fate to this wretched courtroom. 

Thundering applause and scarce cheering pulled Natasha from her thoughts. She must have missed her sentencing, lost in her ruminating, judging by the immediate lift in the courtroom’s somber atmosphere. 

This entire audience wanted her punished for her choices. Why? She felt the magnitude of her decisions spoke for themselves.

The former prima ballerina stared back into the prima ballerina’s vacant gaze from the defendant’s table, attempting to dissect the poison Y/n regarded her with. 

For the first time since St. Petersburg, Natasha could confidently say what Giselle was supposed to look like.

November 25, 1895

London City Hall

“Anastasia Natalia Gusev-Wood, this court sentences you to lifelong service in the Reading Gaol Correctional Facility with no chance of appeal,” the judge announced. 

The room— the press, sparse onlookers including the few bereaved family members of victims, cheered, but the woman only stared at you. She didn’t react to her sentencing or the relief that erupted from the room. All she fixated on was you, her face illegible. 

You refused to give the killer the satisfaction of analyzing your mood, the opportunity to insert herself in your head. Violent narcissists like her craved attention like flies to fruit. Instead, you released your captive breath and sent a tired look to Ciel to signal your readiness to leave. This woman was nobody to you: the result of a vain monster picking and choosing which lessons to take from ballet.

It was an art form before it was a competition. And certainly, no competition should ever lead to bloodshed. 

That was why you failed to feel any semblance of relief, even as you watched the officers escort Natasha away in handcuffs. You had still failed so many of your kin: eleven dead, their stories stolen and suppressed. The killer had painted them as weak after their deaths, dishonoring them, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. You couldn’t have been more wrong to ignore each and every one. 

You hardly remembered the sound of Norah Vincent’s voice. The color of her hair. In fact, save for Amelié, you didn’t know any of these victims on a personal level—you remembered how tall Mabel was because you were envious; Louise had trouble with her stamina because she was newer to the company; Georgina always had a smile on her face, she let you borrow her scissors to break in a new pair of shoes. That was all you could recall. Other than these minute instances, you hadn’t bothered to concern yourself with anyone besides yourself, and failed to notice these disappearances happening right under your nose. The Yard couldn’t even find the bodies of Norah, Mabel, Louise, Georgina, Sophia, Harriet, and Analisse, severely limiting the investigation you and Ciel could accomplish for them.

Even worse, you failed to piece together the evidence pointing to Natasha and refused to listen to Ciel’s concerns. You had allowed your personal feelings to erode your judgment, delaying the investigation. 

How could you feel a sense of victory, when so much had been lost? 

The only way you could proceed was honoring them in death, especially now that their true killer was brought to justice.

“Ciel, I want to bring the flowers over before it becomes too dark” You requested, referring to the bouquets you asked Sebastian to arrange. Given that most of the victims did not have any next of kin— or were the sole earners for their destitute relatives— Ciel personally took on their burial expenses. Apparently, he had a personal contact working in the burial industry. An Undertaker. 

Additionally, you wished to always honor their memorials with fresh florals. 

“Certainly. Our work is complete here, for now,” Ciel answered, ending the officer he’d been talking to away with a nod. 

Later 

The Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park

The sun started to descend below the treeline, casting a shadow over the graves lined in front of you and Ciel. Norah Vincent, Louise Crowley, Georgina Dawson, Mabel Hughes, Sophia Ludwig, Harriet White, Analisse Sterling, Eliza O’Malley, Janet Fischer, and Amelié Langston. All of the victims, save for Maisie Stannard. Distraught, her husband opted to bury her with his family.

“Do you think this really makes a difference?” You asked Ciel, standing from your kneeling position. You dirtied the front of your plain dress from kneeling in the dirt to arrange the flowers around the headstones. It was too cold to plant them, but they did make a lovely display of white and baby blue among the warm autumnal foliage.

The wind made the bare tree branches rustle and their fallen leaves dance, but thankfully, it left the white flowers you placed unmussed. You placed a combination of daisies, blue irises, and calla lilies around them, hoping their serene beauty might bring some peace to the souls around. Though most of these graves were missing bodies, you still hoped their spirits would resonate with the resting place. Body and mind were separate entities, no?

“I believe it does.” Ciel answered, dusting off his knees. He righted himself after you, having helped you arrange the flowers. You were clear that the flowers were a project you were set on seeing through with your own two hands, and apparently, that resonated with the Earl. Enough for him to accompany you and even help. You vowed that you would visit these graves as often as you needed to keep the flowers fresh. 

Remembrance was the least you could do, given that you hardly remembered most of the ballerinas in life.

Stepping back to admire the full picture of your work, you lit a cigar. You always kept a small humidor box in your deep coat pocket, along with a small knife to cut the cap and cedar spills to light it.

“My aunt adored the color red,” Ciel recalled, nostalgia softening his stoic face. “Sebastian and I filled the church with red rose petals, and I brought her favorite scarlet gown—she would have thought that white gown they had her in the most plain thing she’d ever seen. I believe she rested easier, knowing that she was being honored.”

“That sounds lovely,” you said, looking up from your igniting cigar to properly look at Ciel. He’d gone through those extra lengths just to make his aunt’s soul feel better at rest, despite never being able to know if the efforts made a difference. And yet, he liked to act like the most selfish man to walk the Earth. But he wasn’t. Far from it. Instead, he pulled at your heart and tugged at your stomach. “She must have enjoyed that. I’m sorry to hear you lost her.”

“I believe she did,” Ciel said, addressing your apology with a miniscule smile. It was barely there, no more evident than the corners of his lips pulling upward. He watched you take a long drag of your cigar in slow, deliberate puffs, as always. “And I think these women know that you brought their killer to justice, above all. Surely that matters a great deal to them.”

Watching smoke from your lips dissipate into the atmosphere, you chuckled sadly. You shook your head, rejecting the notion that you brought Natasha to justice. “You would have caught onto her sooner without me—you mistrusted Natasha from the start. You warned me last week, and I’m confident she tried to poison me that night.”

“She did a masterful job of framing her husband. I would have arrested him regardless, and I wouldn’t have access to investigating either of them without you. I’ve told you once, I shall repeat it a thousand times, if I have to: you were instrumental to our investigation,” Ciel took a short pull from your cigar. The days where he would admonish you for the habit felt like decades past.

Our investigation. You could have sworn your traitorous heart skipped a beat. Your palms felt clammy. After you confronted Natasha and her subsequent arrest last week, you and Ciel had been, for the most part, cautious around one another. The two of you were unsure of the boundaries that mutual forgiveness meant without a proper conversation. There simply hadn’t been any time, given the legal chaos that erupted between convicting a wife and husband for separate, yet related, crimes.

“A thousand times, you say? I may have to consider that request,” you said, smiling to denote your joke. Your cheeks felt traitorously warm, your smile unfortunately bashful. The Earl did this to you without trying.

Because you still loved him. The first man to notice anything about you beyond your looks and your dancing. The first man to care for your wellbeing, and take the time to unlearn the bitter beliefs that his class instilled into him. He fought for you, even when you had demanded he didn’t. But that didn’t mean he didn’t reject you the morning after you gave yourself to him. It certainly didn’t erase the fact that he’d danced with another woman in front of you. 

The misunderstanding between you may as well have been a chasm at the time. But now, you were each gradually bridging that gap in equal strides. 

Was that fair? You supposed not— Ciel was made to dance with another woman, just as fiercely as her duchess bullied her way into afternoon tea with him. And she had lied to you. Ironically, given the way she’d considered you vulgar. Was it not vulgar to lie in British polite society? Or was it only acceptable because she was lying to a commoner? 

“So long as you don’t overdo it, I shall oblige,” the Earl relented, meeting your eyes in the longest bout of eye contact you shared in two weeks. You almost forgot the sheer depths of sea Ciel’s eye held, and the intelligence those sapphire leagues captured. Mesmerizing—it was a shame that the fire damaged his other eye so severely. He, like you, was alone. Save for his staff. 

You accepted your cigar back, enjoying the taste of it on your tongue, the heat in your lungs a burning constant. You closed your eyes for a moment, appreciating the crisp air. Less than a month away from winter, you relished in this weather. Chilly, but not freezing. The best weather for a cigar. 

“I…” you started, your face red. “Thank you, Ciel,” you said, a touch more earnestly than you had meant to. But honesty was the only way to move forward, you felt. 

“Ballet…the aesthetic differs from all other professions. We have to hide all of our pain and discomfort behind a smile— make an illusion for our audiences.” There was no retreating, now that you’ve started. Ciel had already seen behind your facade—there was no meaning in reinforcing capitulated defenses. “Growing up in it from a young age, I suppose… I started to hide too much. I stopped trying to be close with others, and I-I thought you didn’t care for me anymore…” you admitted. 

You thought about the way all of your ballet instructors reminded you to maintain a pleasant face during rehearsals and performances, even though all of the contortions were unnatural to the human body. The best ballerina in the world was worthless if she couldn’t shroud her pain behind her character.

No matter how you felt, you had to maintain a pleasant face for the audience, the ballet patrons that paid your school (and later, the Opera House) for the right to your body. All to allow you to make a salary that kept you just above the poverty line. You had never dropped your pleasant face until you realized how false it was, the product of habit and sheer necessity. Everything had to appear effortless, even when it was excruciating. That was the industry.

You couldn’t help but chuckle; not even two weeks ago, you would’ve defended these sacrifices.

“I can see that now,” Ciel admitted, taking a guilty pull from your cigar. You both watched the smoke escape into the atmosphere. The light of dusk made the sky look pink. “I must have been a classist fool to assume that all aspects of this profession happened at dancer’s volition.” 

“You were certainly a classist fool,” you affirmed with a playful smile. After taking a final hit from the cigar, you extinguished it beneath your boot heel. 

“I am aware, thank you,” Ciel answered pointedly, making the corners of your lips form a smile. 

“Though unfortunately, most everyone still thinks that way,” he took your hand in his. The Earl ran his thumb over the top of your hand. You both wore gloves now, a measure against the cold especially now that autumn was in full swing with winter just on the horizon. 

You hummed in response, knowing fully well the social abuse you’d take for having Ciel at your side. For daring to love a man this privileged society deemed above your stature. Gwen, that miserable woman, was only the beginning. But you were no stranger to critique—nothing could possibly sting as much as some of the commentary you’ve suffered in ballet school and in your professional career. You were strong.

“But it is not a tradition I will allow to continue,” Ciel said resolutely, meeting your eyes again. “I brought accounts of the prostitution and power imbalances to Her Majesty, and she has decided to purchase the Opera House. She will also be instituting a series of Theatre Company Reform Acts to ensure it ends here—Swan Laws, they want to refer to them.”

The meaning wasn’t lost on you. 

You didn’t know how to start thanking him. Instead, you threw your arms around him, your gloves curling into his thick coat. Hot tears slid down your cheeks, they had been slightly chilled from the soft wind, the cold chapping your lips somewhat as well. 

“I do not know where to begin,” you mumbled, settling into the way the Earl’s stiff posture relaxed to accommodate you. His coat was soft against your cheek, his arms came around your back to embrace you. You let your eyes flutter closed for a moment, appreciating the safety and strength he offered you. 

Ciel held you close, his hand rubbing your back languidly as you sniffled, your appreciative tears  rolled down your cheeks. “I will always be endlessly fascinated and enamored by you. It would be a privilege if you could reconsider being with me, after the confusion I caused you. I… tend to push the wrong people away. But you? I never could have asked for a better partner for this investigation, and otherwise.”

A new warmth spread in your cheeks. Your heartbeat thumped with hope, light from Ciel’s confession. How could you reject that? He saved you. He listened to you. He seemed sure.

You wiped away any tears left on your face. Words were never a strength of yours, you had always thought. 

“Ciel, I want to be with you,” you declared confidently, your smile glowing as you looked up at the Earl’s thoughtful expression. The worry he tried to hide from you. Your eyes fluttered closed again as you kissed him, his familiar lips immediately responding to yours. A gentle hand held the left side of your jaw, lightly brushing strands of your hair out of your face.  

“That is an honor I do not and will never take lightly again,” Ciel promised, his pensive gaze inspecting your face. He was the most exacting perfectionist you’d ever met; you could never decide what he was thinking when he regarded you so closely. 

“I’m not sure you could if you tried,” you affirmed, a shiver running down your back. The wind picked up, causing the trees around you to rustle and whisper. 

“I’ll have Sebastian bring the carriage around. It’s getting rather dark out here, now,” Ciel mumbled against your lips, pressing on one more innocent kiss before he retreated, keeping your hand in his as he guided you out of the cemetery. 

December 13, 1895

The Royal Opera House 

From your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra begin to play The Nutcracker’s overture, a jovial melody on strings. The chatter of the live audience was palpable through the thin walls, you could hear the theatre fill with attendees. The run of this show was delayed an extra two weeks as your company appointed new interim leadership to run the performances—- she was one of the ballet teachers who worked under the Woods. She used to teach the classes for the newest ballerinas, the most patient of the staff.

Without the previous director and the short hiatus between the end of Swan Lake and this premiere, the entire company was revitalized. You could hear it in the music. You could see it in everyone’s faces. Rehearsal the past week was magnetic: you were all ready for this evening. 

You beamed at yourself in your vanity mirror, enamored with your matching pink corset and tutu combination. Humming the intense melody of the Act II pas de deux with the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier, you started to pin your tiara to the top of your head, careful not to ruin your sleek bun. You were made of pure anticipation and energy, a sense of certainty that you had never known in your life. Once you secured the accessory, you dabbled extra lip rouge and blush to your face in hope. Stage lights always washed out performers’ complexions. 

“You look brilliant,” Ciel told you, rising from the loveseat to the side of your vanity. He closed his copy of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King and left it on the small table to the side of the chair. The ballet adaptation of the story was fairly recent in comparison, having premiered three years ago in St. Petersburg. Your production was one of the first to happen in England. Despite having significant plotting differences from the novella, the Earl insisted on reading the source material prior to watching your opening performance. 

“How do you feel? Will you be alright if I join the rest?” he asked you, understanding that the overture signaled the audience to find their seats. 

You couldn’t have smiled more, your wide, childish grin was unbreakable. For the first time, it was starting to strain your cheeks. You had everything and more than you could’ve possibly asked for: the greatest love you’d ever felt, your stomach was full, your costume sparkled. All of this on the heels of a short performance hiatus that left you more rested than ever, each day supplemented with dance class and rehearsal to keep your body in shape during the break. You’d never had so much strength going into a performance. Ever. 

“I am indestructible, Ciel,” you answered, rolling onto the platforms of your pointe shoes for added height. Kissing the Earl left his lips a bright shade of pink, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“I shall take my leave for the time being then, mon trésor,” Ciel said, employing that endearing name you loved so much. His treasure. “If you might need me, you know where to look. And I will meet you back here afterwards.” 

Ciel made a sizable donation to the theater to ensure that the box on to the right of the stage was exclusive to him. Although Her Majesty took ownership of the property, she could not dedicate state funding without the Parliament; the Opera House would have needed to function without two week’s worth of performance revenue, had Ciel not intervened. He’d been watching from the box during your final dress rehearsal yesterday, and watching you rehearse your arrangements hours earlier. When Ciel could steal time away from his executive work for his company, he managed to immerse himself in your career, playing the piano when you rehearsed at home, and now, publicly supporting your debut as The Sugar Plum Fairy. 

“Thank you. Watch closely—I will be dancing for you,” you sent the Earl a playful wink as he left your dressing room. He left a parting kiss on your knuckles so as not to ruin your makeup. 

While you were heavily featured in most of the scenes of Swan Lake, now your appearance as Sugar Plum was concentrated into short, intense scenes back to back in the second act. That made your stamina all the more important as you needed to be regal and in control, detail-oriented with almost no breaks. 

That required every ounce of strength in your lower legs particularly, but you were prepared, when it came time. You were strong and fortified, learning to accept that as your vehicle, your body was beholden to better care. This full grand pas de deux consisted of a duet between you and Antoine, who played the Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier—her romantic interest, followed by the Cavalier’s solo variation, your solo variation after, and finally, you both danced together again in the coda, or the finale. 

You were all but a firecracker. Knowing you had someone in the audience who mattered to you, feeling your body sufficiently rested and fed, were frankly magical sensations. For the past two weeks, Sebastian had you on an incredibly balanced food regiment— he suggested you eliminate the word diet from your vocabulary in a broader effort to reframe your thoughts around food— and you prioritized a full night of rest. The butler even had you dipping your feet in iced water after long rehearsals to reduce swelling and inflammation. You had no idea. 

Hard work was not equivalent to dragging your body through abuse each day and night. Skipping meals and sleep did not make you a better prima ballerina—it only made you vulnerable to injury.

In fact, with all of this care reinforcing your natural talent, you could have fought an army. You had already proven yourself a valiant soldier, maybe even more than you were a perfect heroine. You embodied many roles rather well. 

Now, your characters danced for Clara’s honor in Act II, signifying their gratefulness for her and the Nutcracker’s victory against the Mouse King in Act I’s battle scene. This grand pas came at the end of the celebration after numerous ensemble characters— Arabian princesses, Russian Cossacks, Spanish chocolate, as well as Dewdrop and her Flowers. 

You were serene yet playful, encapsulating the magnanimous fairy. You were one with both your partner and the music, the perfect unit. The Sugar Plum Fairy knew who she was quite well, independent of her Cavalier. Still, they moved together, perfectly in tune as the music built to its climax. You stopped on the exact same stage marks, your arms reached into the same space, even your legs mirrored one another. The Sugar Plum’s Cavalier lifted her confidently—there was no hesitation in the escort’s hold— he never once dropped her.

Even as he lifted his significant other atop his shoulder, Cavalier was unwavering. This strength was the physical manifestation of his love for his dear fairy: supporting her, reliably catching her in one of your favorite moments of the show. Running from stage right, you leapt into Antoine’s grip in the center of the stage. Your fingertips nearly touched above your head in the standard fifth position. 

At your high perch, you could only think to peer at the box where you knew the love of your life was watching you. While you couldn’t see any distinctive faces from the stage, all you cared to know was that Ciel was there. For you. 

You’d never been in such a partnership before, the object of someone’s genuine care and interest. Sure, you’d been a plaything, a temporary trophy to trifle with and discard when your novelty subsided. But no one had ever deemed you a treasure. Someone always worthy of an apology, protection, someone worthy of love—the sacrifice and hard work that came with it. All that value seemed to be hidden away, like precious gems. 

Catching you by the waist, Antoine tilted the upper half of your body towards the floor for a moment. Moving quickly to maintain momentum, he used the leverage to face the audience and place you back steadily on the platforms of your pointe shoes. You danced in tandem with one another, flawlessly showcasing the secure love between your characters: the adoring way the Cavalier cared for the Sugar Plum, and her own adoring trust in him as she jumped into his arms once again. He lifted her high, and she held him close. 

The Earl supported you, and you trusted him implicitly. 

On your pointe shoes, you let yourself tip backwards, knowing Antoine would catch you with the same certainty Ciel would kick down a door. For you. The Cavalier caught Sugar Plum by her waist and her extended leg, lifting slightly only to resettle her at his side. The characters were a couple in love. 

At the end of your second premiere as prima ballerina, you didn’t linger to further absorb the applause in front of you. Instead, you hurried back to your dressing room because you knew the most important person was waiting for you behind the curtains.

Epilogue 

“Ciel!” Your Earl had been awaiting you in the backstage wings, paces away from where you exited the stage. He’d opted to wear a black evening suit for this occasion, the raven suit making his deep hair and ultramarine eye all the more conspicuous. Much like the night you met him, it was a number composed entirely of neutral shades. Apparently, a tailored suit on the man came as natural as leotards and restrictive pointe shoes came to you. 

With the same intensity as the Sugar Plum Fairy had, you bounded towards your lover and held him close to you, in spite of the heat your body carried and the sweat that slicked your skin. You couldn’t help but snap to his side like an opposing magnet, your face burying into the side of his neck when you lifted yourself en pointe. He caught you just as Sugar Plum's Cavalier would have.

“You put on quite a show,” Ciel told you, pride palpable in his warm tone. “That was masterful. You always are.” An arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand flat against your bare back. His leather glove felt cold against your skin, a welcome change from the blazing stage lights. You swore that one day, they would cause you sunburn.

You were exhausted. Your heart pounded, droplets of sweat fell down your neck tracing the side of your spine. Your breaths came in hard bursts, your lungs working to their limit. The muscles in your legs and feet were molton. But you smiled in spite of this pain, and not out of necessity for once. It was because of the sheer love you had for this man.  Your heart beat for him—the slightest quirk of his lips as he watched you, the unsuppressed chuckle in his chest from your question.

“No flowers for me?” You smarted playfully, pulling away before you could damage your costume from the embrace. Not to mention, you weren’t anxious to allow the rest of the company free access to your private relationship with Ciel. You knew that The Queen’s Guard Dog had an infinite supply of enemies and British society had countless newspapers cautiously watching you. They were waiting for you to fail, but you would never give them the satisfaction. 

“I like to think I have something a little better in store for you than flowers,” your Earl’s arm remained around your waist, helping support your worn body between the bustling backstage to your dressing room. The moment the door locked behind the both of you, asked Ciel to unclip your corset, overwhelmed with the need to get out of your suffocating costume. As much as you adored its shining accents and the pink, it grew burdensome after expending every last bit of your energy. 

“What for? I mean, what could be better than flowers?” you quirked an eyebrow, your smile lopsided. Ciel never failed to bring you a bouquet, even when your courtship had been a ruse. You adored them every time, the least materialistic person.

You hurriedly unlaced your pointe shoes, stepped out of your tutu and stockings, and clipped on a simple navy blue gown.

“I suppose, they will just wither and die, eventually. I want to commemorate this night perhaps more…intentionally,” he explained as he hooked your costume onto a hanger. 

This night? More intentionally?

“Of course,” you turned towards your vanity mirror, wiping at your face with cold cream. The next day was December 14, after all. His birthday. Could that be what he was mentioning?  While you knew a share of the trauma he felt from that day—-losing his family in the fire— you also hoped to give Ciel some lingering sense of celebration with a waiting wine bottle you purchased for the makings of a relaxed night in. You’d been rehearsing a short self-choreographed piece for him, knowing his adoration for your dancing, and his lack of interest in making a spectacle out of his day.

There was a short silence that followed as you finished cleaning off your face. You were checking your reflection for any leftover face makeup when Ciel spoke again. You watched him approach you from the mirror, turning to face him properly as he stopped at your side. Still sitting in your vanity chair, you looked up at him, a curious smile on your face as you analyzed his serious expression.

“As you recall, I first met you here,” Ciel started, his hand toying with something square in his jacket pocket. “So, each time I’ve thought about how I wanted to approach this, I couldn’t imagine being somewhere else. This was the only right way.”

You snickered, thinking back to the best aspects of that night—an evening you never thought you’d come to look back at with fond nostalgia. That night, you would have told anyone who asked that you disliked Ciel Phantomhive. You thought he was classist and misogynistic, cold. Condescending. You never would have thought he would come to be the most intelligent, thoughtful, empathetic, and determined person you’d ever get to know. Loving not outright, but in his own way: re-considering his belief system, playing the piano, constructing a dance studio on his estate. For you. 

“You wore some red gown. I thought…you were breathtaking. I had to ask you to put on more clothes in order to let myself focus,” Ciel admitted, his face flushing to the tips of his ears from the admission. 

“To let yourself focus? I thought it was because–” you started to assert that he told you to cover up because he was a noble clinging to traditionalism, but your Earl interrupted you with a lovingly stern expression, fixating his gaze on you. He titled his head to suggest mild exasperation with your never-ending need to chime in.

You obeyed, silencing yourself with another dazzling grin at Ciel. As he…sank down on one knee in front of you and retrieved a small velvet box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal a ring.

“Veux-tu m'épouser?” Ciel asked. You blinked, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat. Tears immediately formed in your eyes, causing you to blink rapidly to keep them from blurring your vision. 

Because that meant…

Will you marry me?

You felt as if someone knocked the wind out of you. A scarlet blush spread across your face with the intensity of a wildfire. Goosebumps littered your arms, despite your gown’s sleeves. He wanted to marry you. He truly wanted you as his Countess. He was legitimizing your claim to his heart with this ring. To all.

“I couldn’t imagine my life without you, Y/n. You have broadened my worldview in so many ways. I never dreamed myself capable of accepting love from anyone, much less someone as breathtaking as you. You shine both on a stage and off, challenging me to better myself each day, inspiring me with your passion for ballet and that stunning intellect of yours. I would be incredibly fortunate to be enlightened by you each and every day, for as long as I may live. If you would do me the honor,” Ciel said. He always held such a noticeable degree of reverence for you, regarding you as some precious being.

“Absolutely, I will,” you beamed as Ciel held your hand, gently siding the engagement down your ring finger. The band was gold, its diamond cut into a square. Two smaller diamonds sat on either side of the largest diamond. Still on his knees, Ciel was still tall enough for you to kiss by leaning down to meet his face. 

Lingering close to your Earl’s face, your smile grew sly. You blinked guilelessly. “Though are you certain you do not wish to discuss how we will allow our courtship to slowly burn out over the next month to avoid public suspicion? Would that suffice? That would allow you to resume your real search for a—”

He didn’t even let you finish your sentence, pulling you back in for another intense kiss. 

“There will never be a need for that. I put an end to that search ages ago, for all intents and purposes,” he admonished you with no real weight to his words. 

Before you could verbalize your next quip, your new fiancé interrupted you once more. “Yes, I am certain. Y/n… you are all I could possibly want,” his hand was gentle as it cupped the side of your face. His thumb caressed your jawline, a touch that was barely there against your electrified skin. 

“I cannot wait to see what our life looks like, together, my Lord,” you kissed Ciel, taking his hands in yours. As you rose from your seat, you guided Ciel to stand properly on his feet, clinging to him the moment he righted himself.

“That’s Ciel, to you, mon trésor.”

You welcomed your incoming new role, the future Countess of Phantomhive, with your widest possible port de bras.

Acknowledgements: 

First thing’s first, I want to thank you. Thank you so much for reading and interacting in any capacity with me!! I appreciate every second you put into checking out my writing, and I hope it really touched you! This story is meant to show copious amounts of growth in a person and the importance of empathy and compassion. I’ve loved Ciel since middle school and I like to think this love has matured with me, lol! 

This is also my first mystery storyline!! I put so much thought into every detail, and I don’t think I could have gotten to this point without you all being here and so so so supportive and patient at every turn. 

Thank you especially to my amazing friends here on Tumblr, @mylostleftfootsock and @earls-wife, and my amazing best friend IRL @readfreak03. (She literally made a Tumblr account to read my updates, I'm crying). Thank you all so much for being so inspiring and supportive of me—especially for hearing me and my chaotic ideas out. Without your endless support for both my writing (and my personal life endeavors) and your detailed feedback and ideas, there wouldn’t have been this. 

I want to thank everyone who reaches out to me in comments, asks, dms, mentions, and reblogs, everyone on my tag list, and all of my amazing anons. 

I want to shout out @katherine101, @endlesslovesick, @suniika, @goby10, @lavendervogh, @eunisyia, @luckyladylottie, @soleil-lei, @lottiehasadvice, and my lovely Random & Sweet anons: I always, always look forward to reading what you have to say!! It’s so much fun to chat, and your feedback is so amazing. I really do appreciate each comment you leave for me! You’re all so kind, it’s endlessly motivating for me. I read every single comment, ask, and reblog multiple times. 

I genuinely had so much fun writing this fic. I’ve wanted to write a ballerina!reader x Ciel for so long—probably since I was in the middle of writing The Indignant Pawn. I was developing this story as I was writing! Ever since I stumbled on a History.com article about prostitution in vintage ballet, I was hooked. I knew I needed a fire-brand reader experiencing this in real time, and a Black Butler-level scandal to draw Ciel into the fold. Their polar-opposite personalities essentially wrote themselves. Their natural chemistry, the arguments, the sweeter moments just flowed. 

To make this story as accurate as I could, I read countless interviews with real prima ballerinas regarding their interpretations of their characters—their hardships, their advice, their day-to-day lives. I watched so many TikToks (special thanks to @/lifeof.lori!) and tutorial videos, too. I really came into this knowing nothing about ballet besides having an excited curiosity, and now I can confidently say that I understand it a whole lot better and I definitely have a newfound respect for real ballerinas. What they do is incredible. 

Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. I can’t believe this is my second complete fic ever! I’m so excited to show you what I have in the works. When I finished The Indignant Pawn, I gave you a hint about this story, my next full body of work, because I was a little mean with the way I ended my first story. Literally it was the tallest of cliffs I could leave you hanging from. This time, I was nice, so I think I’ll leave you guessing :)

Stay Tuned,

Dannnn

[lokilokilolki]

The tragic homosexual love trope: a cross-examination

I personally don't think Hannibal is the same kind of emotionally stunted because to be fair (spoiler) he does say exactly what he means every time via cleverly and symbolically splayed corpses.

And John I feel, definitely was abandoned by Sherlock after Reichenbein for three years, but they did get back together after in a satisfying conclusion (raising a child together omg besties) so like hopefully all the gays just adopt in the next seasons

BBC Merlin (I'm just realizing) has so many parallels too fml might update

Part two of ~that one show with a lot of tragic gay subtext that isn't really subtext but the studio is homophobic (not you Neil and Brian, love u guys <3) so we just say it's subtext~: A Cross-Reference

Sherlock and Will def have the most in common and are just on opposite ends of the moral spectrum which is basically the only thing keeping Sherlock away from being the scariest serial killer ever.

BONUS: SHERLOCK AND HANNIBAL: both keep decapitated heads in their fridges ayoooo

Everyone: "My boyfriend would kill/severely maim for me"

I also feel like Arthur from BBC Merlin would also fit really well here. His character especially identifies with Aziriphale:

I love him, but the belief system that was drilled into my head all my life prevents me from fully accepting him as he is

[ultimateinsomniac]

hopping up on my special interest soap box to say: i think we as a fandom should discuss the satire in danganronpa V3 more.

idk if it is just me but i have always viewed this game as a satire, if only just because of the ending. it exagerrates the formula set up by the previous games to criticize the current state of media and media consumption. i know a lot of people in the fandom don't like V3, and i think that is by design. it is ridiculous, it is over the top, the ending is a punch to the face, but it's all on purpose. you're supposed to be uncomfortable because it is a satire. (of course you don't have to like the game, i just think it is intentionally like that)

the whole theme of fiction vs reality is put in there intentionally to make fun of the fandomization of danganronpa, as well as to poke at game studios and companies that put out media in general. tsumugi, in my interpretation, is representative of danganronpa fans (hence why she's the ultimate cosplayer). she is the mastermind. you aren't supposed to like her. her insistence on the idea that "fiction doesn't affect reality" is a direct criticism of that exact idea in real life fandom. the idea that this is the "53rd" danganronpa is directly making fun of other pieces of media "jumping the shark" because fans insist upon it. this is not to say you can't like tsumugi, i think you absolutely can, i just think her character represents some key ideas relating to the satire of the game.

this is why everything in the game is SO over the top. kirumi being the prime minister, korekiyo both having DID AND being a serial killer in a reference to the first game, EVERYONE'S over the top backstories (gonta and keebo come to mind), it's all acting as an exaggeration of common tropes (albeit highly problematic in several areas, not trying to excuse those aspects by any means).

and then there's kaede. they set her up as a strong female protagonist, only to kill her chapter 1 to be replaced by a male protag. on paper this is very misogynistic, but in the context of satire it is an exaggeration of the danganronpa formula. of course we couldn't have a female protag in a main line game, of course it would have to be a man. shuichi having a secret ahoge only adds to this; it's making fun of the trope. the best part is that i truly do love both of these characters, and their role in the satire doesn't diminish the excellent writing that went into them and the story.

this entirely shapes how i view this game. it manages to tell an incredibly compelling story with very complex characters while making fun of itself at the same time (as a good satire should). i know a lot of people have said they feel like the writers of v3 must have hated danganronpa, and while i see exactly what they mean i don't think that's necessarily true. i think it was an intentional choice as a work of satire.

i can see an intense love behind the writing of this game. the characters are rich and the story is compelling. the ending just serves to send home the point they wanted to make. i think it adds a really beautiful perspective to the danganronpa series as a whole.

[killer-bug-boi]

(updated) MASTERPOST

wassup, I'm buggy/bug!! This is a blog for my Ramshackle oc's, but it's also my main and personal blog

FANDOMS I'M IN

Ramshackle

Pine point

Inanimate insanity

Bfdi

EPIC: the musical

Hazbin hotel

Helluva boss

Wings of fire

Percy Jackson and the olympians

TADC (Im not weird abt it, I just love the show)

Beetlejuice

Hamilton

Heathers: the musical

Ride the cyclone

Murder Drones

Hfjone

ADDITIONAL BLOGS

Momo rp: @blunt-passer

Vinnie rp: @p1rates-n-c0inz

Nim rp: @cemeterys-r-cool

Personal writing project(pls support me here): @legend-of-the-oracle-askblog

Vent blog: @bugs-not-good

Death P.A.C.T: @death-pact-official

A bit abt me

As stated earlier, my name is buggy or bug, but I can also go by killer, this blog will be used as an outlet to share my writing. I will also occasionally vent or rant on here

I love stars and space, it's a comfort of mine

My pronouns are he/him

Also I think bugs are cute asf (hence the name-)

I'm a red fox therian!! 🦊🦊

Extremely low social battery

Low empathy but good at comforting others somehow

Trans guy and proud of it 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

If you start shit with me or break the rules of the blog I will block you

Attempting to draw so request are open!!

^^ my sona

DNI: p3do, transphobic, homophobic, NSFW(jokes and references are fine tho), racist, ablest, violence or discrimination of any kind

This blog is a safe space for: lgbtqia+, disabled individuals, POC, minority groups, age regressors, therians, furries, lil guys

My wonderful moots(if I forget you, pls remind me)

@nothing-notable @anomal-studios @itznotquinn @nat-the-rat326 @m3rcuryxd2763 @therealdbx @ruby0sevenrings @treee-baeee @piratebeanscore @cornread @ziggyisonzaza @zeddyzifan @dimitrismaplesyrup @rottmeltson @ilov3ic3cub3 @lilacquintet @silly-lesb21 @omg-i-killed-kenny @baileythebean @eclipssnstars @ep1cmorko @highclasshomosexual @sammygimmy @fallenjello @bethn0tfound404 @emily59729 @roguepierogi7

GO SUPPORT THEM!!

LOOK AT MY MOOTS PROJECTS

@haunted-friendships by @itznotquinn

@stone-creek by @nat-the-rat326

[jasper00nb]

can tou draw horror saying the most foul stuff ever and everyone looking at him nervously as he goes on an insane rant

i love horror

Horror moment

I am sorry for those who actually decide to read that and didnt get the references but I didnt know what else to write other than 'the most foul stuff ever'

Dust belongs to Ask dusttale

Killer belongs to RahafWabas

Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios