#also rare moment: I use punctuation in a post

[megaawkwardhuman]

8 shows to get to know me

thanks for tagging me @someguywife

an excuse to talk about the shows I like? sign me the fuck up!

WARNING: A LOT OF INFO DUMBING I TRIED TO JUST SUM UP WHAT I LIKED ABOUT THESE SHOWS BUT I COULDN'T RESIST GOING ON LONG TANGENTS ABOUT THEM SO I GAVE UP ON THAT REAL QUICK

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

1) what we do in the shadows- I mean considering how much I post about it and the fact it got me to write my first ever fanfic no shit I love this show! I mean it's got gay people, causal murder, people who have no idea wtf they're doing, vampires, weird ass CGI baby for a season, emotional devastation, did I say gay people? I will admit when I first watched the show I honestly thought it was just ok (may have to do with the fact that halfway through watching it I got sick which is funny cause when I watched the OG film I was also sick and I'm sick now while working on my fic- AM I CURSED!?) but after showing my friends the 2014 film decided to rewatch the show before showing it to them and got fucking OBSESSED. Never been a huge fan of vampire shit but now whatever vampire media I consume next HAS to have gay people in it thanks to this show. It still feels weird to have a character I like and relate to that I can kinda actually see myself in like Guillermo and while we're not 100 the same I still kinda feel seen which is fucking weird ngl. HIS COMING OUT SCENE MADE ME CRY THE SECOND TIME I WATCHED IT. (probably cause that's roughly how coming out to my parents as trans and pan went just without the whole working for vampires thing) Low key scared for what the fuck season 5 has in store :D

2) our flag means death- I fucking LOVE this show! shout out to my friend for showing it to me cause I never would have thought that a show about gay pirates would be for me. Our flag means death has just this vibe to it that has me addicted to it and the love story that I'm STILL surprised a year later they actually went through with just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! The fact that a show that does what our flag means death does AND GET RENEWED FOR A SECOND SEASON brings a big fat smile to my face! Stede going in head first with an obsession while having no idea what he's doing is a fucking mood. can't wait for season 2 hopefully it won't leave me screaming at my screen like last season! OH YEAH I ALMOST FORGOT I'm SO glad they portrayed Mary the way they did! like they could have easily made her into an unforgivable bitch or homophobic as fuck but no I mean sure she's upset for what Stede did (if you were in her shoes you would be too) but after attempted murder and a bunch of shenanigans beforehand they talk it out and find a compromise that they both like and the fact that she's happy for him for finding love even if it's a guy and she isn't secretly jealous or disgusted by it is just *chef's kiss* so good.

3) moral orel- well let's go from modern live-action shows with gay people to a stop-motion adult cartoon from the mid 2000s! I can still remember watching this show for the first time since I binged it all in one night (by the time I finished it it was like 5am WOOPS) and I don't fucking regret it this show is just fucking fantastic. I HATE THAT IT WAS PULLED FOR BEING "TOO DARK" THE MORE I READ ABOUT WHAT THEY HAD PLANNED THAT THEY HAD TO CANCEL DUE TO THE SHOW'S CANCELLATION THE MORE PISSED OFF I GET! Like it's the darker episodes that make the show SO DAMN GOOD and memorable. HELL the episode that got the show canceled (I think it's called alone) IS ONE OF THE BEST EPISODES. The way it portrayed people handling trauma is fucking fascinating and it's a shame the episode is what got the show pulled. The season two finale two-parter I also up there as one of the greatest episodes in the show. The way the tone shifts as Clay gets more and more drunk and what went from a thing mainly played for laughs turns into a painful moment for Orel as he realizes just how awful his dad is especially when he's drunk. This isn't to say the less serious episodes aren't good. The show can be really funny when it wants to but it's just the more serious episode that leaves an impact on you. When hopping into the show for the first time I heard it was a satire show that was a parody of christian shows I was expecting every other joke to be bible bad (not a christian so I wouldn't have gotten offended but still it would have gotten tiring) but god I was relieved when I found out it was more making fun of those who use faith for all the wrong reasons then pointing the blame to an old ass book. overall 10/10 show that might not be everyone's cup of tea but I personally LOVE it. It's been a while since I last watched it but talking about it makes me wanna watch the entire show again. TL;DR: I fucking love this show and the reason it got canceled is the reason why I love it.

4) invader zim- OK time to move on to something less serious. It's also been a bit since I've last seen this show but it still has a close place in my heart. Invader zim aka the reason I have a tumblr account in the first place (though it wasn't until later when I started to actually use it. when I first made this account it was to lurk) is a nice little show I can watch and not over analyze the shit out of. (I do that a lot with shows I like) I watched this show at a very interesting time in my life. I had recently realized I was trans and had no idea how I was going to tell anyone and funnily enough a couple of days after I realized I was trans quarantine hit so needless to say it was an interesting time for me. This show and the fan stuff on tumblr for the show kept me sane. Dib was one of the first characters I ever related to and as you can tell by me still using him as my profile pic I still do. another show that the more I learn about what they had to cancel due to the show being canceled the more pissed off I get. I forget this is a kid's show half the time.

5) hannibal- I feel bad for my friends cause when I finished this show I WOULDN'T SHUT UP ABOUT IT. This show is the reason I actually use my tumblr account. (cause I paused it and it looked like Will and Hannibal were about to kiss and I needed to share it with someone and none of my friends have seen the show so I threw it onto here and the rest was history) I don't remember why I watched this show but I'm glad I did cause it's fucking great the mystery the first time you watch it and the set up of the answer the second time you watch it is just *chef's kiss* 10/10. The way they portrayed Will and Hannibal's relationship is so fascinating like it's so complex AND GAY. I WANT ANOTHER SEASON DAMN IT THAT CLIFF HANGER (hehe cliff) HAD BEEN KILLING ME EVER SINCE THE FIRST WATCH!!!!!!

6) the last of us- Ok so confession: I haven't finished the show (I have one episode left but I'm watching it with friends so it's probably going to be a bit before I watch it) BUT FUCK DO I LIKE THIS SHOW. I haven't played the games but from what I heard this is a rare video game adaptation that ISN'T dogshit so I might watch a let's play of the game after we finish it since I like the show so much. This has to be one of the most realistic representations of a zombie apocalypse I've ever seen. (granted I haven't consumed much zombie media and it could be the fact that before this the same friend is showing us the walking dead which granted CAN be good at times the way characters act most of the time at least at the point we were at before taking a break where annoying and frustrating) EPISODE 3 WAS THE FIRST TIME I EVER SOBBED AT A SHOW. Fun(?) fact: that date on the letter at the end of that episode august 29 IS MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY 😭. I'm afraid of what episode 9 has in store.

7) south park- despite having a dad who quotes this show and would watch episodes in the living room growing up it wasn't until after watching the last of us one time with friends did I ever end up watching a full episode of the show. (I forgot what episode we watched before watching south park but we all decided we needed a pick me up after it) While I'm not obsessed with this show and I haven't seen all of it (if it was possible to watch that much south park without going insane) I still like this show. Another one of those shows I can watch casually without overanalyzing it. Whenever I need a break from writing my fic or whenever I just feel like it I just pick an episode I heard was good and just watch it. The history behind this show and behind certain episodes I've always found interesting. Though I'm going to be honest for now I'm going to avoid most modern episodes cause I've heard mixed things about newer seasons. Butter's own episode, Cartman sucks, and Butters's bottom bitch has to be some of my favorite episodes. if you can't tell by my fav episodes Butters is my favorite character.

8) the owl house - FUCK YOU DISNEY THIS SHOW DESERVED BETTER!!!! Another kid's show I forget is a kid's show. the way the boiling isles are drawn hell the overall art of the show is just so fucking fantastic. THERE'S GAY IN IT!!!! LIKE ACTUAL CANONICAL GAY IN A DISNEY SHOW!!!!! I never thought I would see the day BUT HERE I AM AND AAAAAAA LUZ AND AMITY ARE SOOOO CUTE TOGETHER! KING OMFG KINGGGGGGGGGGG HE'S MY LITTLE BABY AND THE SEASON TWO FINALE MADE ME STRESS EAT FOR THE FIRST TIME. So sad that season three was cut down to three episodes. The idea that something you put a bunch of hard work into can be cut short cause someone didn't like the vibe is fucking BULLSHIT!

I would tag other people here but in the wise words of Laszlo

[cheezbites]

How COD Characters Would Text

✎: I’m such a slow writer/procrastinator so sorry for the slow posts. But I upload lots of skits and I know y’all love those !!😋

♡Summary: Headcanons of how COD characters would text.

Ghost

• He rarely replies to you or sees your messages, as for how you never see him texting you in the first place. (Or even using his phone for that matter). Every once in a blue moon, you would finally see a highlighted double check mark next to your messages.

• Has a black screen set as his profile picture.

• Leaves you on read and you took it personally, but he addresses your texts in real life since he finds the keyboard too confusing, and he doesn't have time to figure it out.

“I saw your text on the... Uh, ‘What App’, the meeting’s going to be at 2:30pm.”

Valeria

• Strictly sends voice notes; she also finds the keyboard too complicated. If she’s in an environment where she can’t send voice messages then she texts you back painstakingly slow, or she doesn’t bother trying.

• She adored calling you to hear your voice and have genuine conversations instead of staring at a screen and repeatedly tapping away. She also loved hearing about your day and what you were up to.

• Texts you at any time but mostly at night.

König

• Would only text you if you texted him; he has his notifications on for vital and crucial things but most importantly when you send him messages. Also a very messy typer, it would be impossible to not find a single typo.

• Has a cute stray cat he saw on a walk as his profile pic.

• König would frequently discover emojis; although you knew them all like the back of your hands you acted oblivious for him.

“🤪🤪 Did u kno this emoji existed?!”

“miawwww🙀!!! This emoji is very silly, we should use it more often.”

“🙈🙊🙈jajaja ich bin ein schüchterner Affe..”

Price

• Sends you corny facebook memes to start your day. You act as if you hated them and they're obnoxious but deep down you love when he sends them. You know it’s an ‘off day’ for him when you don’t receive one.

• He’s a massive punctuation enthusiast, and he doesn't type slow but not too fast despite his age.

“Good morning, how are you doing today?”

“Please ensure to drink lots of water, it’s going to be very hot later on.”

“Please don’t touch Simon’s sandwich in the fridge. He’s feeling very stubborn today.👍”

• Would make a group chat so the group can bond but half of you guys left over petty arguments and the other half are inactive.

• Him fishing on some boat as his profile picture.

Soap

• Has one of the default options as his profile picture. Or him posing with a rifle.

• Sends you memes you actually laugh at, they’re usually short videos. But then on the other hand, he sends you corny puns that you still find yourself laughing at:

Soap: “Y can’t scientist trust atoms?”

Y/N: “???? why”

Soap: “Cause they make up everything!”

Y/N: “hahahah soo funny dude😐”

And behind the screen you have the biggest shit-eating grin.

• Always double texts you, even if you say you’re busy and can’t take messages. Not even that, he’d triple text you because he can and nothing is stopping him.

• He’s on Do Not Disturb most of the time from all the spam emails he receives, mostly because he carelessly gave out his information to dodgy websites.

Gaz

• Over shares information so casually and then changes the subject, it honestly baffles you at times. To him, there's no such thing as TMI.

“Nearly got run over heading to the shops, but how are you?”

“There was a stabbing at the local chippy shop. What’s for dinner?”

“Just saw a homeless person buy drugs with money someone accidentally dropped. Fun day.”

• Texts you all the time, the moment you send him a message he opens it no matter what time it is or where he’s at.

• Has a selfie as his profile picture.

Alejandro

• Would try-hard being cool so he uses a shit ton of emojis in nearly every text, you can't help but laugh at his failed efforts. And expect lots of typos from him, too.

“Yo😁 any plans todsy🤔🤔??”

“Jow do I turn dowm the brightness.😎☀️”

• He only messages you in the afternoon, in the morning he's too occupied and at night he’s getting that beauty sleep.

• You’re like his tech assistant, always helping him with the simplest of things. This one time, he set his keyboard to another language and was only messaging in Arabic until you could help him set it back to English.

Rudy

• Spams you like it’s super urgent, only to say: “never mind, it’s not important” knowing damn well he had nothing to say in the first place.

“hello?!??!”

“pick up y/n, very important. asap!!!!!”

“are you dead? where are you.”

And once you do get back to him…

“nvm the issue was resolved.”

• Turned off auto capitalisation, but he’s still punctual every now and then. Never sends emojis.

• On that note, whenever you say “ur” he does that know-it-all thing which we all know and hate where he says “You’re*”.

Horangi

• A mix of voice notes and texts, he generally does not text whatsoever even if it’s urgent. If you wanted to reach him you had to do so face-to-face.

• He would leave you on read with no shame and forget what you even sent ten seconds later.

• Is committed to that default image as his profile picture, he knows how to change it but he can't be bothered and he doesn’t even know what to change it to.

Keegan

• When he sends voice notes he acts confused as to why you’d bookmark them. (Fully aware girls simp for his voice - it’s a massive ego boost at times).

• Calls you early in the morning, (really early). As he knows you inevitably snooze your alarm and stay in bed for ‘a few more minutes’ but you stay glued there until the afternoon. It’s a really efficient way of waking you up so you’re not complaining.

Masterlist

[vgilantee]

200 mile (per hour) club {tangerine}

bullet train tangerine x fem!reader SMUTTY (minors DNI)

requested: n/a

words: 5.8k

a/n: I have had this thought for weeks since finally watching bullet train and writing this very much was a “fuck it we ball” moment. also canon is taken as a suggestion during this fic because in order for things to work, some of the plot must be ignored

This fic contains smut! I don’t normally post smut here, and have rarely reblogged smuts. But… i really wanted to write this and share it so here we are. The reader is afab :) and the codename is… a personal favourite 😅. the original idea/draft of this fic was sent to @jangofctts but as said above, fuck it we ball and the full fic gets written!

warnings: afab!reader, swearing, smut!, unprotected sex, fingering, mentions of masturbation (fem), p in v, bad attempts at northern british vernacular, use of the word cunt instead of pussy (not intentional it's just... it flows better), no proofreading we die like men, canon is a suggestion (aka canon variance),

pronouns: she/her

MINORS DNI. any minors liking/reblogging/commenting on this fic will be blocked.

(this is your reminder that i am australian and therefore use british english and punctuation. while i do make errors, often times it is a difference in english type)

You wedged your phone between your shoulder and ear as your partner, Evaline, spoke about the nuances of a cartoon they had gotten really into while the pair of you had been in Japan. 

“Listen, Ev,” you handed the teller your crumpled yen notes with a smile - asking for a ticket to Kyoto - as you spoke down the phone, “I love you and am happy to listen to you talk- Arigatou Gozaimasu- to you talk, but can this wait until after I’m done?” Despite being partners, they were the one to stay in whatever hotel room you were set up in and work as your handler. 

Squeezing between the crowds of people, you quickly made your way toward the bullet train station. You glanced at your ticket, checking the platform for the umpteenth time since getting the ticket to make sure you were walking in the right direction. 

“You know that if I bottle this up, it will only make it worse when you get back.” You snorted in amusement, swapping the ear your phone was pressed to. “But fine, okay. I’ll keep conversation job oriented.” You thanked them just as you stepped onto the train. 

Carefully, you made your way toward your seat, sliding down into it before unzipping your small backpack. 

“So your target will be getting on the train in two stops, but won’t be getting off until Kyoto so you have time.” Out from the small pack, you pulled out a book, leaning back to rest against the wall and kick your feet up onto the joined seat beside you. The perfect way to carefully watch the aisle. “But you will be at Kyoto in about two and a bit hours. You read the briefing I sent you?” It was their not-so-subtle way of asking you if you actually knew who your target was.

“You sat beside me as I read it.” You laughed. 

“Just checking.” Their voice sing-songed down the phone. “Last thing; codename.” You breathed out, almost hoping that they had forgotten and you would be able to choose your own. Sometimes you thought that Eva gave you your codenames to get back at you for something, or just to have a laugh from their end of the jobs. Only once did they forget and you got to pick your own codename. But only once. 

“Alright, what is it this time?” You could practically hear their smirk as they replied;

“Angel.”

--

Between jobs, sometimes you and Evaline got to hang out and just relax. Although you were partners, you didn’t always get moments together were you could just be friends.

So you ordered room service of the most expensive wines and liquors on the list and got drunk together. 

As usually happens, the drunken chatter turned to a game of truth or dare, asking questions that had never come up in your friendship or partnership before. 

“Okay, okay okay,” despite already having your full attention, Eva tapped at your knee. “Truth or dare?” Although the dares were quickly discarded after you ate a full spoon of hot sauce and Eva nearly threw up after putting nearly a full banana down their throat, the question was still asked.

“Truth please.” You fell back as you dragged out the ‘e’ sound.

“What petname makes your knees go weak?” 

---

“Are you fucking with me right now?” You nearly dropped your phone. You heard the sounds of Eva throwing their head back laughing, and the short shriek as they nearly fell off their chair. 

“Sorry, sweetcheeks. That’s the name you’re stuck with.” They reply between laughs while you let out a hum, half closing your eyes suspiciously. “Anyway, enjoy your book. I’ll check in with you when the target gets on the train.” 

You felt your body shift forward slightly as the train finally took off from Tokyo station and you let yourself sink comfortably into your chair. The book you were reading was one that was worn from being dragged around for the last few months and many, many attempts to read it. So you had been taking every opportunity to read little bits and pieces when and where you could. You unfolded a dogear you had made in the page and continued reading the beat-up little book, the sound of the train speeding along its tracks becoming a soft white noise in the background. 

Just as you flip the page, out the corner of your eye you see someone sit down in one of the seats opposite you. You let your eyes flick up to see who it is, and try to hide the way your breath catches as you recognise him. 

His hair is a little longer, and his three-piece is all in place and free of blood, but you had run into him enough times to know him with the smallest of looks despite all the differences. 

But you return your eyes back to your book, pretending that there wasn’t a reaction somewhere inside of you at seeing him again. 

“I hope you aren’t here alone.” You spoke without looking up. “Nobody needs to deal with only one half of the Wonder Twins.” He let out a snort and you saw his fingers appear on the top of your book as he leaned across the table to push the book down. The forced movement had your eyes finally met his. 

“Never go on a job without him.” He winked, doing very little to try to hide his smirk.  You rolled your eyes, marking your page and swinging your legs off the seat to face him properly. “Good to see you again, gorgeous. Been a while. Too long really.” He looked you up and down slowly, as he spoke, tilting his head and twisting one of his rings. 

“Not long enough.” You replied with a half smirk, and he raised a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “So, what’s your name today?” He leaned back with pride, opening his thighs slightly and folding his arms. 

“I’m Tangerine, he’s Lemon.” You couldn’t help the laugh that broke through, and your hand shot to your mouth to cover the rest of the noise. 

“Wow, your handler must hate you.” You said, shaking your head and amusement still present in your voice. Tangerine’s eyebrows pinched as his mouth dropped open a little.

“First, we have no handler, thank you very much, darlin’. Second, I thought the names were quite clever.” You raised your hands in surrender, tilting your head. “But alright, if you think our’s are so bad, what name ‘ve you got, hm?”

If you had paused, for just a moment, before you spoke, you would have realised far sooner.

“For now, I’m Angel.” When he repeated the name back to you with a hum, you realised. Somehow, Evaline had known he would be on this train with you, and that you would cross paths. They knew about the business flirtationship you had with Tangerine, having been stuck listening on more than one occasion, and they were also very good at remembering things, including you drunkenly telling them what petname turns your knees to jelly (and a man who sometimes also had that power). 

Your mouth opened a little as you let out a small breath and silently prayed that he didn’t notice your reaction. Once you recomposed yourself, you reached for your phone. 

“So, Angel,” Tangerine leaned forward and leaned on the table, flexing his shoulders slightly and you had to fight the way your brain gave you the image of him calling you angel while his shoulders flexed above you, “what’re you doing in Tokyo? Business, or pleasure?” You glanced at him over the top of your phone as you sent Eva an all-caps message of thinly veiled threats. Tangerine emphasised the word pleasure in both his tone and a slight raise of his eyebrows.”

“Business, for now.” You meant the statement more as you would be a tourist once the job was done, but the moment you stopped talking, you could see a particular look in his eye. 

“‘For now, aye, Angel?” Tangerine’s tongue ran along the back of his top teeth, and your core tightened. You could only hum your reply, worried that if you tried to say anything your voice would break. 

You notice as his eyes look past you, over your shoulder and down the aisle to the door. He nodded at whoever he saw - you assumed his brother as he never worked with anyone else - before looking back at you and tugging his blazer tighter over his shoulder. 

“So sorry to love you ‘n’ leave you, Angel,” Tangerine stood in the aisle and ran his hands down his chest, smoothing down the fabric, “but business calls. Maybe I’ll see you later.” With a final smirk and wink, he walked away. You listened for the sound of the train carriage door opening and closing, before you let out a sigh and sunk down into your seat.

You hand shot out as you suddenly reached for your phone, Evaline’s number already on speed-dial. The moment they answered, you skipped over pleasantries, quietly yelling at them down the phone. 

“How the fuck did you know he would be on this train?” 

“Ah, so he found you, then?” You could hear the smirk in their voice as they brushed past your rudeness

---

The first time you met Tangerine and Lemon, they were doing a snatch-and-grab in a warehouse that you were in the process of clearing. They had walked in, guns drawn, to you stood over a body in the middle of pulling a machete out of his throat. 

The sound of moving feet and the cocking of guns had you freeze and look up at the men. You mirrored each other as you each slowly raised your weapons and took the other in. 

They were in clean suits, ties gently tugged loose, and each had a plastic poncho tucked into their belts for easy access. 

“Who the fuck are you?” The shorter of the pair spoke, his accented voice bouncing off the walls in the otherwise silent room. 

“I’m not with them.” You lifted a bloodied boot and kicked one of the bodies by you as you spoke, joking and trying to gauge whether the new-comers were the backup or not. 

“I can see that, love.” The other man tilted his head forward with a smirk, and you ignored the warmth that began to rise. “You just here for the kill?” You lowered your weapon, hoping that they would mirror your movement now that you knew they weren’t on the same side as the various men who laid in pools of their own blood around you. 

“Take whatever you’re here for.” You gestured around to the doors behind you. “I’m just finishing up.” You dragged the machete along the inside of your sleeved elbow, cleaning off the blood before sheathing it at your hip.

You had walked out of the building shortly after that interaction, but the moment you met Eva in the waiting car, they turned to you immediately with a smirk.

“You good?” You sunk slightly in the seat and tried disappearing into the plastic sheet that protected it from blood and other fluids. 

“That taller one was… goddamn.” 

---

It was the first of a half-dozen run-ins with the twins, each time talking more and occasionally helping each other when things got sticky. And of course, Evaline made comments about your attraction. 

“Did you suggest this job on purpose or did you find out they were here afterward?”  You were almost afraid to hear the answer. Evaline was beyond clever, and should they have wanted, they would easily have been able to made it into a tech sector of a government agency. But instead, they chose to work with you and use their brains for less than legal means. So it wouldn’t have surprised you if they had gotten into one of their phones, or seen them on one of the many cameras in airports and around Tokyo. 

“Maybe this, maybe that.” Eva giggled at you, and you could hear the shiteating grin on their face. “Enjoy the view!” They sung the last syllable before hanging up on you, and you swore, slamming your phone down into the table. 

You felt the train pull into the first stop and you let yourself recline back again and relax. You weren’t normally on edge during a job, it was something you had been doing since you were eighteen and while you had nerves and your brain ran a hundred-mile a minute, it was never something that had you feeling it in your fingertips and the back of your neck. 

Though the edge that Tangerine had you on was different. It wasn’t one where you were wanting to look over your shoulder, hoping your reflexes wouldn’t be needed. But he had you in anticipation. Your body telling you that you needed him and was waiting for his fingers to graze your skin. And now he had that cursed codename to wrap his accent around. 

With the knowledge that Tangerine was on the same train as you, the book was no longer of interest. You had to read the same sentence over and over before you actually absorbed it. So as the train took off again, you shoved the book away and climbed to your feet. 

---

  “Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.” The twins jumped at the sound of your voice, letting out f-bombs as Lemon held a hand to his chest. 

After making your way through train cars, exploring out of both curiosity and in case of emergency, you found the twins having an apparently heated conversation in the baggage area of their train car. They were engrossed in a seemingly heated conversation about ass cheeks. You weren’t entirely sure, only hearing the tail-end before deciding to interrupt.

On your way down the corridor, you glanced at each person in their seats, pausing for a millisecond when you saw the twenty-something with face tattoos angrily slumped in his seat. 

The twins looked at each other quickly, then over your shoulder to where you were pointing with your thumb back down to where he sat before finally back to you.

“Depends on who you think that is, Angel.” You rolled your eyes at Tangerine then shifted your weight so that you were more fully facing Lemon. 

“Are you idiots kidnapping or returning the homeless-looking White Death’s son?” In the cramped luggage space, you did your best to put your hands on your hips. “Because one of those is certain death.” 

“Aww, you worried ‘bout us, Angel?” You let out a scoff at his comment. 

“You wish, I just need to know how far away from you I need to stay.” Tangerine muttered a joking ouch and you and Lemon share a look. 

“Returning ‘im.” Lemon ignored his brother, already used to and over his attempts to flirt. “Best of the best tasked with bringing him and his ransom back.” You cocked your head with a teasing smile. 

“Oh, ‘the best’, huh?” You replied with a hummed laugh. “Well, if that’s all… best of luck with,” you made a rough circular gesture with your hands, “all of that. I’ll probably be seeing you later.” You stepped between the two men, though Lemon stepped further away when giving you space to pass through. You could hear their interrupted argument reignite as the door closed behind you, and you continued to make your way through passenger cars until you reached the bar car. 

Inside, you saw a man clutching a bottle of dark liquor under a blanket, eyes hidden by sunglasses. You ignored him, not one to judge someone getting black-out drunk on a train, and stepped behind the bar, reaching around until you managed to make yourself a simple vodka and sprite.

Leaning on the bar counter as you sipped your drink, you took in the unconscious man. You almost choked on your drink as you realised who it was. The Wolf. You scrambled to pull your phone out of your pocket, speed dialling one of the only contacts you had in your phone. 

“Eva, we have a problem.” You carefully walked over to the Wolf as you spoke, noticing the blood on his hands and the lack of movement under the blue blanket. “Wolf got on the train early.” You quickly went back to the counter and swapped out your now-empty glass for a pair of ice tongs. Using the tongs, you moved the blanket away from the Wolf and found staining the white of his suit was a pool of dark blood, entry wound clear as day. “And it looks like somebody got to him first.”

“What do you mean? No, that’s not possible.” You could hear Evaline frantically type as they spoke. “God fucking dammit.” They sighed. “Fine just… take a photo of his body. Hopefully we can convince them that you killed him so we can still get paid.” You did as you were told, knowing that you would have to spin this in a way that would not end up with the pair of you getting killed for lying. 

After taking the photo you moved the blanket back to where it had rested, not wanting whoever killed him to know their victim had been found. 

“I guess you can sit back and enjoy the rest of the ride now.” Eva sounded defeated as they spoke. You hummed in agreement, then turned and left the car to return to your seat. 

On your way back to your original car, you saw a stressed looking Tangerine walking toward you. It took him a moment to see you as he checked each person sitting down while he walked, and when he did the stress fell from his expression and was replaced with a cocky smirk. 

“Angel!” The way he said the name sent a pulse to your core, but you refused to acknowledge it, not wanting to show him the effect the petname combined with his accent had on you. “Good to see you, gorgeous.” He finally reached you, barely a step in front as he looked down at you. “What’s up?” 

“My job on this train’s been done.” You shrugged. “Get to enjoy the ride to Kyoto.” The corner of Tangerine’s mouth quirked. 

“Wanna give me a hand with mine?” You couldn’t tell if the offer was serious, or if it was a friend or potential business partner. But there was a greedy and horny part of your brain that wanted to spend as much time with him as you could before leaving Japan. 

“Oh you must be in a lot of trouble to need my help.” You turned around, beginning to walk back in the direction you had just come from. “Who’re we looking for?” You felt him come up close behind you, the brush of his hand against yours. 

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, Angel?” Tangerine’s voice was low in your ear, his breath hitting flyaways. Your breath hitched for a moment hearing his voice so deep and close to you. Then just as quick as the invasion of personal space came, he was gone again. “Some geezer in a bucket hat with thick rim glasses. Stole som’ing from us.” You thought you were imagining the sound of a smile in his voice, attributing it to his usual cocky demeanour. 

As you walked together, you and Tangerine spoke about yourselves - as best you could without revealing too much about your personal identities. You were quick to notice the way he would always include at least one “angel” in each sentence, saying it slightly differently each time. 

You felt Tangerine slide his hands onto your hips from behind, holding your breath as he leaned down and whispered into your ear. 

“Maybe once this is all done, we can spend some time together, Angel.” You spun around and felt his hands slide across your covered skin as you did, trying to compose yourself. Your body betrayed you though, your thighs very obviously squeezing together slightly, caused by the way he all but moaned the name into your ear.

“Fuck it.” You stepped back, letting his hands slide away, then grabbed one of his blazer lapels, dragging him the short walk to the cramped train bathroom. He made a surprised noise but made no effort to fight you. 

You pushed him down onto the closed toilet, turning to lock the stall door and spun on your heel to look at him. Tangerine had his legs spread, showing off his thighs as he let his hands rest on his upper thighs. He had a smirk on his face, only breaking it to poke out his tongue and lick his lips. You dragged your bottom lip into your mouth slowly, biting it gently. 

“Well fuck, love.” You dropped your lip with a short exhale, feeling that last little bit of resolve crumble. In the cramped bathroom, it only took you two steps to get to him, but you paused just in front of his thighs. “You’re welcome to sit.” Tangerine closed his thighs and brought his hands back to your hips, thumbs pushing up the fabric of your shirt to expose peaks of skin. You stepped forward, guided by his hands, and sat down on his strong thighs. 

It was the closest you had ever been to him, and the smell of his aftershave mixed with the feeling of his thumbs on your skin had you using what little resolve you had to stop your hips from rocking, grinding down to create any sort of friction. 

Tangerine had tormented you since he found you with your codename, and you could feel your heartbeat in your core grow each time he said it. It was cruel, how much he made you need him. 

Your hands refound their home on his lapels, pulling that last small gap closed to bring his mouth to yours. 

The kisses were hungry, desperate. Breathing each other in relief at finally having the intimate contact. Tangerine brought one hand up to the back of your neck, applying pressure with his thumb where your jaw met just below your ear. He used the change in hand placement to bring you even closer to him, and you let him, greedily shifting your hips closer to him with a slight grind. He hums out a groan against your mouth and you feel the tightening of his dark slacks. His mouth moved to your jaw and neck, leaving mouthy kisses against your skin. You let your hips continue to rock against him, noticing his own hips move slightly underneath you. Moving your hands away from his blazer briefly, you made light work of the buttons on his white shirt, loosening his tie so it hung undone around his neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, Tan.” You knew it was pathetic, confessing your long-term attraction for the British assassin. His fingers dug into your skin lightly at your words. 

“Feelin’s mutual, Angel.” His words were low against your skin before he quickly moved away from you. “Hold tight.” You tightened your grip on his blazer, quickly wrapping your legs around him as he stood up in the small bathroom space. 

Tangerine in his haste all but dropped you on the sink counter, and you let your legs fall from around him. One of his hands moved down and began its work undoing your jeans, running the backs of his fingers along your stomach and hips so he could feel the soft skin there, and you shivered at his touch and the sudden cool of his rings. 

When his hand made it to your hip, his other moved down to mirror it, two fingers on each side and tucked under your waistbands. 

Your hands slid to his shoulders and you watched through hooded eyes as Tangerine gradually moved down to a low squat, taking your bottoms with him. You shivered both from the cool of the train air conditioner and the way he was staring at you. As he stood, you kicked off your shoes and pants, allowing you to reopen your legs fully and allow Tangerine back into place, his hips pressed against yours. 

His mouth was quick to return to yours, eager to nip at your bottom lip and distract you from the cold of his rings and the feel of his hand sliding its way up your thigh.

You jolted when his thumb started rubbing light circles around your clit, whimpering into his mouth at the sudden change in stimulation. 

“Tan.” You sighed out his name against his mouth and to your relief, he began to move his thumb faster, adding a little more pressure as he did. You could feel him smirk against your mouth, and you retaliated by bringing one hand to the back of his neck and weaving fingers through his curls, giving them a slight tug. Tangerine grunted, pulling away while you held his lower lip gently between your teeth. 

“All good, Angel?” You hummed out an affirmative, knowing your voice wouldn’t hold, not when his thumb never stopped moving. 

Gradually, his hand moved down until Tangerine’s fingers were met with your building slick. You sucked in a harsh breath as he swiped two fingers up your cunt, collecting as much of the fluid as he could. He pulled his hand completely and you watched as he stared in fascination and you followed his line of sight to see as Tangerine rubbed his thumb and forefingers together, pulling away occasionally to see tiny strings connect his fingers. 

At the feeling of your eyes on him, Tangerine’s own flicked up to you. With a smirk, he quickly returned one hand to your core and the other sat on your bare hip, the hem of your shirt bunching on his wrist. Distracting you with a tight squeeze of his hand on your side, he slid a finger into you, dragging it out slowly only to quickly replace it with two fingers. 

Your head fell back against the mirror behind you and your mouth fell open, as Tangerine began an almost torturous paced drag of his fingers in and out of your cunt, matched by the movement of his thumb on your clit. Your hands blindly grabbed at his arms and shoulders, while Tangerine left open-mouthed kisses against your neck and jawline. 

As your nails dug into your skin, Tangerine moved between stretching his fingers inside of you, curling them upward to draw a broken moan from your throat, and pulsing his fingers in and out of you at an ever changing pace. He licked up the column of your throat as you whined out his name, and with every movement he made, he seemed to be trying to figure out which sound was his favourite. 

The wet sounds of his fingers working you were all but drowned out but your moaning and whining and pleading. 

“Tan, please-” your beg was cut off by the feeling of his spit hitting your cunt, adding an extra fluid into the mix quickly coating his hand, “need more.”

“I’ll fuck you properly in a minute, angel, promise.” You felt his low voice against your jaw. “Want you to cum on m’ fingers first.” Despite his generally cocky attitude, Tangerine wasn’t mean. He wasn’t going to get you so worked up with his fingers not to let you cum. 

Your grip on his arms tightened, desperate to grab onto something as Tangerine’s brutal pace never slowed. You felt the knot get tighter and tighter and your eyes rolled back, unable to bring your head up off the mirror behind you. With a broken moan, your cunt tightened in pulses around his fingers before finally the tightness let go. Tangerine’s fingers and thumb never stopped moving, greedily working you through your orgasm as your chest heaved and whines and moans bounced around the tiny bathroom. 

Tangerine slowly pulled his fingers out and you whined as he did, still sensitive. Once you managed to bring your head up and reopen your eyes, you were met with the glorious sight of Tangerine lazily sucking his fingers clean, eyes half lidded at the taste. 

“Angel, that was the most gorgeous thing ‘ve ever seen.” Your cheeks warmed at his words. “And you taste just…” Tangerine let out a short hummed moan, the only description he could think of. 

You reached out with slightly shaky hands, pulling him close enough that you could reach down and undo his belt, letting you at the fastenings of his slacks. Once they were undone, you moved your hands up slightly, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and pushing it back so you could drag your hands across his stomach. Your mind was still lightly foggy and you almost couldn’t believe the sight was real. 

Not that you would ever admit it, but there were more than a few nights where you had dreamt of what shirtless Tangerine would look like. And more than a few where your fingers had worked while you imagined they were his. But reality was so, so much better. 

Tangerine pulled you from your thoughts with his thumb gently running across your bottom lip.

“Still wi’ me?” There was a softness in his eyes, and his cocky smirk had dropped. 

“Yeah. Still here.” Your words were soft, and Tangerine smiled. 

With your hands still resting on his stomach, Tangerine reached down with his free hand, the other still holding your jaw, and thumbed away the elastic of his underwear to pull out his cock. You watched for a moment as he gently stroked his already hard cock, before pushing his hand away with one of your own, taking his cock in your hand and slowly gliding it up and down. You felt the weight, the veins, and your eyes flicked up to see his roll back for just a moment. 

You slide your hand up from his stomach to his chest, and gently lean forward to nip at his jaw. As you do, however, you slip back slightly, and fall into the small sink. You let out a tiny shriek as you fell, and Tangerine’s eyes darted open. He lets out a snort and an amused breath falls from your lips. You shook your head, taking your hands away from him completely to place them on the counter and pushed yourself out of the sink. 

“You all good, Angel?” Tangerine put no effort into hiding his amused smile and you rolled your eyes. 

“Maybe the sink isn’t the best place for this.” A shit-eating grin made its way onto Tangerine’s face. 

Before you could react, Tangerine pulled you toward him and you immediately locked your legs around his waist. You both let out quiet moans as his cock brushed against your slick-coated cunt, the friction against your clit encouraging you to roll your hips again. 

He picked you up as you ground against him and took two steps so your back met with the wall. Once you were pressed firmly against it and Tangerine knew that you wouldn’t fall, he moved one hand down and adjusted his cock so that he head pressed against your cunt. He dragged it up and down a few times, collecting your slick and cum as lube, before pressing in. 

Although he had stretched you nicely with his fingers, Tangerine’s cock pushed in far further, and you whined at the tight feeling of him stretching out your cunt. He moved slowly, letting you adjust to his size, until finally he bottomed out. Tangerine rolled his hips, not pulling out very far but still creating a nice friction while you got used to the full feeling. 

With a gasp of his name, you told him to move. And move he did. At an almost blinding pace, Tangerine pulled out until just his tip was inside of you, before pushing all the way back in. He braced himself with one hand squeezing the underside of your thigh, and the other pressed firmly against the wall beside your head. 

Your cunt squeezed around him as he moved. Although you both wanted to take your time and enjoy this at a slower pace, you were on a bullet train and he had a job to finish. So as fast as his hips would allow him, Tangerine ploughed into you. 

Once again, your head fell back against the surface behind you with a light thud, and Tangerine immediately returned to his assault on your neck and anywhere he could reach. You knew that in an hour, all the skin on your neck and jaw would be coloured purple and red, hickeys blossoming all across the skin. And while you knew the comments you would get from Eva and the looks you would get from other passengers, you didn’t care. 

Leaving one hand to scratch at Tangerine’s chest and shoulder, you brought the other down to rub circles on your clit. 

Against your skin, you felt the low rumble of Tangerine’s moans and gasps, and you clenched around his ever-moving cock trying to coax as many of those sounds out of him as you could. 

“Close, Angel.” It took you a moment to realise that he wasn’t asking if you were close again, but was warning you that he was, and your nails ran down his chest at the realisation. 

“In me.” While it wasn’t a full sentence, it was the best you could muster as he piledrived into you, leaving fingertip bruises on your thigh. Tangerine let out a broken moan at your words, more than happy to oblige. 

His hips began to stutter and you sped up your fingers against your clit, not wanting to be left with a built up orgasm for too long after his. After two particularly short thrusts, Tangerine’s hips froze and his head fell against your shoulder as he came inside of you. Not long after he had finished, your cunt clenched around him as you came again, high-pitched moan falling from your lips. 

Tangerine slowly dragged his cock out of your sensitive cunt, and you whined at the feeling. He gently sat you down back on the sink counter, knowing your legs would likely betray you. After using some toilet paper to clean off his cock, Tangerine gently pushed himself back into his underwear, glancing down at the stain you had made. You tiredly smirked, only to flinch as he brought over some clean toilet paper and as gently as he could, cleaned up much of the fluids that had made it onto your inner thighs. 

You sighed contentedly once you were clean, and happily accepted the gentle peck on your lips. 

“Once I’m done with this job,” Tangerine spoke softly as he picked up your discarded bottoms and guided them up your legs, kissing the skin before it was covered as he made his way up, “I’m takin’ you on a proper date.” 

mutual tagging: @websterss @jangofctts (i know i tagged you already but you're also now a mutual so two tags!) @faeology

post fic note: although i do not condone cheating nor the invasion of the private lives of celebrities, i DO condone aaron (allegedly) cheating on his crusty-ass, groomer wife with his bullet train costar joey. (also a couple of my warnings read like ao3 tags but they do still count as warnings so... leave me lmao)

reblogs and kind words are always appreciated

[hearteyedbunny]

i gave myself brainrot when i made a post talking about arty patching up danse in a weirdly intimate way, so i needed to write an actual piece about it. this is before they catch feelings, but maybe this is the start of it?? hmm.....

this fic can also be found on ao3!

Touch || Paladin Danse/Sole Survivor

It was a routine mission, the two of them tasked with patrolling the area and reporting back any findings to Elder Maxson. Simple enough, and it almost went off without any issue, which was a strange occurrence when attempting to get anything done alongside Artemis. For once, though, there had been no backtalk from him, no bickering, and no disobeying orders. He had only muttered a ‘yes, sir’ and they had headed on their way. Danse would almost think something was wrong if he didn’t revel in the rare silence and obedience from his subordinate. Though, he made a mental note to check in on the Knight once they arrived back at the Prydwen. As much as Danse disliked the other man, he was still responsible for the wellbeing of the soldiers under his command.

Everything was going smoothly, both of them mostly keeping to themselves besides Danse barking out a few orders here and there, when suddenly he was stopping in his tracks, catching the attention of Artemis.

“What’s up?”

“The joints in my right arm are loose,” He punctuated his statement by rolling the shoulder of his armor and scrunching up his face a little, “It’s making it difficult to wield my weapon.”

“Mmm,” Artemis mused for a moment as he looked around, “I know this area. There’s an old abandoned gas station further up ahead,” He motioned in the general direction with a quick nod of his chin, “Could be useful.”

“Outstanding,” Danse replied, and Artemis rolled his eyes at the praise, “Lead the way, soldier.”

Artemis took the lead, Danse in tow behind him as they walked the short distance to the mentioned building. To their relief, there was a power armor workstation in the garage of the building. Danse was urgent on doing a quick scope of the area to make sure they wouldn’t have any surprise guests, then wasted no time in docking his armor and getting to work.

It’s not like Artemis had never seen Danse out of his armor before, they lived together aboard the Prydwen after all, but he couldn’t help but steal a look as the Paladin stepped out of his armor. His orange jumpsuit was obviously worn and used thoroughly, speckled with dirt and a few oil stains. Despite its use, it still hugged his body in all the right places. The soft curve of his belly straining against the material of his suit caught Artemis’ attention, before he caught himself staring, instead taking great interest in looking at a spot of dirt on the crumbling wall.

“This shouldn’t take long. The joints just need some adjusting,” Danse pulled out a small set of tools he kept in the chest compartment of his armor for specific occasions like this. You could never be too prepared when traversing the wasteland.

Artemis only hummed in acknowledgment. He didn’t really care, simply relieved to be out of the sun for a while. He made himself comfortable, plopping down in a rickety chair that was strewn into the corner of the garage. He unsheathed his combat knife from his belt, using it to absentmindedly pick at his nails as he waited.

It was only a few moments before Artemis was startled by one of Danse’s tools clanging loudly to the concrete floor, quickly followed by a muttered curse under the Paladin’s breath. Danse emerged from behind the suit of armor right after, his palm bloody.

“What the hell happened?” Artemis didn’t appear terribly concerned as he stayed seated, but he craned his neck a bit in an attempt to see what had happened.

“I don’t know. My hand must have slipped,” Danse was pressing the thumb of his left hand into the cut, attempting to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. Whatever piece of metal had cut him had sliced right through the glove of his jumpsuit, “There's a first aid kit in the storage unit of my armor.”

Artemis rose to his feet, unlocking the front of the armor and rummaging around for just a moment before he found what he was looking for. He ushered Danse to sit in the previously occupied chair in the corner, while Artemis sank to his knees in front of him. He removed Danse’s ruined glove, his fingers wrapping around the Paladin’s arm to keep him steady. Artemis pressed his thumb against the veins in the other man’s wrist, able to feel the faint thrumming of his heartbeat.

“I apologize,” Danse watched Artemis dab at his palm with a piece of cloth, attempting to clean up the blood, and then apply pressure to stop the bleeding all together. Danse felt his fingers twitch impatiently. He was annoyed with himself, “I only meant for us to be stationed here for a few minutes at most. Now we’re a vulnerable target if we sit here too long.”

The bleeding seemed to stop after a few moments, the cut not being very deep at all. Without warning, Artemis poured a small amount of antiseptic onto the wound. Danse’s face twitched in discomfort at the stinging sensation, but otherwise he didn’t complain.

“I’m not that worried,” Thankfully there was a bit of gauze in the kit, Artemis beginning to unroll it with both his hands. Cleaning up the wound left Artemis’ fingers speckled with a bit of blood, “I’m not helpless, I can shoot if someone comes up on us.”

“I understand, but–”

“Just shut up and let me finish, Danse,” Artemis was looking up at him, his brows scrunching up in annoyance. Then again, Danse supposed he looked like that most of the time by default, “I’ll be quick and we can get out of here sooner, if it really bothers you that much.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Lockett,” It was Danse’s turn to look annoyed, but he didn’t push any further, there would be no point in bickering over something as small as this, “But alright, do as you will, then.”

“Whatever,” Artemis glanced back down at the task at hand, his grip surprisingly soft despite his growing annoyance with his superior. Danse’s eyes followed the movement of his fingers as he rolled up the sleeve of Danse’s jumpsuit, his fingertips ghosting across Danse’s skin as he did so. The pads of his fingers were soft, so much unlike Danse’s own that were rough and calloused from years of rugged use. The thumb still against his wrist was warm. Goosebumps suddenly spread all across Danse’s arm, causing him to shiver.

Artemis didn’t seem to notice, beginning to wrap up the injury he was holding in his hands, starting at the wrist, and working the gauze around the palm of Danse’s large hand. Danse would never describe Artemis as a gentle person, so it took him by surprise as he watched him meticulously and carefully doctor up his cut, seemingly giving extra care not to pull the material too tight. For the first time, Danse was close enough to Artemis to notice the various moles and freckles that littered themselves across his knuckles and up onto his arms, most of them disappearing into the dark wisps of hair growing along his tanned, muscled forearms. Danse noted a few small, healed over scars scattered along the back of his hands, and briefly wondered where he had gotten them.

Though he had finally finished wrapping up the injury, Artemis’ fingers still lingered along the Paladin’s own. Danse suddenly felt very warm, and didn’t know why.

“Is that too tight?” Artemis’ voice was low as he glanced back up at Danse. His eyes were the same color as a storm at sea, but his expression was faintly softened.

Danse had never thought about how handsome Artemis was until this moment, as the other man gazed up at him. His inky black hair was growing out, much longer than it was when they had met many months ago. It was starting to curl around his ears and along his neck, but it framed his angular face nicely. His dark stubble was starting to come in from neglecting to shave for a couple of days, the fuzz dusting along his shapely jaw and right above his top lip. The moles along his arms were copied here, scattering themselves in random spots along his face. Danse couldn’t help but trace the curve of Artemis’ lips with his eyes, wondering if they were as soft as they looked…

“Paladin?” Artemis’ voice asked again, snapping Danse out of his thoughts, “Is it too tight?”

“Uh…” Danse cleared his throat awkwardly, finally looking away and blinking a few times as he felt his face become increasingly warm again, “No…No, it’s alright. Thank you, Knight.”

“Sure,” Artemis finally stood from his kneeling position, and Danse didn’t quite understand why he felt disappointed when their fingers finally disconnected, “Finish up if you want, but you’re right. We shouldn’t stay here too long.”

“Right,” Danse stood as well, flexing his fingers experimentally and feeling the sting of the cut, but it didn’t seem to deter him as he made his way back to his armor. He retrieved his abandoned tool from the ground and was quick to continue his adjustments, “I’ll just be a moment.”

“You promise this time?” Humor was evident on Artemis’ face, a small smirk lighting up his features. A dimple indented itself in his right cheek. 

“Yes. I promise,” Danse didn’t return the smile, but his eyes sparkled with something akin to mild amusement as they looked at each other. It was a pleasant surprise when Artemis dropped his gruff exterior and seemed a little more lighthearted. Danse appreciated the rare comradery. 

It didn’t take long at all for Danse to finish up his work on the armor, just as he had said. As soon as he was satisfied with the tightness of the joints, he began to gather up his supplies and put them back where they belonged. He was almost overjoyed when he jumped back into his armor, always tending to feel naked and vulnerable when he was outside of it. The familiar snugness of the suit always made him feel comfortable. Safe.

They were quick to make their way out of the little run down building, Danse resuming his role by taking the lead and continuing their mission just as they were before. Nothing had changed, and yet Danse caught himself being distracted more often than not. Even after they had returned to the Prydwen and gone their separate ways for the day, Danse couldn’t quite shake the image of Artemis’ hands against his own. 

The scene kept replaying in his head over and over again, even as he attempted to distract himself by tinkering with his armor further. If anything, it only reminded him of the memory that looped in his head. Artemis had been so careful with him, a stark contrast to the standoffish and, quite frankly, difficult man that he usually was. Danse thought about the dark hair on Artemis’ arms, the freckles that scattered along his skin. He thought about the scars on the back of his hands. Would his skin feel warm if Danse pressed his own lips against his knuckles? How would those soft fingers feel cupping Danse’s face, with Artemis’ thumb rubbing his cheek? Would Danse’s skin bubble up into goosebumps again if Artemis ran those hands along his biceps, his pecs, his stomach…?

Danse squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his face burn bright and hot again, finally deciding that maybe the best course of action was to take a very long, and very cold shower.

[alianoralacanta]

My First Race (13-03-2007)

Context: While waiting for the 2007 season to start, there was a forum thread about the first race everyone had attended live. This was before I could travel to races independently, but I did have a story to tell (even if the flies get more of a starring role than Michael Schumacher did), and it was long enough to need to go on my blog…

Warning! Long post alert!

I'm still waiting for my first GP race, but Dad did take me to the 2002 British GP qualifying. Boy was it a memorable day!

Having done my last GCSE exam the previous morning, I got home to discover that Dad had got qualifying tickets at the last minute (two friends had tickets, but couldn't go for reasons I never established). We promptly spent the next few hours getting necessary supplies - stuff for making sandwiches for lunch, earplugs for my rather sensitive ears, wellington boots that didn't have holes in them (in case of mud) and a little bag that folded out into a seat.

Waking up at 4:30am the next day, Dad and I were in our hitherto reliable red Volvo on the road to Silverstone by 6:00am. Everything was going fine and I was just remarking about how little traffic we'd seen when the fan belt went on the Volvo. It was 8:05am and we were just about to leave the M1. After a long wait and an even longer journey in a breakdown vehicle, we eventually found ourselves in Lutterworth at about 8:40am. Fortunately the local garage fixed the problem very quickly, an event Dad attributed to us telling the garage that we were heading for Silverstone…

We finally got to the track just in time to see Eddie Irvine's Jaguar go down the back straight for the last time in the morning practise. After that, we walked halfway round the track to see the paddock, with armful of Jordan advertising. The merchandising area looked really interesting, particularly for me whose previous experience of F1 merchandise stretched to a battered McLaren hat one my brother's friends gave me the previous year. Speaking of hats, Dad and I both bought a hat - Dad got a Ferrari cap and I got a Jordan one.

After this, we continued around the outside of the track, looking at all the corners. It was about when we got to Stowe that Dad noticed a problem. There was a swarm of flies and a few wasps hanging around my head! I had foolishly picked a yellow Jordan hat instead of a black one, and the poor insect life around Silverstone must have thought I was a giant flower…

The next thing we did was eat lunch while listening to the circuit radio. Dad and I had chosen the exit of Club corner for our area, and it was a very good choice. Not only could we see everything from the Stowe exit to the start of the Luffield complex, but there was also a giant TV in the vicinity. Halfway through our sandwiches, the action began.

Seeing an F1 car in its full glory was really exciting, but seeing several together was about the most thrilling thing I'd seen in my life! Hearing the V10s and seeing the different lines everyone took was exciting, especially in the rare moments I could hear the commentary over the sweet song of metal on edge. The intellectual interest was high too; not only was there the pole chase, the Jordans and the home drivers to watch out for, there was also the question of whether Alex Yoong would qualify (he didn't) and whether Arrows would even bother to participate (they did; it was the last time Arrows put its whole heart into a race weekend, too).

As a Jordan fan, I'd've been happier if that song had not been punctuated with the awful scrape of Sato's nosecone dragging on the tarmac (it fell off its connectors on its own accord, apparently) and if Fisichella's original engine had stayed operational for more than one-and-a-half laps. This was probably why I couldn't find anything suitable to say to the Jordan staffer I saw a few hours later in the petrol station on the way out…

You may have noticed that at no point during any of this did I need the new wellies. In fact, Dad and I got back with sunburn. We'd packed the bag with stuff for every weather, including a complete change of clothes - except for sunscreen. For once, summer was in Britain - and I forgot to plan for it!

As for the grid, I considered it a fairly minor matter until I got back home to watch the video Mum did of the coverage, but it went:

1st…Montoya (a fast lap that seemed to come out of nowhere, but Montoya then went nowhere fast on race day)

2nd…Barrichello (unusually, he beat his team-mate, and would go on to have an eventful race and still come 2nd)

3rd…Michael Schumacher (took it a bit steady, but won the race next day)

[darkcircles4lyfe]

fyi: I’m staying away from leaks

If you want to know my thoughts about recent events, here they are:

So idk if I’ve ever mentioned this before, but when I started watching and reading bnha I made a point not to engage with the fandom until I was caught up, because I didn’t want spoilers. When I finally made it to the current chapter, it was around the end of the first war. That’s when I started looking at what other people were saying, and that’s when I found out about when/where leaks were. I’ve been tuning in ever since, for a few reasons that I only rarely stop to interrogate. First and foremost: I’ve liked the extra time to prepare what I want to say if the chapter contains a major revelation or cliff hanger I want to write about. It’s satisfying to punctuate my Sunday morning with a fully fleshed out essay I can immediately post. Then of course it’s also fun to participate in the Moment that leaks create, especially because they unfortunately tend to make the officials feel like an afterthought. And let’s not lie to ourselves—a major reason we tune in is because of FOMO. Everyone else is doing it. You don’t want to be left out of the conversation and not know what’s going on. I especially wanted to know ahead of time about lines that might get butchered in the official English translation. It was nice knowing that Horikoshi didn’t write that “Swiss cheese” line, right? These are some understandable reasons.

But since the routine got disrupted a little, I kinda got slapped in the face with enough clarity to start asking myself: what would I actually get the most enjoyment out of? Because when I heard the (now outdated) news that leaks were no more, I was actually relieved. So. That’s cause for some reflection. I’m like, man, what if I did tune out of social media entirely, wake up on Sunday, have my nice little home cooked breakfast, and read the new chapter for the first time over a cup of tea. What if I experienced the surprises as I turned the page and they stared me in the face, with Horikoshi’s beautiful artwork in HD.

Sure, I’d need to catch up after the fact if there’s any translation fuckery, but that’s okay. That’s doable. Bless the folks who take the time to comb through the Japanese and explain the nuance to everyone else. This is tangential, but I’ve also started thinking even more about how satisfying it would be to edit my own versions (for personal use only of course). That’s a… long-term goal, but maybe it’ll take care of my annoyance with the ‘official’ blunders and bad dialogue. The point is, idk if making myself aware of that stuff should be my #1 priority, above even reading the chapter in the first place. If anything it just makes me more pissed off and fixated on what might be wrong. Which is valid… but distracting. I should prioritize having fun as much as I can.

The other thing is, I’m kind of a social media lurker anyway. I don’t say much in the moment, and I don’t post often. On twitter I mostly just engage in other people’s comments. And it’s not like thousands of people are waiting to hear what I think. Like I said, my personal incentive is to get a head start on analyzing so I can pull together a long, thoughtful response in a more timely manner. But I don’t have to do that. I might as well just embrace my cryptid tendencies—you get my two cents whenever I feel like crawling out of my well.

I don’t want to moralize this whole thing, ask you to think about how the sausage gets made, but I will say I’m looking forward to finding out about big moments without seeing them in the form a short summary tweet first. I mean, c’mon… leakers know how to build hype to an extent but it’s still no substitute. It’s like listening to a sportscaster on the radio instead of watching the game. As we get closer to the end, I just want to savor it!

[kakushigo]

Writing patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern! (Tagged by @merinnan)

Technically, Zhao Yunlan hadn't intended to steal Shen Wei's sleeve garters and become a thief. (Stolen Moments of a Life, part of the Thief!Shen Wei series. Zhao Yunlan/Shen Wei from Guardian. Usually written for Syn, since she's like 50-75% to blame for the plot bunny)

It wasn't unusual that Lee Dongsik brought meat for Joowon to cook for their meals - he was close friends with Jaeyi, who owned a butcher shop and always saved the best cuts of meat for her friends. (Cooked with Love, a Han Joowon/Lee Dongsik from Beyond Evil fic with Hannibal vibes featuring kitchen blowjobs for 31 days of smut)

Han Joowon had always known that the only reason his father had him was so that he could carry on the family's name in some fashion. (with this ring, I wed thee a Han Joowon/Lee Dongsik Alpha/Beta/Omega AU for 31 days of smut.)

 Yunlan wasn't entirely sure how he got here - naked, legs up, with not!Shen Wei's tongue lapping at his asshole like it was an Olympic sport. (Eat You Out & Eat You Up a fic in which Zhao Yunlan & Ye Zun have sex, while Zhao Yunlan pines for Shen Wei. Takes place during that episode where Ye Zun pretends to be Shen Wei. Also part of the 31 days of smut)

Waking comes slowly to Yunlan - he feels like he just finished a really good sleep and lethargy still grips him as his eyes slowly open. (Naked & Not So Afraid - A Weilanzun tentacle fic, because there needs to be more of them. Zhao Yunlan gets kidnapped & egged up & he wants seconds. Part of 31 days of smut)

Joowon had spent nearly two hours in this bar since Kwon Hyeok left. (With a Gun Against My Head (feels like home) - a Han Joowon/Lee Dongsik fic featuring criminal Dongsik, a gun, and sex. Also part of the 31 days of smut)

There are official avenues for Dongsik to visit the King's chamber. (In the Silence of my Heart another Han Joowon/Lee Dongsik AU. This time featuring King!Joowon & General!Lee Dongsik in which Dongsik sneaks into the king's room to fuck Joowon. Also part of the 31 days of smut)

Ye Zun watches hungrily as Da Qing stretches in their shared bedroom. (Softly, Gently, and With Feeling - Lazy morning Da Qing/Ye Zun sex for 31 Days of Smut)

Zhao Yunlan did not forget that Shen Wei lived across the hall from him - he couldn't, even if he wanted to. (Forget Me Not, a prequel to the first one on this list. More Zhao Yunlan/Shen Wei featuring thief!Shen Wei.)

"What's my pretty wife cooking for me?" Dongsik asked, arms looping around Joowon's back while he peered over Joowon's shoulder in an attempt to see what Joowon was doing. (Bun in the Oven, the sort-of sequel to #3 on this list. Omegaverse fic in which Han Joowon is pregnant and gets fucked over a kitchen counter)

What this shows me is that I have some favorite punctuation and I introduce my characters as quickly as possible. Number ten is an outlier - I rarely start with dialogue. I rarely use dialogue, though I'm trying to get better at that.

It's also possible that this isn't indicative of my writing style at all, as most of these were part of 31 days of smut, which was just me trying to write as much smut as I could.

tagging @synonemous even though she's already been tagged b/c I'm a menace

[blazehedgehog]

What do you think of Resetera?

I don't go there anymore and haven't in probably over a year. Or, at least, not of my own will.

Three years ago, I wrote: "if there's another exodus, I'll be one of the first off the ship."

There wasn't an exodus necessarily, but I realized I almost never went to Era for news on anything and mainly stuck to a very small handful of threads in the community forum (the Sonic thread, the indie dev thread, etc).

I did not use Resetera like most people did. And then the moderators started massively overstepping their boundaries, letting their egos get in the way, and generally acting like the kinds of people that I left NeoGAF to avoid.

I have friends who still go there a lot. It's through them (and places like Twitter) that I tend to stay up to date on what's happening in video games. Occasionally, like once every four months, when they post something in the group chat to make fun of a power tripping moderator or an especially stupid poster, I'll click through, but I find it difficult to care about that place anymore.

There are too many high-strung drama queens running the asylum and a lot of them fall on the spectrum of "we should give bad faith actors a chance to sell their propaganda." The website is a drama machine and a victim of the paradox of tolerance.

It's also just a place where idiots are allowed to run wild. No discussion happens there anymore. Just braindead, surface level replies and a race to be the first to make an "epic dunk." Most people are posting in their own little vacuums, repeating the same thoughts over and over and over. If someone happens to have a bad take, then the thread will be dominated by an argument for the next 50 pages.

Nobody is making friends at Resetera. It is the purest form of an echo chamber I've ever seen.

A month or two ago, during one of the rare moments where I clicked through to Era, I noticed it had finally logged me out and I felt no desire to log back in and check my threads. That seemed like the final punctuation mark.

It is a bad place to be.

[stranger-soups]

In short my fandom less OCs got Isekaied into The Boys (Amazon).

Also this is my main blog @ninibear3000 you don’t have to follow it’s scattered and chaotic.

Hello, I go by Nini and I am new to roleplaying on Tumblr but I’ve been roleplaying (on other platforms) for around six years. In the last few years I went on a hiatus from roleplaying altogether due to life and losing my creativity. Now I wanna get back into the swing of things ^u^ Forgive me for I am very rusty, grammar and punctuation is not my strong suit. Plus I don’t have any fancy edits and aesthetic stuff for my blog so bare with me. I also don’t really use faceclaims since the faces and features for my OCs are very hard to find😭. (And I get distracted and start staring at hot models) But I will be using Heroforge to represent my OCs. (collages later on!)

RULES

Please be 18+ I am in my early 20’s and I prefer to only roleplay with adults.

Majority of the time I will only roleplay as my OCs because I rarely have a muse for canon characters. Also forgive me I’m not great with canon characters, for the most part they will be in the background of my replies.

On that note most of my OCs are related to each other or have close relationship with each other. So I may roleplay as multiple OCs but I will always choose one oc that’s the main one.

I know it’s The Boys but I am not great at writing fight scenes. Forgive me it’s a skill I’m still lacking in. (And I love Mortal Kombat too WTH 😭) I will try my best but don’t expect too much. If you see my reply and it’s not good you can go ahead do a scene skip I don’t blame you.

Forgive me if my OCs are op God knows I tried.

I don’t have any triggers to be honest. And obviously I will respect your triggers. I want everyone to have a fun time so if there’s something that’s bothering you that I said go ahead and tell me. You don’t have to be nice about it either I completely understand!

I like plotting and I don’t mind not having a plan either. Pre established romantic relationships will be hard for me. Unless it’s a new relationship.

But feel free to change a plot you’re not into. It’s ok if your muse is not into mine either. I have a few simps in my arsenal so rejection is a-ok! And we can do multiple plots or never finish them I am cool with this too.

I’d prefer to do a roleplay through posts since I will be able to save the draft. But I don’t mind doing it through dms either. If you wanna go on discord and do it that’s fine with me too ^_^

That’s all I can think of at the moment if you have questions you can send an ask, dm, or whatever. Thank you for reading my rules! I know I was wordy and all over the place. These will change over time so be on the look out. I’m still working on getting things set up so bear with me. (No seriously there is a bear with me!)

Meet the Muses

Infinity: Harveen Saint (Bio coming soon)

Mystic Eye: Maris Monroe (Bio coming soon)

Zoelle (sometimes called that): Zoelle Saint Monroe (Bio coming soon)

The Emerald Atlas: Malik Saint Monroe (Bio coming soon)

Infinity Jade: Aaliyah Saint Monroe (Bio coming soon)

[august-anon]

We Can Try

Oh look it's my favorite trope again lol. So, this takes place when Aizawa and Mic are like, early 20s, so it's technically pre-canon to BNHA but I guess not pre-canon to the Vigilantes stuff? But I haven't read that yet so who knows if it lines up lol. Also, this has been done since like February, but I haven't posted it yet because there's supposed to be a sequel and I still haven't even started it after all these months lol. We'll see how soon it gets done

---

Fandom: BNHA

Ship(s): EraserMic

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Mic/Ler!Aizawa (brief Ler!Mic/Lee!Aizawa)

Word Count: 4345 words

Summary: Hizashi comes clean about something he's been craving for a long time, and Shouta is more than happy to assist. There’s just one problem... Hizashi’s convinced it won’t work.

[ao3 link]

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

It didn’t take long after their confessions for Hizashi and Shouta to find themselves tangled together on the couch, lip-locked. Hizashi had honestly thought it would take far longer, considering Shouta’s preference to take things slow, but Hizashi certainly wasn’t complaining as Shouta’s kisses got more and more heated. Maybe being best friends for seven years before finally admitting to their pining removed a few steps from the equation.

Not that Hizashi wanted to go any further than making out that day. And luckily, it seemed as though Shouta was on the same page, so Hizashi didn’t feel any pressure as he slowly pushed Shouta onto his back and straddled his hips, changing the angle of the kiss. 

Shouta let out a tiny, pleased hum and Hizashi couldn’t suppress the bubble of joy in his chest, his smile almost breaking their kiss. Shouta reached up and gripped his hips, and it was Hizashi’s turn to gasp into Shouta’s mouth, trying to push himself even closer. Shouta’s hand slid under his shirt and up his bare back and Hizashi shivered, Shouta surging forward to swallow another little gasp escaping from his lips.

Damn, Hizashi thought. Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that?

Finally feeling a bit more stable in their new position, Hizashi moved his hands from where he’d been holding himself up on either side of Shouta’s head. He dragged them down Shouta’s chest and slipped them beneath the hem of his shirt, gently dragging his blunt nails up Shouta’s sides.

And then Shouta flinched and pulled away and the only thought running through Hizashi’s head was oh no, I fucked up.

But then Shouta’s quiet laugh filled Hizashi’s ears and his heart was thrumming for a reason entirely separate from fear. Though Hizashi was hesitant to think it so early on (although, was it really that early on when Hizashi had been falling for him for the better part of a decade?), a certain L-word came to mind at the gentle sound.

Hizashi was forced out of his reverie as Shouta’s squirming under him got more and more pronounced and his hands finally stopped squeezing his hips so that they could try and remove Hizashi’s hands from his sides.

“No tickling allowed!” He stuttered out through his giggles.

Hizashi grinned, trying to ignore the swooping in his stomach and the butterflies in his heart. He especially tried to ignore the mischievous, playfully predatory thoughts that were beginning to fill his head. While he didn’t remove his hands from Shouta’s sides, he did press them flat against the skin in an effort to stop the accidental tickling.

“Sorry,” Hizashi said, knowing he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “I honestly forgot you were ticklish, was it always that bad?” 

Shouta scowled and crossed his arms as best he could with Hizashi sitting on top of him with his hands buried under his shirt.

Hizashi bit his lip on his grin as the thought, I know how to make that smile come back, came to his mind entirely unprompted. He carefully kept his hands still and flat against Shouta’s skin.

“No,” Shouta bit out after a moment. “It was never that bad when the others got me.”

Hizashi couldn’t help how his grin widened. “Aw, babe! Are you saying I’m special?”

A light flush came to Shouta’s cheeks that was entirely unrelated to their previous activities and Hizashi let out a fond little coo on the tail end of a laugh. Shouta apparently decided that that was the last straw, and started trying again to push Hizashi’s hands out of his shirt.

“No, I’m saying you’re a nuisance.”

Hizashi bit his lip again. He could still see the traces of a smile in Shouta’s face. Though his mouth was stern and his jaw was set, his eyebrows weren’t all bunched up and the skin around his eyes was still crinkled as if he was smiling. That, plus the fact that he really wasn’t putting that much effort into shoving Hizashi away (seriously, the man could have Hizashi pinned to the ground in seconds, and yet was having trouble getting Hizashi’s hands out of his shirt? Hizashi called bullshit), assured him that Shouta was far from angry at the situation. In fact, it seemed like they were both still having fun.

So Hizashi made a calculated risk, hoping Shouta wouldn’t kill him for it later.

He let out a fake gasp and made the most overly dramatic affronted expression he could. “Is that any way to treat your boyfriend, Sho?”

Shouta’s eyes widened and he froze. “Wait, ‘Zashi--”

Hizashi did not, in fact, wait.

His hands immediately morphed back into claws, only this time the tickling was a lot more purposeful than before and Shouta was laughing a lot harder. His hands scrabbled weakly at Hizashi’s through the fabric of his shirt, but the effort was quickly abandoned as Shouta slammed his arms to his sides to prevent Hizashi from crawling any higher up his ribcage.

Hizashi could listen to Shouta’s laugh all day, if he could. It was a quiet sound, always making Hizashi go silent when he heard it so he could absorb it all. No matter how hard he laughed, it never got any louder, just more intense, and Hizashi almost thought it was funny how well Shouta’s laugh suited him.

Not to mention the smiles it drew out of him. Shouta rarely smiled for real, making good use of that feral smile full of shark teeth, a look he’d perfected in high school to scare off his bullies. Or, if he did smile for real, he would duck his head down and bury it in the capture weapon that was a near-permanent fixture around his neck.

But right now, that smile had nowhere to hide, and Hizashi was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Deciding trying to get into Shouta’s underarms was a futile effort, Hizashi instead began moving his hands down. Shouta’s eyes widened again and Hizashi knew he was on the right track. He couldn’t help but let out an evil little chuckle, though he quickly fell silent again afterwards to continue relishing in Shouta’s laughter.

And then Shouta snorted when Hizashi reached his hips, bucking hard and squeezing his eyes shut. Hizashi dug in, sure he had found the jackpot and began to crow in delight, when suddenly he found himself as the one with his back to the cushions, Shouta crawling on top of him with a playfully threatening expression.

“You’re so dead, Mic,” he growled, though it wasn’t nearly as frightening as Shouta was probably going for, thanks to all his panting.

Hizashi gulped, feeling that swoop in his stomach once more, but it was quickly overpowered by his premature feelings of disappointment. He tried to mask it as Shouta leaned over him, keeping his smug grin firmly in place, but judging by the way Shouta narrowed his eyes, he could tell something was up.

Shouta hummed, leaning in closer. “Where are you ticklish then, ‘Zashi?” Shouta’s hands came to rest on his sides, fingers curled so the points pressed into his flesh. “If you tell me now, I might go easy on you.”

Hizashi flashed back to all the times Nemuri tried to tase his sides or ribs and failed, only serving to spook him and not make him laugh. To all the times Tensei grabbed at his knees, whether in revenge or to shut him up, and Hizashi didn’t even so much as twitch or crack a smile (well, at least not one related to the attempted tickling). To all the times the two (and even Shouta, on occasion) had dogpiled on top of him and dug tickling fingers into his flesh to try and win a tickle fight only to garner no reaction.

“I don’t know,” Hizashi said honestly, fighting to keep his face playful. “I don’t think I am, really.”

Shouta narrowed his eyes. “You may have been good at hiding it when we were younger,” he said, fingers twitching, “but there’s no damn way you aren’t ticklish.” 

And then Shouta punctuated the end of his sentence with a squeeze. It was probably timed to try and catch Hizashi off guard so he would laugh, but nothing happened. Hizashi felt his unbothered facade slipping.

“Told you, babe. I guess I’ll just be winning all the tickle fights in this relationship. Good thing you have the best laugh ever! I could listen to i--”

“Why do you sound disappointed?” Shouta said, blunt as ever.

Hizashi scrambled for a moment. He could lie. He could say Shouta read him wrong (like that would ever happen), or that he felt put-out for losing and getting pinned so easily. Or he could distract Shouta, get them to start making out again so the interaction would slip his mind. He could come up with some lie--

But could he?

This was Shouta he was talking about. Shouta, who had never judged Hizashi once in their lives. Shouta, who filled the spot of best friend before Hizashi could even blink. Shouta, who he’d been pining for since they were fifteen. Shouta, who was now his boyfriend.

And best friends turned boyfriends deserved the truth.

Hizashi stuttered for a moment, trying to get his voice to work the way he wanted it to, before he managed to force out, “Can I-- Could we have this conversation… without you on top of me?”

The words had barely finished leaving his mouth before Shouta was off of him. Hizashi quickly sat up, leaving the rest of the couch now free from his long legs. He winced when Shouta sat all the way at the other end.

“I didn’t mean that far,” he mumbled, staring down at his hands.

After a moment, the couch cushion dipped next to Hizashi and Shouta’s thigh came into his field of vision. Then, so did two hands that reached out to grab his own, stopping him from picking his cuticles raw and bloody.

“Hizashi,” Shouta said, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Hizashi plastered on another one of his grins. “I’m fine! It’s just…” His grin faltered. “It’s not something I’ve ever really talked about before?”

“Well, I’m a good listener.”

This time, Hizashi’s grin was far more true. “And don’t I know it,” he replied, leaning over to peck Shouta on the cheek.

Shouta leaned in before Hizashi had fully pulled away and nuzzled his nose into Hizashi’s cheek. “Take your time.”

Hizashi took a few moments to breathe as he thought of where to start. Shouta, true to his word, sat quietly and ready to listen. Every few seconds, he would run his thumbs over Hizashi’s knuckles or squeeze his hands, like he was trying to let Hizashi know that he was still there.

“I have this thing,” Hizashi said, and then immediately winced at the terrible wording.

“A thing?” Shouta prompted when he didn’t start up again.

“I--It’s just--I like--” Hizashi cut himself off with a frustrated huff. “It’s so embarrassing to talk about.”

Shouta nuzzled his cheek again.

“I was disappointed because… I like it.” Hizashi spat out the words like they were acid, but once they were out, the words wouldn’t stop coming. “I like tickling. It’s just, it seems fun. It’s fun to do with friends, to do to them at least. I just… I want to be tickled, it looks like it’s so much fun, but it never works, it’s never worked. And and every time someone tries, I know it’s not gonna work, but it still upset me every time, and it’s so dumb--”

“I’m gonna stop you there,” Shouta said, voice firm, and Hizashi’s heart stopped dead. “It’s not dumb.”

Hizashi looked up. Shouta placed a hand on his cheek and gave him one of those rare small smiles.

“It’s not, ‘Zashi. It’s perfectly reasonable to be disappointed about something like that. Anyway, I don’t think you have to be embarrassed about liking tickling, I don’t think it’s weird.”

“You don’t?”

Shouta grinned at him, moving his hand back down to squeeze Hizashi’s fingers again. “It’s pretty cute, ‘Zashi. I mean, tickling? That’s adorable.”

Hizashi couldn’t stop the embarrassed grin that spread across his face even as he felt his cheeks start to burn. He tried to tug his hands back to hide his face but Shouta wouldn’t let go, so instead he brought their joined hands up to attempt to hide his face.

Shouta hummed. “I know I said you didn’t need to be embarrassed, but really, I think you’re pretty damn adorable like this.”

“Sho!”

“Yes, ‘Zashi?” Shouta asked, but this time he put a teasing little lilt in his voice that made Hizashi’s stomach do somersaults. 

Hizashi didn’t bother replying, simply burying his face deeper into their joined hands.

He heard Shouta chuckle fondly, but soon after, Shouta leaned in closer and spoke in a much more serious tone, “Hey. I know you don’t think it would work, but we could try?”

Hizashi peeked his eyes out from behind their hands. “Try?”

Shouta shrugged. “I was more ticklish with you than I am with Tensei or Nemuri. Maybe the same is true for you?”

Hizashi hated the traitorous hope that built up in his heart. “Really?”

“Let’s move somewhere with a bit more room, yeah?”

Shouta stood and pulled Hizashi up with him, carefully leading him down the hall to the bedroom. He kept a careful eye on Hizashi the whole way, and Hizashi knew Shouta was trying to read his microexpressions, making sure he was on board with what was happening. And it just so happened that Hizashi was more than on board with the current line of events.

“We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to,” Shouta said as he opened the bedroom door. “We can do it later, or never.”

“Nope,” Hizashi said, with far more confidence and conviction than he was feeling. “You got my hopes up, you’re going through with it.”

Shouta gave him another small smile before a devious look entered his eyes. Hizashi didn’t even have time to react before Shouta had swept him off his feet, making Hizashi squeal, and tossed him onto the bed. Hizashi couldn’t help but laugh as he bounced on the mattress, Shouta climbing up after him. Shouta’s playful side was something heavily guarded, and to this day, Hizashi still felt giddy every time he got to experience it.

“So,” Shouta said, settling over his hips again. “What should I do to you?”

Hizashi hummed happily, a giddy bubble settling into his chest even as the words sent another round of swooping butterflies through his stomach. He reached out and slid his hands up under Shouta’s shirt to grip his waist, needing to be close to him. Of course, he couldn’t help but teasingly brush his thumbs at the edges of Shouta’s stomach just to watch him jolt.

This time, Shouta reacted much faster. Before Hizashi could blink, his wrists were nabbed and pinned above his head by one of Shouta’s hands. Hizashi gasped and squirmed, trying to escape, but Shouta had always been much stronger than him, relying far more on hand-to-hand combat than Hizashi did with his own quirk.

“Are you trying to make this worse for yourself?” Shouta growled.

“Maybe,” Hizashi muttered, looking away.

Shouta let out a low chuckle that sent shivers down Hizashi’s spine for multiple reasons. Against his better judgement, Hizashi met Shouta’s eyes.

“It’s so cute to watch you squirm.”

The current turn of events was entirely unfair, in Hizashi’s humble opinion, especially with how much more he started to squirm with Shouta’s statement alone. He hadn’t teased Shouta earlier, when he’d been drawing the laughter out of him. How did Shouta even know how to tease like this?

And despite logically knowing he wouldn’t feel a ticklish thing, Hizashi still gasped when Shouta slid a hand under his shirt to grip his side, much like Hizashi had just done to him. He, too, rubbed his thumb against Hizashi’s skin teasingly, though the touch was firm enough that even the most ticklish of people wouldn’t have twitched.

“I might just keep you like this for a while,” Shouta hummed, eyes scanning down his torso. “Face all red, looking so nervous. If you keep biting your lip like that, you’re going to split it.”

Hizashi grumbled wordlessly, trying to bend his elbows in to cover his face, which, true to Shouta’s word, was steadily growing redder. Shouta caught him and eliminated the possibility immediately, tugging his arms up even higher so he had no slack to shield himself with.

“You don’t get to hide. It’s not often I get to see the great Present Mic so flustered.”

“Shut up!” Hizashi whined.

If he had been wanting to be tickled before, he was craving it now. While Hizashi had explored plenty online and certainly knew that teasing words would affect him, he had no clue that it could be so unbearable when implemented in real life. The nervous, anticipatory, fluttery feeling that started in his stomach had begun moving up into his chest now, as well. He felt like a big ball of nerves. He was torn between hating it and loving it.

Shouta hummed. “You were clearly enjoying yourself when tickling me,” he said, leaning in to purr directly into Hizashi’s ear. “I think it’s only fair that I have a little fun of my own.”

“Sho!”

“Yes, Sunshine?”

“Just-- Will you just test it already?”

The thumb rubbing against his side halted and Shouta raised an eyebrow. “Test what?”

Hizashi threw his head back (as much as he could while he was laying down with it on a pillow, at least) and groaned. “Please don’t make me say it again!”

Shouta buried his face into Hizashi’s neck, and Hizashi could feel the grin against his skin. “No, I think I will. Ask nicely, then we’ll try.”

“Please?” Hizashi tried, despite knowing Shouta wouldn’t let him get away with just that.

“I know you can do better than that, Hizashi,” Shouta said. “Come on, full sentences. You’re a radio host, aren’t you? Talking is your job, surely you’re better at it than that.”

Hizashi groaned again and then tilted his head so he could bury his face in Shouta’s mane of hair.

“Will you please try tickling me?” He mumbled.

“Good enough for me,” Shouta said against his neck, then immediately began pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the skin.

Hizashi hummed and let his eyes slide shut, tipping his head back to give Shouta more access, despite not understanding his motivations since Hizashi was supposed to be getting tickled right about now. Shouta made an approving noise, bringing his teeth into the mix and sucking at the skin before quickly soothing the spot with more kisses. At least Hizashi’s directional speaker hid his neck, he didn’t want to try explaining that one away to the press.

One hand still kept Hizashi’s wrists securely pinned above his head, and Hizashi found that entirely unfair. Shouta knew he liked to use his hands a lot when kissing or making out, and he couldn’t help but try to wiggle them free to at least run them through Shouta’s hair. Shouta gave his wrists a warning squeeze and Hizashi took the hint, stopping his struggles.

Shouta eventually made his way up to Hizashi’s ear, a spot that never failed to make Hizashi melt. Shouta had figured that one out quickly, much to his chagrin. Hizashi still hadn’t found any similar spots on Shouta, yet.

Hizashi melted into the mattress with a sigh as Shouta lavished affection around his ear, just the way he liked. Then, Shouta did something he’d never done before, that none of Hizashi’s lovers had ever done before. He drew Hizashi’s earlobe into his mouth and nibbled on it ever-so-slightly.

Hizashi’s eyes flew open as he choked on a gasp, his body attempting to jolt away from Shouta. An involuntary smile fought onto his face and Hizashi couldn’t help but bite his lip to try and diminish it. Was this…

Shouta dropped Hizashi’s earlobe to murmur into his ear, “Oh? What was that? I thought you weren’t ticklish, Sunshine.”

Hizashi oddly felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, but in a good way. His stomach was doing somersaults, and it felt like there were butterflies floating underneath his ribs. He sucked in a breath as Shouta pressed a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear before pulling back, releasing his hands as well.

“Well,” Hizashi said, his voice far softer than intended. “That’s one spot.”

Shouta smiled, slowly pushing Hizashi’s shirt up. “It is. Shirt on or off?”

Hizashi’s blush flared up again and he bit his lip. “Um. On?”

Shouta nodded, leaving his shirt bunched up just above the base of his ribcage, leaving his sides and stomach exposed.

“Okay?” He asked.

Hizashi nodded and relaxed a little. He relaxed even more when Shouta reached up to brush his thumb against Hizashi’s cheekbone.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Hizashi grumbled.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Shouta said. Then he smirked. “Don’t worry, I won’t let up until you’re nice and relaxed.”

Hizashi let out an embarrassed smile and covered his face with his newly-freed hands. Shouta laughed and leaned over him to kiss the backs of his palms.

“Keep hiding like that and I’ll have to tie you up,” Shouta said, clearly teasing.

And yet, despite Shouta likely not meaning it, Hizashi’s breath left him. Shouta froze.

“Do-- You would want that?”

Hizashi made an embarrassed noise. “I mean, not now, but… maybe? Another time?”

Hizashi peeked through his fingers to see Shouta biting his lip.

“We… can talk about that later.”

Hizashi nodded, and Shouta rolled his eyes. He pulled Hizashi’s hands away from his face, gently pushing them away from his torso.

“I want to see you.”

Hizashi pouted. “Now that’s not fair.”

Shouta grinned. “It’s perfectly fair.”

Hizashi resisted the urge to cross his arms or cover his face, instead fisting his hands in the bed sheets several centimeters away from his torso. Leaving plenty of room for Shouta’s hands on his skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop, yeah?” Shouta asked, laying his palm flat on Hizashi’s stomach.

Hizashi took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Out of nowhere, Shouta’s other hand pinched Hizashi’s side. It startled him, making him jump, but it didn’t tickle. While he was distracted by that, before Hizashi’s disappointment could set in, all five fingers of the hand on Hizashi’s stomach started scratching away at his abdomen. Hizashi gasped and his hands instantly flew up to his mouth.

“Don’t hide your smile, ‘Zashi,” Shouta murmured. “It’s so beautiful.”

“You can’t just say things like that!”

Hizashi twitched as the scratching fingers started searching out sensitive spots, Shouta’s other hand coming back into the mix and wiggling ever-so-lightly at the side of Hizashi’s hip, where his sweatpants had ridden down. Hizashi bit his lip on his smile under his hands, feeling giggles build up in his chest as he held his breath.

And this was it, Hizashi realized. This was what he’d been missing all this time. This maddening sensation that made him want to move closer and squirm away all at once, this was what he’d been missing out on for all those years. And it was working. This was the third best day of Hizashi’s life, only behind the day he met Shouta and the day he and Shouta confessed.

Shouta grinned down at him. “Everything you dreamed of?”

“Shut up!” Hizashi said, cursing when a giggle slipped out in the retort. “Oh god!”

“So, what do I get for winning?”

Hizashi squealed as Shouta’s fingers started rapidly crawling up his sides and ribs. His hands shot down to grip Shouta’s arms, trying his best to not to push him away.

“Whatever you want!” Hizashi cried out through his growing laughter.

“Whatever I want?”

Hizashi nodded, his eyes squeezing shut as he laughed. He felt Shouta lean in and put his lips right next to Hizashi’s ear.

“Well, it’s a good thing I want to hear you laugh.”

Hizashi let out a full shriek when Shouta’s hands shot up into his armpits under his shirt, scratching away at the shockingly sensitive skin. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he started nibbling on Hizashi’s ear again, making his laughter go all high-pitched and squealing. Even Shouta’s soft exhales started to tickle.

And that was definitely something Hizashi was noticing. Now that he was laughing and giggling and squealing away, he even felt more ticklish. He wondered if even a squeeze to his sides or hips or knees would actually be effective, now, when they had never been before. Even the air in the room, brushing across his bare sides and stomach, made him feel all tingly.

And then it all stopped.

Shouta pulled back, suddenly and without a word. Cool air swept in onto Hizashi where their bodies had been pressed together, and he couldn’t help but shiver. Hizashi furrowed his brows and dropped his hands from where they covered his mouth, panting for air. Did he do something wrong?

“Why’d we stop?”

Shouta cocked his head to one side, tugging his hair up and out of his face and tying it up. “I’m going to give you a challenge.”

“... A challenge?”

Shouta gave him that shark-like grin. “I’m going to try and find all your tickle spots. And you, Hizashi. You cannot try to stop me or cover your face. If you do, I stop until you get back into position.”

Hizashi felt his face heating up, and Shouta’s smile got a more predatory edge to it. His breath caught in his throat as Shouta leaned in to talk directly into his ear again, leaving Hizashi shivering for a completely different reason.

“Well?” He breathed against the shell of Hizashi’s ear.

“Challenge accepted,” Hizashi whispered.

[hookingminor]

certified freak - pierre-luc dubois

a/n: there’s some whores in this house (it’s me, I'm the whore for pld) this is pure smut just imagine that covid isn’t a thing ok sorry it’s also not proofread hope u enjoy! like always feel free to leave me comments and lmk ur thoughts! yes this is loosely based on wap (bc that song was written for him)

word count: 2.7k

warnings (18+): slight daddy kink, light bdsm/choking, pld spitting in your mouth (god I fucking wish)

-

The deal was this: if Pierre got a hat trick, you allowed him to do whatever he wanted to you (not that this was much different from any other time.) In the rare event of a dick trick, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted for a week.

Tonight he’d had a hat trick. And during the qualifying round for playoffs. And for the game winning goal. To say he was excited to come home to you after the game was an understatement.

In fact, it was all he could think about as he changed out of his pads and got ready for the post-game interviews. It was also all you could think about as you watched him score in overtime.

Knowing he would be busy for a little while after the game considering he was the First Star of the night, Pierre sent you a text as he got dressed.

I want you in nothing but my jersey when I get home

Your pussy fluttered at the message, your cheeks heating instantly when you read it. A few other girls asked if you were going out with them afterwards, but they all knew what you really meant when you said you just planned on celebrating alone with Pierre.

You left the arena soon after the game ended, and it took you nearly forty-five minutes just to get out of the parking garages. When you got back to your apartment, you checked your phone for Blue Jackets updates and watched a few of Pierre’s videos.

A lot of the questions centered around him, being as performed so well, but you were shocked at his coy replies to reporters.

“You’re now one game away from clinching a spot in the playoffs. Are you going to celebrate tonight or wait until you win that final game?” One man asked.

“I’ll probably just have a quiet night in tonight,” he chuckled with a smirk, and you knew immediately what he was thinking, “I’ll save the celebrating for afterwards.”

Maybe you were being a little impatient, but you took off your jeans and panties about half an hour before he said he’d be home. You unhooked your bra and tore it off immediately after removing your bottoms.

You let your hands drift lower on your body, slipping your fingers underneath the hem of Pierre’s large jersey. You’d been wet since leaving the arena, and now you were practically dripping onto your fingers as you waited in anticipation. Pierre wasn’t supposed to be home for another fifteen minutes, you had plenty of time to have a little bit of fun.

You spread your fingers through your folds, eyes shutting as you began to focus on the pleasure building in your body.

“Starting without me?” You heard a voice say. Your eyes snapped open, and you retracted your hand from your core in an instant.

Pierre stood in the doorway as he dropped his duffel bag to the ground. He stalked across the room over to the bed, looming over you as he tugged you closer by your ankles. You leaned up on your elbows and met his heated gaze.

“I thought the deal was I get to do whatever I want?” He asked, “I don’t remember giving you permission to touch yourself.”

“Sorry, Luc,” you breathed out, “I didn’t think you’d be home this early.”

The look he gave you told you that was the wrong thing to say.

“So you thought you could get yourself off without me knowing?” He raised his brow. You shook your head vigorously, hoping to backtrack.

“No, I—,” you began to apologize, but Pierre lifted his hand to grip your chin. He cut off your sentence by pressing his thumb against your lips to silence you. Slipping his thumb into your mouth, you instinctively closed your lips around them.

“I think you’ve done enough talking,” he replied, “Suck.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked against his tongue and pressed your tongue to the pad of his thumb. Pierre’s eyes darkened as he gazed down at you. He pulled his thumb from your mouth, which sounded with an audible ‘pop.’

“On your knees,” he commanded, stepping back from the bed so he could unbuckle his belt. Eagerly, you lowered yourself onto the floor in front of him and placed your hands behind your back just the way he liked. On nights like these, all he wanted to do was take. And you were more than willing to give.

Pierre pulled down his dress pants along with his boxers before kicking them off to the side. His shirt was quick to follow and soon he was bunching your hair into one hand and tapping your chin with the other. You understood the signal. You opened your mouth at his indication and let your tongue roll out as you awaited his next move.

“Remember what to do if it gets to be too much?” He asked finally. In times like these, it wasn’t possible for you to use your safe word. So, since you weren’t able to touch him anyway, all you had to do was dig your nails into the back of his calves if it became too much for you to take.

You nodded your head in agreement.

“I need your words, baby,” he said tenderly as his fingers brushed against your cheek, contrasting the way he was about to completely destroy you.

“Yes,” you replied.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Pierre’s hand tightened its hold in your hair before he slid into your mouth. He brought his other hand to grip at the base of your neck to help push himself deeper. Your tongue met the underside of his dick, and you closed your lips around his throbbing length.

He began with a few slow, deep thrusts, getting you accustomed to his size. You sucked harshly around his tip when he pulled back, and you felt his abs tighten at your movement.

“You good?” He checked in, staring into your dilated pupils. You nodded the best you could and punctuated it with another long suck.

Taking your answer as a green light, he gave you a dark look before increasing his pace. Pierre’s hips thrusted faster now, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each snap of his hips before he retreated.

He fucked your face with force, and you felt yourself gag around him every time he thrusted back a little further than the last time. Tears welled your eyes as you made eye contact with Pierre, and he felt his balls tighten as he gazed down at the mascara running down your cheeks.

Pierre’s jaw dropped in a low groan as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth and down your throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted as your doe-like eyes met his.

His thrusts became a bit more erratic, and you tightened your lips even further against him as you knew he was about to hit his high.

“Gonna swallow for me?” He asked, shoving his cock deeper. You didn’t even want to think about how badly your makeup had run by now, but you gave him a pleading look to keep going.

Reaching his high, Pierre paused his hips mid-thrust, stopping as you swallowed around him. He pulled back a couple inches before his head fell back in pleasure and you felt his cum hit your tongue.

You swallowed as much as you could but felt a little bit dribble out of the corner of your mouth. Pierre pulled out of your mouth completely, and you brought your finger up to wipe the remaining cum before sucking it off.

“God, you are so fucking hot,” he praised, affectionately wiping away your smeared mascara.

Helping you up onto your feet, Pierre pulled you into his arms and dipped his head down to kiss you roughly.

“Congrats on your hat trick,” you congratulated between breaths. Picking you up with his large hands, he lightly tossed you back onto the bed before crawling over you.

“If only I could’ve scored one more,” he said wistfully, his mind imagining all the things he could do to you in a week.

“Maybe try a little harder next time,” you teased, bringing him back down to meet your lips.

He chuckled at your joke as he dipped his head to your neck to place open mouthed kisses against the skin there.

Pierre’s hands trailed up underneath his jersey and squeezed around your breast. Your mouth opened in a small gasp, and he twisted one nipple between his fingers as he bit at your neck.

He pulled back for a moment to slide further down your body. He pushed up the bottom of the jersey to bunch around your waist to reveal your dripping pussy.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he commented in awe, “This all for me?”

“Always for you,” you moaned as he ducked down to bite at the inside of your thigh.

“Is this pussy mine?” He asked, meeting your gaze from between your legs. His tongue licked up your thighs until he stopped just outside of your folds.

“Yes,” you let out a shaky breath, “Only yours.”

Content with your answer, he licked a strong stripe up from your entrance to your clit. Your hand immediately flew down to grip at his hair that was beginning to curl with its extra length. His beard rubbed against your cunt, and your back arched off the bed with the added friction.

One arm reached out to keep you pressed into the mattress and your attempts to grind into his face were halted.

His tongue circled around your clit before he closed his lips around it. Sucking at your sensitive nub, you gasped in pleasure. Pierre ate you out fervently, you hadn’t even noticed he’d brought his fingers to your cunt until he’d slipped two inside of you.

He fucked you gently with his fingers as his tongue worked wonders on your clit. With his beard scraping against your folds, you felt your climax hit you suddenly and intensely.

Your toes curled as the white-hot pleasure ripped through your body. Pierre eased you through it, keeping his tongue light on your pussy until the shockwaves were over.

Before you’d gotten a chance to catch your breath, Pierre moved back up your body and engulfed you in a hot kiss.

You felt your wetness in his beard as his tongue entered your mouth to tangle with yours. You could taste yourself on him and you moaned at the feeling.

One of your hands snaked down between your bodies to grasp at Pierre’s cock, which was already starting to stiffen again. You pumped him a couple times in your hand until his grabbed your wrist to stop your movements. He removed your hand from him and moved it above your head. He took hold of your free hand to join the one trapped in his grip to immobilize you completely.

“Keep them there,” he stated before removing his hands.

You followed his orders obediently, and he rewarded you with a quick kiss. Pulling back, Pierre lined himself up with your entrance before thrusting into you sharply.

Your hands clutched onto the sheets beneath them as he began fucking you at a relentless pace. One hand rested by your head to steady himself as his other pressed fingertip-shaped bruises into your hips.

Pierre busied himself by sucking hickies into your neck as you bit your lip in ecstasy.

Your eyes flittered open as he moved his hand to your jaw. Squishing your cheeks together slightly, your mouth opened in a small “O” at the force, and something went unspoken between you two.

You let your tongue fall and relax as you stared into Pierre’s eyes. His grip changed so your chin was held between his thumb and pointer finger, and he took a second to gather some spit before he let it drop into your open mouth and onto your tongue.

“Jesus, fuck,” Pierre cursed, admiring the way you looked under him. His lips were back on yours almost immediately after, moaning into you.

When he pulled back, he pulled out of you in a quick motion. Pierre flipped you over onto your stomach and was piledriving back into you before you could complain.

Your face smushed into the mattress and Pierre’s arm stretched out to use your back as leverage while he pounded into you.

“I love seeing my name across your back,” he grunted out, his hands briefly moving to trace over the number ‘18.’

“Please, Luc,” you moaned into the sheets, “I’m so close.”

“What was that, baby?” He questioned, moving your hair aside to nip at your ear. You knew he heard you the first time, but he loved to hear you beg for it.

“Please let me come, daddy,” you whimpered, about to bubble over from pleasure, “I need it so badly.”

Pierre pulled your back against his chest, and his hand wandered up to your neck. He closed it around your neck lightly, applying just the right amount of pressure to push you over the edge. The fingers on his other hand snaked down, and he rubbed tight circles onto your clit.

It didn’t take long before you fell over that familiar edge for the second time that night. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, and Pierre released unsteady breaths against your neck. His hand tightened around your throat for a few seconds as he thrusted up into your cunt, chasing his own high.

He let out a loud groan of relief as he released into you. You felt his warmth spread throughout your pussy.

Pierre went still beneath you and his hand loosened his grip on your throat. You both panted as you tried to catch your breaths.

Slowly, Pierre lifted you off of his dick, and you felt some of his cum drip out of you and onto his thighs. His eyes fell down to the sight of you dripping onto him, and he let out another low moan.

Before he decided to flip you back around and fuck you again, he removed himself from you altogether. Gently, he laid you down on the bed and retreated to the bathroom.

In your blissed out state, you hadn’t even noticed his absence until you felt Pierre spreading your legs again. You flinched at the feeling of the washcloth between your folds as he cleaned you up.

He tossed the washcloth somewhere on the ground, making a note to throw it in the laundry later. You still laid on the bed with your eyes closed as your breath finally began to even out.

Pierre joined you and rested on his forearm as he watched you regain your composure. His fingers darted out to trail over the skin on your stomach from where your jersey had ridden up.

“God, I wish I scored hat tricks more often,” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Oh please,” you chuckled, “You know you can do this almost any time you want.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” he mumbled, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

You hummed in agreement as you rolled yourself onto your side to face him. Your hand reached up to rub at the beard covering his chin. Normally, he didn’t grow it out this much, so you were thankful playoffs were still ahead.

“You should keep this,” you said, letting the hair scratch at your fingers.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. You nodded your head before leaning in to kiss him. Different from before, his lips sensually caressed yours, conveying all the love he had for you.

“Night’s not over just yet,” he said when you pulled back. You furrowed your brows in confusion at his statement.

“I think I can fit in one more round in the shower,” he suggested cockily as his fingers brushed over your hips, the indentations of bruises already beginning to form.

“Well, you did score a hat trick,” you concurred, “Can you get it done in twenty minutes?”

Pierre’s eyes flew to the alarm clock on your nightstand, and it was indeed 11:40. It wasn’t a rule that his celebrations ended at midnight, but you’d just challenged Pierre and he was not about to back down now.

“I only need ten,” he teased, tugging you off the bed and into the bathroom.

[a-froger-epic]

Can you please give a few tips on how to write? Anything you find helpful would do

Gladly!

Firstly, writing takes conscious practice.

Like any other skill, like playing an instrument or a sport, the more you write, the better you become. That's a simple way of putting it. But just like you'll never really improve if you only ever sit down to play the one song you know how to play on the piano, you won't really improve your writing very much if you don't write consciously. What do I mean? What is there to be conscious of when writing? 1) Show don't tell.

You understand the story you want to tell. It's in your head. But what you want to do, to engage your reader, is to show it to them the way you see it rather than to just tell it. An example:

Freddie felt frustrated to the point of tears because Roger just didn't understand him. “It's not that easy,” he said. “It's not that hard,” Roger uttered, equally hurt and upset that Freddie found it so incredibly difficult to just admit that they had feelings for each other.

Now, there's nothing technically wrong with this bit you just read. You're telling the reader what's going on, you're telling the story - but that's just it. You're telling the story. Let's see what happens when you try to show the story instead:

Freddie's eyes stung with unshed tears as he drew a shaky breath, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. “It's not that easy.” For a long moment, Roger looked back at him, his jaw tense and eyes glinting in the yellow-tinged light of the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. “It's not that hard,” he uttered, and brushed past Freddie on his way out of the room.

So, what's changed? On the one hand, you're giving the reader less information. You're no longer spelling it out for them. Will they understand why your characters are acting the way they do? Hopefully. But also, it doesn't matter. Because by leaving it up to the reader to interpret their words and actions, and what is behind them, you have made your reader think. They are now actively engaged in the story, rather than just passively consuming information. You have their full attention. Also, you've given them a stronger visual of what is happening, rather than why, which creates a reading sensation as though they're watching a movie in their head.

Of course you can tell sometimes. Brian was furious - can be a strong and necessary statement. But generally, try to show and not just tell your story, and trust your reader to interpret it. They won't always interpret things the way you want them to, but that's okay. It can be a different story to them than it is to you.

2) Structure, grammar and punctuation.

Boooooring.

Yes, I know. You just want to tell a story, people will get it. Is it really so important if all the commas are in the right place? No, of course a few missing commas or a bit of questionable grammar won't make much of a difference.

But.

Yes, it does make a difference. Just like this little writing advice post would be much harder to read if it was all one block of text, you are making your story harder to digest for your reader if it's visually badly structured and full of weird punctuation and grammar. And no, you don't need to have a beta reader. I personally use this language tool extension for Chrome, which I find quite helpful. It's free! Otherwise your readers' brains are constantly tripping over mistakes they might spot or things that don't immediately make sense. It's like walking on a rocky path. Why not pave that path properly and make it easier to follow the story?

3) Does this add information?

One of the most helpful things to keep in mind for me, personally, is asking myself with every sentence - sometimes even every adjective I feel inclined to throw into a sentence - if this adds information for the reader or if I'm just unnecessarily rehashing something they already know. And then I ruthlessly end up cutting things, much as I'd love to waffle on about them self-indulgently.

Being aware of this really, really helps with the flow of a story.

These are the main things I like to be aware of while writing. These are the things I constantly try to improve on while writing. Secondly, read, read, read and don't try to reinvent the wheel!

You have your own favourite stories, I'm sure you do. And if you stop to really think about it, you'll see the bits which make them so engaging and so well-written, in your opinion. Steal those bits. No, not word for word, of course not! That's plagiarism. What I mean is, figure out what it is that you love about the stories you love, and teach yourself to do the same. You don't need to find some novel way to write that is unlike anybody else. DO copy other people's styles to learn from them. DO try to mimic you favourite writer's way of telling a story. Equally, try to stay away from purple prose to be original. Eyes are just eyes, they're not glossy, (insert unheard-of colour) orbs. It's perfectly fine to keep on using your characters names, there is rarely a need to keep referring to them by their age, hair-colour or complexion. (I'm notorious for this myself in some of my writing from only a year ago, still, I've been learning!) No, it's not likely that one of your characters thinks the other smells like three different specific things at once. Sometimes, it's perfectly fine for character A to just love the way character B smells and want to inhale deeply.

Thirdly, don't be a stickler for rules. I know, I just gave you a whole bunch of rules, but don't look at them like rules so much as guidelines. And feel free to ignore them. Writing is great, often times, when it doesn't do what the reader expected it to do. When a story doesn't end the way it usually does. Subvert expectations. Don't stop yourself from throwing a thought into your character's inner monologue that feels absurd or crass, people have strange thoughts all the time. Let the fictional people in your story be as nonsensical and strange as people often are, and let your story be as random as life sometimes is. Not everything has to be perfect or as it "should be", in your story.

Lastly, don't ever, ever, ever write what you think people will want to read. If that is the reason you're sitting down to write, just stop. Don't bother. You won't have fun, you are setting yourself up for disappointment and you're putting insane pressure on yourself. Write because you simply have to tell this story. Write because it gives you joy. Write because it's a challenge, because it's exciting, because it's fun.

[random-french-girl]

Leah and Rachel for the brotp ask please

Thank you Anon! <3

What in-jokes do they have with each other?

Probably a lot of jokes around mental health, rip. They’ll randomly quote “I’M nOt FuCkInG CrAzY” at each other. Their therapists post-experiment are probably somewhat concerned.

Are they the “I’ll pay this time if you pay next time”-type friends, or the “I’ll pay for my food and you’ll pay for yours”-type friends?

Can be either, but Rachel doesn’t like improvising all that much, so they usually agree in advance re: who’s paying. 

Who’s more prone to pranking, or otherwise messing with, the other?

Leah doesn’t really do pranks. Rachel doesn’t either, except it’s really funny to mess with Leah. Her favorite pranks post-island involve her prosthesis. Somehow, Leah keeps forgetting not to ask Rachel to “give her a hand”, and really, how can Rachel resist.

How do they text/message each other? Proper punctuation and capital letters, egregious overuse of emojis, mostly in meme format…?

Proper punctuation and spelling in general, though they for sure use emojis. 

Do they exchange jokey birthday presents, or deeply thought-out and meaningful presents? Or both?

Leah’s gifts are always very intense and a tad dramatic but very thoughtful - here’s a framed picture of us sitting together at a cafe after we won the trial, here’s a mixtape of songs that remind me of you, here’s an obscure French movie I think you’d really like because of One Specific Scene. Rachel gives Leah a lot of art to decorate her dorm room/apartment, she really gets Leah’s aesthetic, even though she makes fun of it constantly. (”I don’t know why you keep calling me a hipster when half of the decorations on my walls comes from you,” Leah protests, once. “i’m an enabler,” Rachel replies, “it’s different.”)

They go on a road trip together. Who drives, who picks the music, who’s in charge of snacks?

Rachel drives at first, but Leah is a terrible co-pilot (easily distracted, very fidgety, constant chatter that grates on Rachel’s nerves), so halfway through (and after numerous fights involving missed exits) they switch. It’s a much better fit: Leah gets to focus on the task at hand, Rachel gets to give her directions. They actually listen to a podcast together - non-fiction - and get really into it. Rachel picks the snacks - a very healthy selection, but she does get Leah an extravagant Starbucks drink, so Leah doesn’t whine too much. 

What do they think of each other’s family?

They’re fine with each other’s parents, though critical of the way they handled their respective daughters’ mental health crises...  

Do they have any nicknames for each other?

Idiot (affectionate). Asshole (complimentary). Genius (derogatory... or is it?). If Rachel ever calls her “Rilke”, Leah knows she’s in trouble.

Who’d be the first to try and patch things up if they had a fight?

Leah apologizes first usually, she’s trying to be better at handling conflict, and she’s a bit afraid of pushing people away. But Rachel always reassures her that it’s not going to happen, no matter how much they fight. 

One of their phones goes off in the middle of the night. Who’s calling whom, and why?

Leah is having an existential crisis. Or a panic attack. Or both. Rachel is always happy to talk. 

What’s their favourite funny story about something that happened to the two of them?

That one time they physically fought over Jeff’s book... it’s funny now.

Would they do a joint cosplay? If so, who would they dress up as?

Not really their thing. 

Do they have any TV shows that they watch together? Are there any shows they have wildly different opinions on?

Rachel gets Leah into cartoons, and they end up binge-watching ATLA together. A rare instance in which they have the exact same opinions about everything. 

Which one is the “fight me” friend and which one is the one who tries to keep the peace and prevent their friend from punching a total stranger?

It might look like Rachel is the “fight me” friend, but it’s totally Leah. Then again, sometimes they’re BOTH the “fight me” friend, in the sense that they are fighting each other. (It’s mostly for fun, but nobody else in the bar knows this, which is how an unamused Dot and a VERY amused Fatin end up having to bail them out of the station one night.)

One of them comes up with an ill-advised but mostly harmless idea. Does the other one egg them on because they think it’ll be funny, or try and talk them out of it?

A dialogue that happens daily: Leah: I have an idea! Rachel: No. Leah: But I haven’t told you anything about it yet :( Rachel: Did I stutter? 

Who would win if they arm-wrestled?

Rachel, obviously. 

Who’s better at what type of video games, and how competitive are they when they play together?

Also Rachel, though Leah is competitive and surprisingly good at first person shooter games.

One of them ends up in hospital for something serious but not life-threatening. What does the other bring along when they visit in order to cheer them up?

Leah brings her pretty flowers and a very kind, well-written card, and absolutely no food, because she knows it still stresses Rachel out, sometimes, especially in a hospital context. She also brings a deck of cards, and sits on Rachel’s bed so they can play Go Fish, and she lets Rachel win every single time. 

How huggy are they?

They’re a bit shy with hugging at first, but they get progressively more comfortable with it. After the island, they always greet each other with a hug. 

What was the moment when they first realized that they’d become friends?

That night talk on the beach after their expedition up the mountain. Though there are plenty of ups and downs in their friendship afterwards...

[mooniefics]

— insubordination

pairing : eren jaeger / fem reader

word count : 5.7k

tags : porn w plot, eventual smut, angst-ish

warnings : nfsw, non-con/extremely dub-con, impact play, descriptions of blood and injury, ooc eren being very mean

summary : you were nothing in his eyes, and he was nothing in yours. that's how it was meant to be, that's what commander hange had assumed when they assigned you such a simple role. but people are unpredictable, and sympathy for the wicked can make you do some pretty stupid things.

— originally posted 1 / 4 / 21 on ao3 —

this task was arguably your least favorite part of the day.

it was too quiet, eerily silent when you walked down the steps, and that one uneven brick always seemed to trip you up when you weren't looking out for it. balancing the dishes on the serving tray also wasn't the easiest, and it was all the more demeaning when he would be waiting for you by the bars, eyes as empty and uninterested as ever but still fixed on your every movement.

you were a soldier, not a waitress, and a part of you wondered why they didn't just make the marleyans do such a belittling task rather than force you to lower yourself down to such a level three times a day. but you knew it was because he'd be less hesitant to strangle the life out of any non-paradisian before he'd go after someone from the island, and you had enough self defense training to withstand any escape attempts he might make.

but eren jaeger seemed docile when he was in his cage, and that fact eased you just the slightest bit when you descended the stairs to his cell that day, toting a sandwich and a glass of water on the tray for him. you thankfully caught yourself before you tripped up on that uneven last step, breathing out a little sigh of relief about not having to deal with split food and broken dishes along with the humiliation of screwing up such an easy task. you didn't want to give him another reason to look down at you, another excuse to see you as even lesser than he already perceived you as.

he didn't seem to care much for a select few from his graduating class, and you seeing that you were trained with the 106th training corp, you hadn't had any sort of direct interactions with him until you were assigned to bring him his food for the day. at first, commander hange had insisted on doing it personally, but as the workload increased and the luxury of free time dwindled, the duty was passed onto you.

you had honestly been terrified when you first faced him, hoping that those bored yet sharp green eyes didn't catch the way your hand trembled when you fit the key into the lock, opening up the slot in the door that was just big enough to slide the tray and its contents across to him. he didn't say much, no hellos or thank yous exchanged, just a brief glance at your face and a muttered "you're new" as he took the tray to his bed and sat, silently eating his meal and sliding back the tray and empty dishes for you to take back up with you. and that was how it usually went, no fuss from either end, just a silence that was barely occupied by the scrapes of his utensils on the plate and the occasional clearing of his throat.

you expected another quiet interaction as you stepped across the old brick floor, keeping an impassive expression even after seeing that he was waiting for you at the bars, wearing nothing besides a pair of trousers that sat low on his hips. you ignored his uncharacteristically intent gaze, setting the tray down on the ground and fetching the ring of keys from your uniform, struggling to not let your eyes wander over him.

something felt different, an unusual feeling of trepidation that clung to you as you picked out the right key, unlocking the serving slot and slipping it back into your pocket. besides his evident lack of a shirt, there was nothing odd about today, nothing that should make you feel the agitation that was creeping up your spine. you swallowed down your nerves as you set the tray down like you always did, sliding it over onto his side of the bars. he always seemed much taller when he was up close like this, and even with his relaxed posture he still towered over you. his robust frame only served to make him more intimidating, muscles flexing beneath the pale skin littered with past scars. you didn't expect to feel the warmth of his fingers brushing over yours when he reached out to take the tray, suppressing the flinch that threatened to make you jump away from his contact, looking up to meet his steady gaze.

"thank you." he said, the slightest of smiles perking up at his lips at the sight of your surprised expression.

despite having the tray in his grasp, he didn't pull away from his place before you, drawing a few fingers down the side of your hand, not taking his eyes off of yours. you gave a gentle push of the tray, urging him to take it, not wanting to back down from what you assumed to be a test of your courage.

"hurry up and eat, jaeger. i don't have all day." you told him with much less authority than you would've hoped, but felt the smallest bit of pleasure from how he blinked at you, most likely not expecting you assertion.

"you know, you can call me eren."

that was the last thing he said before he let his gaze fall to the tray, warmth receding as he took his meal to his bed to eat. that was the most words you'd ever said to one another, arguably the most startling encounter you'd ever had as well. he seemed almost happy to see you, any show of emotion besides indifference was magnified by how rarely it appeared, but you reminded yourself that this was no reason to let your guard down. in fact, this was only more reason to keep a closer eye on him.

he could be planning something, you wouldn't put that kind of scheming past him, you'd heard the murmurs across your unit about how isolated his desires were from the greater good of humanity. he'd lashed out at his superiors as a cadet, he'd rebelled against the judgement of the former commander, fought the levi ackermann for selfish, narrow-minded reasons.

but, really, couldn't he escape whenever he wanted? freedom was just an injury away for him, he could shift into his titan form whenever he pleased and completely demolish the cell and everything above it, run off to see whatever corner of the world he wished to or murder whomever he had on his hit list. perhaps he was merely toying with you, the boredom of isolation driving him to tease the soldier who'd never once gotten the chance to see past the territory just outside the walls despite being a scout. you were surprised that he hadn't gone crazy from being locked up in a cell with just a bed, a sink, and a small barred window, not even a journal or a book for entertainment, although he was unhinged enough to have to be held here, so you assumed that it somehow balanced out in some odd way.

you told yourself to just take a deep breath as you stood by and waited for him to finish his meal, chalking up his behavior to him being an eccentric man with an endless amount of free time in his hands. he didn't speak any more when he passed back the tray and dishes, only offering another faint smile that didn't quite meet his eyes before returning to his bed, allowing you to latch the lock once more and make your quick exit up the stairs, thankfully out of his sight and not dropping anything when you tripped up on that uneven step.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"eat with me."

he didn't react to your incredulous look from behind the bars, steady stare staying trained on your face, fingers brushing just over your hand. it took you a moment to find your voice. "no."

"why not?" he replied easily, either entirely unaware of his aloofness or intentionally putting up the front of detached confusion.

"you're in there for a reason, eren." you said, giving a gentle push forward to the tray, "now eat."

it had been just over a week since your first conversation, he'd made no attempt to initiate another in the following days until just now. but he wasn't showing the hint of contentment he'd allowed to peek through on his features the last time, just the cool, uncaring demeanor that you'd become accustomed to as he delivered such a ridiculous request.

"i don't want to eat alone." he persisted, punctuating the sentence with his own nudge of the tray back to you, "what could i do? even if i tried to escape, the guards outside would catch me before i made it far." there were no guards outside, but you didn't tell him that. "you'll have wait on me to finish anyways."

you didn't reply back, not wanting to speak and risk him hearing your voice wobble, or let a nervous stutter slip. you found it strange how his displays of humanity were more startling than when he lacked them, the image of his more mechanical self that you'd grown used to, the one that you were alright with leaving in a cell alone for days, being shattered by the slight smiles, the naivety that came in him even thinking that you would comply with his desires.

"i could stand away from the door if it'd make you feel better, you don't even have to sit next to me. i just.." he turned away, lips turning down in an almost sheepish frown. "i just want to feel like someone is in the room with me."

you were almost afraid of this new emotion from him, having to force your brow to not knit into an expression of surprise and your mouth to not fall open at this incredibly unfamiliar territory. you felt that you were good at reading people, good enough to sniff out most false claims and facades that were put up by the people you were close with, but you weren't close with him, not in the least. all you knew of him was his name, his designation, his special abilities, and that he seemed to like soup the best, considering that he always finished the fastest on the days you brought it down for him. how convenient that you had a bowl for him today, alongside a small loaf of bread and the usual glass of water. but looking over his face, you couldn't help but feel your resolve crack just the slightest bit at the sight of him.

it made sense that he was getting lonely down here, the only people that were allowed to speak to him were you and the commander, and seeing that no one had gotten reamed for making an unauthorized visit, you were sure that the small group he was acquainted with weren't sneaking out to give him some company. and there seemed to be genuine emotion gleaming in his usually dull eyes, cheeks and ears flushed with a soft red that warmed his features, a kind of reaction that you found to be hard to fake. you didn't exactly lose sleep over his imprisonment, but you weren't a monster, you didn't discount the mental toll that this kind of solitude could have on a person.

"move away from the door."

the words slipped out of you before you had a chance to think about them anymore, slightly eased by the fact that he actually followed your order and stepped back as far as he could. you picked the ring of keys out of your pocket, finding the one that unlocked the door to his cell and slowly pressing it into the keyhole, letting out a small breath of alarm when you heard the inner mechanisms unlatch.

you couldn't help the way your eyes darted over to him, half expecting him to come  running to shove past you and make a mad dash out of the barracks. but he stayed right where he was, not moving even as you pushed open the door and stepped in, trying not to turn your back to him for too long as you eased it shut and tucked the keys back into your pocket, taking his tray and setting it at the foot of his bed like he always did before returning to your place at the door, giving a small nod to let him know he could move.

he was relaxed as ever, nearly smiling to himself as he took a seat, as opposed to you, who's back was stiffened into the straightest your posture had been in weeks, clenched hands that were becoming clammy with sweat. you knew exactly why you were getting so worked up over being on the other side of the bars that had giving you that sense of security now only giving you the sense of being caged in with someone who was really more of a stranger to you than anything. but he seemed more than pleased to have you in his vicinity, and the look on his face eased the chill rattling up your back, threatening to make you look more like a cornered animal more than a stoic soldier.

he was halfway through his soup when he reached for the bread, raising it to his lips to take a bite before he stopped, glancing over to you with a sudden intrigue. you watched as he broke it in two, not minding the crumbs that fell down onto his shirt and lap, holding the larger looking piece out to you. "here. it wouldn't be fair if you just had stand there and watch me enjoy my meal."

if your eyes widened in surprise, he didn't react to it, only adding a slight wave to his outstretched offering. you forced your foot forward, nervous to approach him but wanting to accept what felt like a sort of peace offering, a wordless assurance that he meant well. for the first time, his mouth drew back into a smile, a full, genuine, almost charming smile when you took the bread, hoping he didn't catch the way your fingers trembled as you stood there, unsure of whether to focus on the warmth of his gesture or taking a bite like he seemed to be expectantly waiting for you to do.

you didn't realize how dry your mouth was until you bit off a small chunk, chewing much longer than you usually did before you swallowed it down, not tasting anything but feeling your heart skip at the sight of his happiness. you retreated to your place at the door, finishing off the bread, watching him quickly wrap up his own meal and get everything back in order on the tray. he didn't usually do that either.

you felt an uncomfortable squeeze in your chest when he stood, gathering the tray in his hands and walking up to you with slow steps. he made sure to keep a good distance away from you, probably not wanting to give you any reason to be anymore afraid that you already were. you took the tray when he held it out to you, and he stayed holding onto it with you just a moment longer than he needed to, gleaming eyes wandering over your face in that little bit of time before he released his grasp, stepping back to where he originally had when you first entered and mimicking your small nod to tell you it was alright to go.

you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, a shy, nervous little close-lipped smile that came with the blush darkening on your cheeks, nudging open the cell door with your foot and exiting without a problem. and as you fished the key ring out of your pocket and found the right one to slide into the keyhole, he took a seat at the foot of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, gazing up at you as you secured the lock back into place.

"thank you."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you found yourself going into his cell a lot more often than you probably should've.

the first couple days you stood at your place by the unlocked door, seeing how with each passing day you exchanged more and more words, the conversations becoming less stiff and hesitant. you only went in at lunch, since in the morning there were a lot more people milling about after breakfast, and in the evening the guards that stood outside by the stairs actually came to ensure he didn't get out during the night. the afternoon was the only time where everyone had already gone to their designated workstations, and besides the stray person or two that happened to pass by during that time, no one was around to catch your massive insubordination of orders.

you'd eventually began to sit at the foot of the bed, the tray putting a comfortable distance between the two of you as you chatted. he would offer you bites of his sandwich, or a piece of his bread like he did the first time you shared a meal, always giving you a little something despite your insistence that he kept it for himself, saying that "it would be unfair to starve his guest". speaking casually was surprisingly easy, passing stories of your training days and your initial struggles with omni-directional movement gear back and forth, letting him tell you about his time across the ocean and appreciating how intently he listened to you lamenting about the severe lack of exposure you had to the world outside the walls.

you couldn't admit it to anyone else, but you had begun to grow fond of him. the initial expression of cool apathy completely melted away when you were with him, the features of his face which you had initially found stern becoming somewhat handsome when he was giving those little smiles, a breath of a chuckle when you said something he found funny, or the focused expression he would take on when he nodded along to the stories from your childhood you had to offer. perhaps under different circumstances, you might've even wanted to see if things could go further than easy banter between two friends, biting your tongue when you thought about slipping in something about how he could be your guide when you could finally go out and see the world.

there was no way they would keep him in here forever, the effort to cover new ground and widen the army's frontiers was going swimmingly from the looks of it, so maybe there'd be a day in the future where you could walk about with him, away from the brick of his cell and without the bars separating you. that thought had been especially nice to think about as you sat on your calves across from him on the bed, your half of today's bread nearly gone as you listened to him talk about what he would get up to when he was a child, running around his hometown by himself and trying to sneak into taverns to catch a peek at the barmaidens.

"you know, there was this one particular girl that i remember being head over heels for," he mused, pausing to lick the bit of soup that had swiped across his lips from his last spoonful, "one time she came to my home for my father to check out her arm, said she'd gotten grabbed by one of the more unsavory characters that hung around those bars. i was so angry i almost went out looking for him myself."

you giggled a bit at the mental image, a wide-eyed little boy with the big dream of saving his childhood crush from the evil world. "isn't that sweet?" you quipped with a smile, quickly eating the last bite of bread in your hand and dusting off the crumbs onto the floor, "what'd she look like? she had to be beautiful to catch your eye." you tried not to let your disappointment in letting that slip show as you waited for his reply, mentally noting to have a bit more verbal control the next time.

"well, she actually kind of looked like you."

you felt your face pink at that, trying not to show your embarrassment as you cleared your throat. "r-really?" that was all you could manage, only feeling even more flustered by the slight grin he gave.

"really. you're obviously not identical, but there are a couple of things that remind me of her when i look at you." he shifted his position a bit, the space between you narrowing as he leaned over the tray to get a better look at your face. "your eyes look like hers, a different color, but the same shape. and you have the same freckle right here."

he pointed to the place on your face, finger inches away from you but still the closest you'd ever been to touching aside from the light brushes of your hands when you passed the tray to one another. "and now that i'm really looking, you both kind of have the same hair."

he was much closer than before, both of your knees at either end of the tray because of how it'd been pushed, realizing that you yourself had been unconsciously leaning forward. the warmth of his hand brushing across your cheek was a bit startling but definitely not unwelcome, thumb catching a stray lock of hair to tuck behind your ear.

"yeah.. you do." he murmured quietly, but you were more than close enough to hear it, able to pick out the brighter flecks in his brilliantly green irises, feeling his soft exhales fanning across your lips.

you couldn't believe you had let this happen, let yourself end up like this with the man you were supposed to just bring food to and guard from a distance, but at the same time you couldn't pull away, couldn't force yourself to part from the now low-lidded eyes gazing at you with such an unreadable depth, just barely obstructed by the hair that had slipped out of the messy style he had it drawn up in today, full lips parted and just a breath away from pressing onto your own. and so you let your eyes fall shut, feeling his hand slip further into your hair, fingers working deeper into it like they were meant to be there. but instead of a kiss, you felt his grasp in your hair suddenly tighten, barely able to let out a small gasp of pain before he drew your head to the side and smashed it into the brick wall next to you.

pain exploded across your skull, white spots blotting out your vision when your eyes flew open, unable to hold yourself up when he threw you down on the bed, already feeling the warmth of blood seeping out of the broken skin. you could faintly hear the clatter of metal and the smash of porcelain on the floor when he kicked the tray to the ground through the ringing in your ears. your first attempt to speak came out as almost a wheeze, mouth numb with shock as you tried to force your leadened limbs to move, writhing uselessly as he began to wrestle off the belt of your jacket, flipping you onto your stomach as soon as it came undone and ripping the jacket off of you with one strong pull to the collar.

"hel—help !" you wailed almost incoherently into the empty hall, knowing for a fact that no one was there but hoping there was somebody, anybody that could possibly be wandering past the building outside would come to save you.

all your combat experience meant nothing now that he had you sprawled out under him, straddling you as he tied your hands behind your back with your own belt, laughing coldly at every half-hearted squirm and small sob that left you. the wound on your head sent an unbearable ache through your entire body, beginning at your temple and searing through every nerve, each rough jostle from the body on top of you only adding to the pain.

"thank you for being such a kind guard," he drawled, audibly shaking your jacket to figure out which pocket the keys were in, "you really are great company, and such a sight for sore eyes."

your spotty vision was only further obscured by the tears that were now dripping onto the sheets. "p-please, d-don't hurt me..!" you cried, seeing him toss the jacket down on the floor, most likely having pocketed the keys for himself. he hauled your hips up by the waistline of your trousers, seeming to take joy in the way you whimpered at the strain you felt in your arms.

"do you really think you're in the place to make demands?" his voice was dripping with arrogance, breath hot on the back of your neck as he spoke into your ear, "the one who was stupid enough to fall for such a simple trick? the way i see it, it's almost like you were asking for this to happen."

you furiously shook your head at that, ignoring the way each thrash sent an ache echoing through your skull, teeth clenched in pain as you tried to force the words out. "n-no.. please, n-n-no—"

he didn't care much for your frantic tears or stammered pleas, already tugging your pants and underwear down around your trembling legs. "but you're worth a few moments of my time, all stupidity set aside. you really do look like that lovely barmaiden from my hometown." he paused to grab at the soft flesh of your exposed thighs, spreading you open as far as your position allowed it to, revealing the wetness of your involuntary excitement. "and look at that, already all nice and wet, just for me."

another pained sound escaped when he firmly grabbed your hair again, keeping the side of your face pressed into the bed, barely allowing you to hear him undo the zip of his pants and the ruffle of him pushing them down. he thrust into you without warning, drawing a hoarse whine from the burn of the sudden intrusion, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted to try and steady your strained, uneven breaths.

"relax, relax." he demanded, nearly growling as the heel of his palm pressing down on the back of your neck.

it wasn't as if this was your first time, but the people that you'd been with before we're always gentle with you, patient, asking infrequent but sincere "are you ok"s and "you're ok, right"s that quelled any unease about being in such a vulnerable position. but the hazy calm you'd had begun to associate with sex was completely absent in this moment, the empty space instead filled with the hiccuped sobs that refused to stay down in your chest, the throb of your bleeding scalp that was only worsened by his large hand grasping a fistful of your hair, beginning to clump with sticky red blood that was just starting to soak into the white sheets of the bed. you couldn't understand why that fear that was permeating through you, the peril that gripped your racing heart so relentlessly, the thought of not knowing whether you could assure your survival or not was only making you more and more excited for him.

he had taken up an unforgiving pace, driving small, broken moans from your lips, tense muscles gradually relaxing to accommodate all of him. it was wrong, you should've been fighting right now, keeping up your screams for help, anything to prove to yourself that you wanted to escape, but you found that it felt so terrifyingly good to give up under him.

"eren.." you barely managed to enunciate his name before your words devolved into more breathless whines, pins and needles pricking at your now numbing fingers that were losing circulation from your bindings.

"fucking pathetic," he spat, free hand moving to abuse your clit with rough, uncoordinated rubs, "you're just fucking begging for it, aren't you?"

he punctuated each abrasive word with a deeper thrust into you, dragging you over the edge before you even had the chance to realize how close you were to cumming. you cried out at the heat tearing through every inch of your sore flesh, nails digging into your palms as you slumped back against him, saliva dripping out of your open mouth and onto the bed.

the emptiness of him pulling out of you made you whimper, more strained sounds of protest escaping your throat as he flipped you onto your back, struggling to find a bearable position with the way your hands pressed uncomfortably into your spine. for the first time you were able to see the wild look in his eyes, his lips drawn back into more of a snarl that bared his teeth rather than a smile, even more of his long, dark hair having fallen from his hair tie. you could hardly take in the finer details of his image, the symptoms of the concussion you likely had already settling in around the edges of your vision, remaining sight starting to flicker out into darkness.

"wake up. hey." the sight of his hand rearing back and the sharp sting of its impact on your cheek were disconnected but registered all the same, forcing a pained groan out of you as you blinked up at him, trying desperately to dispel the black specks pulsing across your vision as you recovered from the jerk of your head being knocked to the side.

you could already feel the redness forming on the skin of your face, the rough hands that had just started tugging at your shirt impatiently tearing it halfway open, sending buttons flying off in every direction as he grinned down at you.

"you really threw a wrench into this whole plan of mine." he forced down a few chuckles, wiping some of your blood on his fingers off on your ruined shirt, "i should be making my way to the east exit right now, but all i can think right about it seeing that pretty fucking face you're gonna make when i make you cum again."

his fingers dug into the pliant flesh of your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he pushed himself right back into you, clearly relishing in the way you whimpered out baseless pleas and curses. your legs squeezed around him instinctually, hips bucking up to meet his despite the small whisper in the back of your mind still begging for you to maintain a shred of dignity and push him away.

he kissed messily at the base of your neck, barely able to maintain the mimicry of intimacy for more than a few seconds before he was biting at the exposed skin, sometimes only just brushing his teeth over it but sometimes hard enough to print them into the bruising flesh. you could barely hold your eyes open enough to see the cracked ceiling above you, feeling the heat of his breaths over your shoulder and the audible clap of his skin meeting yours with every rough thrust. you chose to focus on the familiar pressure welling deep in your stomach, letting your eyes roll back into your head and your shaking legs squeeze tighter around him, only acknowledging his teeth breaking your skin with a whine in favor of just letting yourself hit that impossibly high peak once again.

he growled out a low string of curses into your neck, movements becoming less coordinated and even rougher as you came around him for his second time, not having enough lucidity to be ashamed of how easily release came. he continued even as your legs became heavy in his grasp, writhing and crying out dissipating into the occasional twitch, barely able to register the end of the entire exchange until you felt the liquid heat spilling into you. it only halfway made up for the lack of his cock in you as he pulled away, not bothering to try and bring you back to consciousness while he shoved himself back into his pants.

you roused on your own just a few moments later, gasping in quick little breaths and rolling yourself onto your side so you didn't crush your numb hands and wrists anymore than you already had, blinking away the blur of tears and the spottiness of passing out as you craned your neck to look up at him, wincing when you drew an injured area of skin taut. you just caught him tugging on your jacket, which had always fitted you loosely and was now fitting him snugly, his face flushed but having returned to his usual cool, impassive demeanor. but when he turned to look down at you, you could see a flicker of pride cross his features, the slightest smirk playing on his lips.

he said nothing as he walked right out of his cell, shutting the metal door and locking it behind him, the sound of his footfalls growing fainter down the hall and disappearing entirely as he ascended the steps. you would guess that it took around an hour for someone to come down and find you. by then, the slow stream of blood had slowed and clotted, and the belt around your wrists had loosened enough to allow adequate blood flow but still too tight for you to wriggle out of in your weakened state. you were sure that you looked pretty worse for wear; half naked, covered in injuries of varying severity, messy with a mix of blood, spit, tears, and cum.

but instead of thanking your lucky stars that you didn't have to spend the whole night trapped down there, you simply let your heavy eyes fall back shut as the soldier, a boy your age that you didn't know well but had gone out on a few mission with, promised to come back with a spare key and take you to the infirmary before running out in a panic. you didn't know whether you wanted eren jaeger to successfully make it out or be apprehended and sent right back here after they'd cleaned you up. would they interrogate him about how he escaped? would he tell them about you and the role you played in it?

after all was said and done, the only thing you were entirely sure about was that you'd probably never be allowed to go near him or participate in any assignments involving him ever again. and even after everything, a part of you just didn't want to believe that this was the end for the two of you.

[sleepymccoy]

this one was so much nicer to write than i expected!! I’m loving these little prompts, they’re great starting platforms and then i just let it take me really. This got a little long, so two thirds of it is under a readmore. It also got fairly emotional really, it’s nice. Hope you enjoy it @mothfluff

-

"You're not getting in?" Aziraphale asked as he tiptoed across the pebble stone beach to meet Crowley at the bench they'd put in.

"Feelin' the cold today," Crowley muttered. He watched without offering to help as Aziraphale stumbled and slid across the stones. They grew larger, more permanent and grass covered as he got closer to Crowley, but still slightly treacherous. Crowley enjoyed the sight, the focus on the angel's face as he studied his path, his arms out as he balanced on a wobbly rock. His wings twitching and fluttering as he nearly tipped, flapping once to catch himself.  

"Thanks for the help," Aziraphale said darkly as he came to a stop before Crowley. 

Crowley opened his arms wide. "What help did you need? You did fine. Sit down, I'll get the seaweed out of your wings."

Aziraphale glared, but turned and sat between Crowley's legs, wings displayed in full. 

"You were smirking at my struggles," Aziraphale complained while Crowley got to work. "What kind of lover are you?"

"I wasn't smirking," Crowley said. He pulled the big pieces of seaweed off first, throwing them back half-heartedly towards the ocean, then got to digging around for the smaller dark specks. Aziraphale always got seaweed so deep in his wings. 

"I was enjoying the show," Crowley continued. "Gettin' to see your body in those interesting poses."

"Is that right?" Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley hummed his assent. "When you stuck your leg out I got to see all your thigh at once, that was nice." He poked Aziraphale in the bum with his toe to punctuate his point. 

Aziraphale chuckled. "You needn't wait around for an opportunity, if you wish to see my thigh you can just ask."

"Ooh, can I see your thigh, then?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shifted, moving to the side slightly before settling back in his seat. "There you go," he said. 

Crowley stood and craned his neck to see over the top of Aziraphale's wings. Aziraphale had stuck a leg out in front of himself, his pale thigh spilling over the rocks under him. 

Crowley hummed and bent lower to reach the top of Aziraphale's head. He gave him a kiss. "What a lovely thigh you have," he murmured. 

"All the better to please you with, my dear," Aziraphale said lightly. 

"Ha!" Crowley laughed, the sound a brief bark. "Now, quit your distractions, you beautiful creature. I'm trying to work." He stood back up and returned to plucking slivers of dark seaweed from the salt-damp feathers.

Aziraphale hummed and tipped his head back to lean against Crowley's thigh. "I like how your work feels," he said lushly.

Crowley smiled to himself and dropped one hand to Aziraphale's head, trailing his fingers through his hair. Aziraphale hummed quietly, so Crowley pressed his fingers down, lightly massaging him as he continued to pick the feathers clean.

A few minutes passed before Crowley shifted his attention to the other wing, and removed his hand from Aziraphale's head. 

A quiet noise of complaint followed the departure. Crowley chuckled and asked, "How many hands d'you think I have, angel? I'm working here for you."

"I like what that one was doing," Aziraphale muttered.

"Don't give up on me yet," Crowley said, "I'll get back to that soon." He worked quickly, but with finesse. His fingers plunged deep into Aziraphale's long feathers, feeling for any sensation of slime or coarseness that may be hidden seaweed. He found many, pulling them out deftly and dropping them to the ground without worry. He'd done this many times for Aziraphale now, and his fingers knew how roughly to search so that it would feel like a massage more than an invasion for Aziraphale. 

And he was doing well. Aziraphale's small, pleased noises were increasing in both frequency and volume. Finally, Crowley was done. He wrapped his hands around the first bend of Aziraphale's wings and squeezed, fluttering his fingers along the muscle. 

Aziraphale let out a moan, a deeper, chesty one. Unabashed in the afternoon sun. "What did I ever do without you, dear?" he sighed. Crowley danced his fingers to the other wing and repeated the massage.

"Well," Crowley muttered, "not much. These wings were in an awful state when I first got to-"

"Shut up, beast," Aziraphale said airily, "I'm in a good mood."

Crowley chuckled and knelt behind him, hands going into his hair again. He pressed his fingers to Aziraphale's temples and dragged them back around to his neck. "Only 'cause I put you in a good mood," Crowley whispered. 

He felt Aziraphale's head shake slightly, not enough to displace his fingers. "Ocean water did that," Aziraphale said. His words were beginning to weaken, almost slur. "You had nothing to do with it."

Crowley grinned. He let the comment slide, more in a mood to be kind to Aziraphale than tease him. He felt very in love, warmed by the sun and the angel he was allowed to dote on. 

He rearranged his legs to wrap either side of Aziraphale's hips, and pulled the angel to his chest. He kissed the back of Aziraphale's neck while pressing his fingers in small circles to his neck, jaw, temples again, through his hair line. 

Aziraphale began to moan almost constantly. Minutes passed and his moan devolved into a groan. "Crowley," he said thickly.

"I know, darling," Crowley whispered. He did know, Aziraphale was always so willing to sign up for vulnerability, but when it actually came around he struggled. It had been difficult, early on, but after Aziraphale had tired of apologising for ruining an honest mood with a poorly timed joke and actually explained himself, Crowley had been willing and able to make room for these last barriers.

"Crowley," Aziraphale groaned again.

Crowley kept his fingers working, kept kissing the back of Aziraphale's neck. "Just us, love. I've got you," he whispered. "All alone here, just us." 

Crowley looked out at the beach, continuing to massage Aziraphale's head and down his neck. 

"I can see the horizon," Crowley whispered. "The ocean is calm. There's nothing out there, it's just a view for us. And listen-" he paused. He ran his fingers down Aziraphale's traps, eliciting a deep moan from him. "It's quiet. Just the breeze. And you and me."

Aziraphale moaned again, then with no warning he leant heavily against Crowley. Crowley dropped one hand to catch himself, keeping himself propped up as Aziraphale's entire upper body weight rested against his chest. The angel wasn't asleep or unconscious, just in a rare state of true relaxation. Crowley wrapped his other hand around Aziraphale's chest and rubbed soft circles against his collarbone so Aziraphale could identify some movement, proof of his company. 

And Crowley sat and watched the sea. He let Aziraphale lean on him for a time and kept an alert eye out for anything worth watching for. Aziraphale needed someone to watch over him, to keep them safe. And while Crowley may feel safe in their home, and while he didn't have a habit of watching the skies for sourceless lighting or the ground for localised disturbance, in these rare moments he would take Aziraphale's post and watch for him. So that Aziraphale might relax.

[swanlake1998]

Article: Five Pioneering Black Ballerinas: ‘We Have to Have a Voice’

Date: June 17, 2021

By: Karen Valby

These early Dance Theater of Harlem stars met weekly on Zoom — to survive the isolation of the pandemic and to reclaim their role in dance history.

Last May, adrift in a suddenly untethered world, five former ballerinas came together to form the 152nd Street Black Ballet Legacy. Every Tuesday afternoon, they logged onto Zoom from around the country to remember their time together performing with Dance Theater of Harlem, feeling that magical turn in early audiences from skepticism to awe.

Life as a pioneer, life in a pandemic: They have been friends for over half a century, and have held each other up through far harder times than this last disorienting year. When people reached for all manners of comfort, something to give purpose or a shape to the days, these five women turned to their shared past.

In their cozy, rambling weekly Zoom meetings, punctuated by peals of laughter and occasional tears, they revisited the fabulousness of their former lives. With the background of George Floyd’s murder and a pandemic disproportionately affecting the Black community, the women set their sights on tackling another injustice. They wanted to reinscribe the struggles and feats of those early years at Dance Theater of Harlem into a cultural narrative that seems so often to cast Black excellence aside.

“There’s been so much of African American history that’s been denied or pushed to the back,” said Karlya Shelton-Benjamin, 64, who first brought the idea of a legacy council to the other women. “We have to have a voice.”

They knew as young ballet students that they’d never be chosen for roles like Clara in “The Nutcracker” or Odette/Odile in “Swan Lake.” They were told by their teachers to switch to modern dance or to aim for the Alvin Ailey company if they wanted to dance professionally, regardless of whether they felt most alive en pointe.

Arthur Mitchell was like a lighthouse to the women. Mitchell, the first Black principal dancer at the New York City Ballet and a protégé of the choreographer George Balanchine, had a mission: to create a home for Black dancers to achieve heights of excellence unencumbered by ignorance or tradition. Ignited by the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., he founded Dance Theater of Harlem in 1969 with Karel Shook.

Lydia Abarca-Mitchell, Gayle McKinney-Griffith and Sheila Rohan were founding dancers of his new company with McKinney-Griffith, 71, soon taking on the role of its first ballet mistress. Within the decade, Shelton-Benjamin and Marcia Sells joined as first generation dancers.

Abarca-Mitchell, 70, spent her childhood in joyless ballet classes but never saw an actual performance until she was 17 at the invitation of Mitchell, her new teacher. “I’ll never forget what Arthur did onstage” she said of his Puck in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at New York City Ballet during a Tuesday session in January. “He made the ballet so natural. Suddenly it wasn’t just this ethereal thing anymore. I felt it in my bones.”

Marcia Sells, 61, remembered being 9 and watching with mouth agape when Abarca-Mitchell, McKinney-Griffith and Rohan performed with Dance Theater in her hometown, Cincinnati. “There in front of me were Black ballerinas,” Sells said during a video call in April. “That moment was the difference in my life. Otherwise I don’t think it would’ve been possible for me to think of a career in ballet.”

Shelton-Benjamin left her Denver ballet company, where she was the only Black dancer, turning down invitations from the Joffrey Ballet and American Ballet Theater, after reading a story about Dance Theater of Harlem in Dance magazine. Abarca-Mitchell was on that issue’s cover — the first Black woman to have that honor. At her Harlem audition, Shelton-Benjamin witnessed company members hand-dying their shoes and ribbons and tights to match the hues of their skin. Here, no traditional ballet pink would interrupt the beauty of their lines. “I had never seen a Black ballerina before, let alone a whole company,” Shelton-Benjamin, 64, said during a February Zoom meeting. “All I could think was, ‘Where have you guys been?’”

Finding one another back then, at the height of the civil rights movement, allowed them to have careers while challenging a ballet culture that had been claimed by white people. “We were suddenly ambassadors,” Abarca-Mitchell said. “And we were all in it together.”

They traveled to American cities that presented such a hostile environment that Mitchell would cancel the performance the night of, lest his company feel disrespected. But they also danced for kings and queens and presidents. In 1979, a review in The Washington Post declared their dancing to be a “purer realization of the Balanchinean ideal than anyone else’s.” Their adventures offstage were similarly electric, like the night in Manchester when Mick Jagger invited them out on the town. “We walked into the club with him and everybody just moved out of the way,” Shelton-Benjamin said.

Cultural memory can be spurious and shortsighted. Abarca-Mitchell was the first Black prima ballerina for a major company, performing works like Balanchine’s “Agon” and “Bugaku” and William Dollar’s “Le Combat” to raves. In an April Zoom session she said she first realized how left out of history she was when her daughter went online to prove to a friend that her mother was the first Black prima ballerina. But all she found was the name Misty Copeland, hailed as the first. “And my daughter was so mad. She said: ‘Where’s your name? Where’s your name?’ It was a wake-up call.”

While Abarca-Mitchell paused to wipe her eyes, Shelton-Banjamin stepped in: “I want to echo what Lydia said. There was a point where I asked the women, ‘Did it all really happen? Was I really a principal dancer?’ And Lydia told me: ‘Don’t do that! Yes, you were. We’re here to tell you, you were.”

Sells went on to a career that included serving as the dean of Harvard Law School, until she left this year to become the Metropolitan Opera’s first chief diversity officer. Shelton-Benjamin is now a jeweler who recently became certified in diamond grading. She, along with Abarca-Mitchell, McKinney-Griffith and Rohan, continue to coach and teach dance. They all have families, including another grandchild on the way for McKinney-Griffith, who announced the happy news to whoops on a recent call.

But they are done swallowing a mythology of firstness that excludes them, along with fellow pioneers like Katherine Dunham, Debra Austin, Raven Wilkinson, Lauren Anderson and Aesha Ash. It’s true that Misty Copeland is American Ballet Theater’s first Black female principal. It is also true that she stands on the shoulders of the founding and first generation dancers at Dance Theater. A narrative that suggests otherwise, Sells said, “Simply makes ballet history weak and small.”

Worse, it perpetuates the belief that Blackness in ballet is a one-off rather than a continuing fact. And it suggests a lonely existence for dancers like Copeland, a world absent of peers. “We could’ve been Misty’s aunties,” Abarca-Mitchell said. “I wish she was part of our sisterhood, that’s all.”

Dance Theater saved them from being the only one in a room. The work was so hard, the expectations so high, the mission so urgent, that those early days demanded a familial support system among the dancers. “Someone would take you under their wing and say, ‘You’re my daughter or sister or brother,’” McKinney-Griffith said. “The men did it also. Karlya was my little sister, and we kept that through the years.”

Like in any family, the relationships are complicated. The women speak of feeling shut out of today’s Dance Theater of Harlem. They are rarely brought in for workshops or consultations on the ballets they were taught by Mitchell. At his memorial service in 2018, they wept in the pews unacknowledged. “We’re like orphans,” Rohan said with a laugh in a Zoom session. “If the outside world neglects us, it seems all the more reason that Dance Theater of Harlem should embrace us.”

Virginia Johnson, a fellow founding member, is now the company’s artistic director. She assumed the helm in 2013 when Dance Theater returned after an eight-year hiatus caused by financial instability. “It makes me sad to think that they feel excluded,” Johnson said in a phone interview. “And it’s not because I don’t want them. It’s just because I can’t manage. I’ve probably missed some chances but it’s not like I haven’t thought about the value of what they bring to the company. They are the bodies, the soul, the spirit of Dance Theater of Harlem.”

“We all think about and love and respect what Arthur Mitchell did,” she added, “but these are the people he worked with to make this company.”

By the end of May, the five members of the 152nd Street Black Ballet Legacy were fully vaccinated. They traveled from Denver, Atlanta, Connecticut, South Jersey and, in Sells’s case, five blocks north of Dance Theater of Harlem for a joyful reunion. So much is different now at the building on 152nd Street. The old fire escape in Studio 3 where they’d catch their breath or wipe tears of frustration is gone. So are the big industrial fans in the corners of the room, replaced by central air conditioning. But they can still feel their leader all around them in the room. Crying, Abarca-Mitchell told McKinney-Griffith, “I miss Arthur.” (Though they all laugh when imagining his response to their legacy council. “I do believe he would try to control us,” Rohan said. “’What are you doing now? Why are you doing that? Let me suggest that. …’”)

The body remembers. In Studio 3, all Shelton-Benjamin had to do was hum a few notes of Balanchine’s “Serenade” and say “and” for the women to grandly sweep their right arms up. “These women help validate my worth,” Abarca-Mitchell said afterward. “I don’t want to take it for granted that people should recognize Lydia Abarca. But when I’m with them I feel like I felt back then. Important.”

Even as the world reopens and they grow busy again, they’ll carry on with their Tuesday afternoons. They want to amplify more alumni voices. They dream of launching a scholarship program for young dancers of color. This fall, they’ll host a webinar in honor of the director and choreographer Billy Wilson, whose daughter Alexis was also part of Dance Theater.

“What we have is a spiritual connection,” said Rohan, who turns 80 this year. She was 27 when she joined the company, already married and hiding from Mitchell that she was a mother of three young children for fear it get her kicked out. When she eventually confessed a year later, he got mad, insisting he would have increased her salary if he’d known she had mouths to feed.

“Arthur planted a seed in me, and all these beautiful women helped it grow,” she said. “Coming from Staten Island, I was just a country girl from the projects. My first time on a plane was to go to Europe to dance on those stages. I thanked God every day for the experience. This year, coming together again, I remembered how much it all meant to me. I didn’t have to be a star ballerina. It was enough that I was there. I was there. I was there.”