#. and my ballet teacher encouraged me to speak up when i have questions

[varricscrossbowbianca]

so since masks arent mandatory on public transport anymore, people on the train were coughing on purpose in every direction uuargh i need some chocolate to calm down

[theclumsydancerblog]

The Type of Dance Teacher I Could Be...

My teaching days started when I was sixteen years old, starting out assisting a ballet teacher with her tiny tots class (3 - 4 year olds). As a teenager who wasn't around younger children that much, I am proud of how much I have grown in teaching not only young kids but all ages as well.

When I started my university course, I stopped assisting at the ballet school to focus on my own studies. That was until after the COVID-19 pandemic that I was invited to take part in a teacher training course for aerial dancers. This training included how to make a plan for your class, roleplaying what to do in a situation when students don't get along/would misbehave in class, and how to speak in a way to keep the students engaged with what you are teaching.

The teachers around me in the Irish Aerial Creation Centre really helped me develop my teaching skills to this day as an aerial dance teacher. The way they incorporate creativity into the technique training is vital as it helps the students learn of their own individuality. Their styles of teaching tend to crossover many different styles, such as - practice style, inclusion style, and reciprocal style.

Now, with different age groups, the teaching styles do change. Reciprocal style is only used for older students, such as teenagers and adults as the age groups tend to be more careful when moving in the air. Whereas younger kids (especially kids between four and nine) would normally be better being taught through the other teaching styles mentioned.

The Inclusion Teaching Style is quite important in aerial dance teaching as it is very rare when everyone in a class is at the same level. So, as a teacher, I must adapt to how they progress and what they are capable of doing at this time. Normally when teaching, I would always have two versions of a move which I call "option 1" and "option 2". I would demonstrate both and encourage each student to try the harder option as they might surprise themselves.

Practice Teaching Style goes hand in hand with aerial dance technique teaching. We would start by demonstrating the moves first and then guide the students as they try the move at their own pace. This is a good teaching style as the student gets the time to explore ways that make the movements comfortable in their own bodies.

What I enjoy about including creativity in the class is that the students are given a chance to have the freedom to come up with something new.

Games I think are important in teaching. I tend to lean towards play-based learning for kids. In my teacher training, we were shown a few games and even got to create my own. I believe that games are great for getting the students to engage with the activity and, depending on the game, it gets the gears turning in the brains. Strictly, games are best for the beginning and end of class time, integrating them into warm-ups and cool-downs. According to danceedtips.com (a dance education blog):

"Your students love your creativity but they also need brain breaks and activities that aren't direction instruction from their teacher. Sometimes too much information can be overwhelming for dancers trying to grasp certain concepts and we need to switch up to regain their attention."

I believe that we can mix creativity with gameplay. Before I finish my class, I play "The Animal Game", which the younger students love to play. After teaching the technique class, I would set a task for the students to come up with a move or a shape within their apparatus that represents an animal. Then after a few minutes of coming up with their animal, everyone would take turns presenting what they have created while the others must guess. This pulls so much creativity from them as they get excitement and fun from the game but also the freedom to make decisions. And if the students wanted to team up, I encourage it as it builds teamwork among the class.

From working with primary school students for a workshop, it was more difficult to work with them as they didn't have much of a choice to join in. So, when I was teaching I tried to make it as inclusive as possible by incorporating games for warm-ups and then allowing the students in my group to make their own movements. This sparked excitement, even among the students who didn't want to be a part of the workshop.

What I have learned from my time teaching is adaptability. Adapting to the type of students you have as no student is the same. This is an important skill to have. When it comes to game-based learning, changing up the games is what's important as sometimes the students can get overexcited, or might have a hard time focusing.

What I hope to improve in my time teaching is how to adapt to different teaching styles as in the future, I cannot guarantee what types of students I could be working with and would want to accommodate to what they need.

[mscaitlinb]

Slow and steady wins the race

Let’s talk about teaching philosophies.

It has taken me years of training and teaching to come into my own. If you’ve read this far, you must understand that as a young dancer growing up, I was pushed to my limit and then some. While I was training to be a professional dancer, I found myself at the end of my ropes time and time again. Overworked, burned out, and beaten down. Not to mention the psychological trauma of it all too. 

Going to college allowed me to push the reset button on my training, and therein I found a fresh start. I was supported, encouraged and enlightened to be my best version with the most efficient of practices. I didn’t have to push myself past my ceiling of mental and physical capacity. I was allowed to let out the giant exhale I had been holding in for the past 18 years of my life. This propelled me into my young career post grad, which meant teaching dance. 

As I made my way into studio environments, I saw a lot of the same red flags I had personally grown up with in dance: long hours at the studio, constant fatigue and nagging injuries. And this was all happening to children 18 years and under. I knew something had to change, for the well-being of these young dancers. 

Now under equal positive and negative influence from my instructors, I knew forcing results is not ideal. It’s important for a dancer to not only understand the basic fundamentals of their dance technique, but how to efficiently move through it as well. I developed my own curriculum within my classes to properly progress the students in class. We would go from point A to point B to point C and so on. This would mean moving the class at a measured pace. We would be working on the same steps and concepts of movement for weeks to a month at a time, sometimes longer if the class needed extra practice. This idea doesn’t sit well with some studio owners, and particularly some parents. 

Let me tell you about the first group of parents who were visibly upset and confused by my teaching methods. Let’s call them The Susans. Now The Susans were a group of moms to their  4-5 years old children. They were all competitive students and I was their Ballet teacher, who they saw twice a week. Seeing as they took about 5 other classes for technique, and outside rehearsals for their competition dances, I figured what they needed was a slower paced class to focus on the fundamentals of their technique. After all, they needed to learn not only the “what” of their dancing but also the “how”. 

We would do simple exercises in the center, very little at the barre, and work on repetitive movements rather than complex sequences. What I looked forward to the most, was the fact I was going to start with a group of dancers this young and build healthy training habits early. This elated me because the older students I worked with, we toiled to weed out the bad habits and try to start fresh while still training. That wasn’t the case with these girls. My managers and fellow coworkers could see the benefit of what I was trying to do with these kids, and would go to bat for me consistently. The only group of people who had a problem were The Susans. 

They would hover outside the classroom, stare down their children and often grimace at what we were doing in class. They would ask questions after every class, which I had no problem with. I’d rather be transparent with you to let you know my methods of teaching and how I like to manage my class, pedagogically speaking. This never seemed to be enough for them to understand though. In their eyes, they wanted to see results right away. I mean, how could you? When you watch every single class week after week, you only see the slow progress working as it should. They would go straight to my managers to complain, although no action was ever taken on me because I had the full support of this company. True helicopter dance mom fashion for The Susans.

They eventually came around and could see after a year of training, their children improved their technique and continued to grow on these quality habits. They would compliment and praise my teachings at this point. While I wished I didn’t have to go through the headache of this first year training these kids, I’m glad they could see what these children gained in these ballet classes. But this is perhaps where I see the end of my studio teaching career. 

I believe I thrive in environments where I am encouraged to teach my students the way I see fit, and I feel my philosophy just doesn’t match with a studio environment, generally speaking. While most studios have changed to be more progressive in health-conscious ways, not all of them embrace it with open arms. It will always feel like an uphill battle to me, and I’m not going to give up on my professional ethics to fit in with any dance school. I’ve not only seen great results with my pedagogical practices, but great processes too. I have the power to turn my students into hard-working, curious, intelligent and mindful dancers. 

My teaching philosophy will forever and always be: slow and steady wins the race. What’s your teaching philosophies? How have they changed your students for the better? Who influenced you for your methods of practices?

[idratherdreamofjune]

@sunheart wrote in her tags on another post:

Genuinely hate being alive ... I completely understand on so many levels why you would hate being a woman. Its horrible. And then as a Christian there's this whole really ugly dynamic- that i know is probably a lie i just haven't worked out how yet- that we're the 2nd best. The afterthought. The mediocre option. Almost everything in life men are better at and it's hard to believe it's just cultural-  math logic leadership writing cooking writing physical activities on and on, and women are good at being Nice :)   Which ok i like being nice   but it's like that's my only option   I feel like any other impact i might wish to have upon the world   will be paltry in comparison to what i could do   if only i was a man.   I feel incompetent. Irrational. Emotional. Obnoxious.   I feel like I'm supposed to be a plaything for the beings that were *actually* created to be in harmony with God   like I'm not supposed to have a connection with God-  only through my husband   which what does that make me as a single childless bitch?   I can't even fulfill the main point of my existence. Jesus interacted with women but did he care about them like he did the men? David and John were named his favorites not Deborah or Hannah. And like i said i'm sure none of that's true but i don't know how and it feels awful. hate it.

   Hopefully others have shared encouragement on this already, but just in case I wanted to give some thoughts. Please know that if I sound riled at all (and I’m going to try to avoid that) I’m not upset at anyone who feels this way but am deeply upset by the enemy’s lies that so many are hurt by. As a younger believer I did struggle with some of these questions myself, and for a long time it was difficult to reconcile these concerns with the promises that God loves me.

   Your instincts are right - it is a lie that women are second best. And before I go any further let me also agree that yes, we are physically weaker than men and have other weaknesses too. But since when has weakness meant that someone is any way “less than” others? Men have weaknesses too, just different ones. That’s the nature of humanity: every person is a mixed bag of strengths and weaknesses. I’ve never heard before that men are better at cooking?? My dad literally struggles to cook a hotdog in the microwave and has never touched a grill in his life. And okay men may (possibly, not sure on this one either) be inherently better at math, but which gender is drastically underrepresented in the nursing field? I suspect there are fewer male teachers, too, though not as huge a disparity. Men are more prone to recklessness and violence - part of the reason married men live longer (gotta get that stable influence). Again yes men are physically stronger but have you watched ballet dancers (oooh i mean ballerinas, sorry there’re so few ballerinos that I forgot to differentiate) or female gymnasts? Nothing “less than” there! The famous Proverbs 31 woman is a good insight into Biblical support of female abilities and value: “strength and dignity are her clothing”, “she opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” “Let her works praise her in the gates.” (The gates were essentially the city hall or forum of ancient Israel.)

   Going back to the beginning - women were created second, true. But did God not know His own plan? He was always going to create women. And the really amazing thing that I learned in the last couple of years is that, when God says He’s going to make Adam “a helper” (Hebrew ”ezer”), that’s the same word that is used to describe God’s actions for His people throughout the Old Testament: - Exodus 18:4 “The God of my father was my help.” - 1 Samuel 7:12 “Ebenezer” means “rock of help” and is a memorial of Yaweh’s help. - Psalm 30:10 “Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper!” - Psalm 115:11 “You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord, He is their help and their shield” - Psalm 121:2 “My help comes from the Lord” - Hosea 13:9 “‘You are against Me, against your helper.’“

It is a common word for “help” used in other settings, yes, but the fact that it’s used of God illustrates that this is no poor or second-rate role. Helping - aiding - supporting - incredibly important! In fact this article I just found puts it this way:

In two cases it refers to the first woman, Eve, in Genesis 2. Three times it refers to powerful nations Israel called on for help when besieged. In the sixteen remaining cases the word refers to God as our help. He is the one who comes alongside us in our helplessness. That's the meaning of ezer. Because God is not subordinate to his creatures, any idea that an ezer-helper is inferior is untenable. In his book Man and Woman: One in Christ, Philip Payne puts it this way: "The noun used here [ezer] throughout the Old Testament does not suggest 'helper' as in 'servant,' but help, savior, rescuer, protector.'

   Moving on to the New Testament, and the topic of John, who is known as “the disciple whom Jesus loved”. John is the one who wrote the book which tells us that (under the direction of the Holy Spirit, yes) and he only uses that wording as a title, in place of his name. Nowhere does it say he was the favorite disciple, or even most loved, just that he was loved. To me it seems more as if John is saying “Jesus loved me! Can you believe it?!” It has a feeling of awe and thankfulness as opposed to superiority.

  Getting into marriage specifically, I do believe that a wife should be under the headship of her husband ...mainly in the sense of letting him have the last word on decisions and plans. This is in part due to differing areas of strength, and in part because in some situations it’s better to have a family leader - most groups of humans need a leader, and following an assigned (or picked) leader does not make one inferior. All that being said, a wife should be able to provide input, advice, and feedback to her husband, who should take into strong consideration his wife’s needs, insights, and concerns (Ephesians 5:25-29).

   The lie that women cannot be connected to God outside of their husband is refuted not only by all the vibrantly faithful single or windowed Christian ladies of history (Amy Carmichael, Gladys Aylward, Mary Slessor, and Elisabeth Elliot are some of my favorites) but also Scripture itself. When Christ spoke with the divorced Samaritan woman the disciples were shocked not because she was a Samaritan but because she was a woman (John 4:27; she was shocked on both counts - John 4:9) - I hope they got used to it because Jesus spoke with women a lot. Despite the culture of the time, Jesus clearly had very warm and caring direct relationships with Martha and Mary, Mary Magdalene, and other women. Anna the Prophetess in the temple had been widowed for decades and was serving God alone “night and day” (Luke 2:37). Incredibly, in a culture where women were looked down upon, the Lord chose women to be the first to discover the empty tomb, and Mary Magdalene to be the first to see the risen Christ! I love that passage so much (John 20:11-18).

   Another example is when Jesus stopped on His way to heal Jairus’ daughter (i.e. He put aside a powerful man’s urgent request) to lovingly interact with the woman who’d suffered bleeding for years - a terribly personal and female problem (Mark 5:21-35).

   To try to wrap up, I’ll return to David in the OT, who was a “man after God’s own heart”. But again, it doesn’t say that he was actually a favorite - it does say David was chosen by God though, to lead Israel and establish the family from which Jesus would ultimately come. You know who else was chosen? Esther - “for such a time as this”. Once she realizes the task she must complete, she tells Mordecai how it’s going to go, and “Mordecai then went away and did everything Esther had ordered him.” Esther gets a book named after her and is remembered in the holiday of Purim to this day. Also note that Esther was married to an unbeliever. Likewise Ruth was chosen, as a young foreign widow, to be part of the Messiah’s kingly line. As an aside, my favorite thing about Ruth’s story (besides all the faith and beauty of it) is the simultaneous deep respect and protectiveness Boaz shows towards her (okay enough mush). Anyhow what it comes down to is that God chooses and loves both men and women, and both have a place (singly and married) in His plans and kingdom. See also Galatians 3:28 “ There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

   This post has all over the place, and I probably forgot a bunch of things I wanted to add (if anything else comes to mind I’ll add it later), but I hope it’s been encouraging. Yes I’ve struggled with some aspects of how women are portrayed in the Bible, but what I shared above, plus the love and blessings I’ve known as a single woman are more than enough evidence that we are known and loved. If anything is unclear or anyone has any questions please speak out/send an ask! Anon asks are on too. Also if anyone wants to add or amend anything do so without hesitation!!

[olliepig]

Centre Stage - chapter 9

As ever, massive thanks to beta extraordinaire @willow-salix for all her help on this. 

The whole fic can also be found on AO3 here. 

************************

“Not wanting to be rude, but can I just ask why there’s so much glitter everywhere?” Selene enquired, ignoring Scott’s snort of laughter as she took in the dressing room surfaces that were all caked in a fine sheen, carefully selecting a seat that seemed relatively free from the worst of it.

“Ugh, it's from The Nutcracker. Sorry, it gets everywhere,” Cat apologised, undoing the ribbons of her shoes and starting to pull bits of tape off her toes. “We'll finally get rid of it all in about October and have a few weeks of respite before we start all over again. I was vaguely sparkly til about February this year which was a new record. Some of it comes home with me every day so just be careful where you lean or sit.”

“Thanks for the warning, I’m not sure glitter is the best look for me,” Selene laughed.

“Yeah, it doesn’t exactly go with the all black, scary witch look does it?” Scott jested, dodging the pointe shoe that Cat had just handed to Selene for the express purpose of lobbing at him.

Virgil and Cat exchanged smiles and rolled eyes as their companions bickered good naturedly, knowing that their earlier peace had been well and truly shattered.

“So, how was it this afternoon then?” Scott asked, effectively changing the subject as he casually flung himself into a chair and made himself at home.

“It was great, wasn’t it?” Cat replied, turning to smile warmly at Virgil as she wondered fondly how Scott somehow always managed to look like he owned the place no matter where he went or what he was doing

“Yeah, Lily had a great time and she’s really excited about seeing the show tonight so I think we made a little girl very happy,” Virgil elaborated.

“I think so,” Cat agreed. “She’s a good little dancer too. She did really well so it’ll be interesting to see how she gets on as she gets older.”

“Do you think you’ll keep in touch with her?” Selene asked, spotting some costumes on a rail in the corner and heading over to investigate, quickly followed by Scott.

“I don’t know,” Cat admitted, looking up as she massaged her foot absentmindedly, trying to release some of the knots in the muscles now that her long day of rehearsals was finally over. “I’d like to but it might depend on circumstances a little. I’m not sure how much I could actually do to help her at this stage aside from some private coaching, but it’s not something I’ve ever done before so I wouldn't know where to start.”

“I’m sure she’d love whatever help you could give,” Scott encouraged, pulling a tutu out from the costume rail and holding it up against himself. “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot,” Virgil declared, turning back to Cat before anyone else could speak. “Based on today, I’d say you’d be a great coach. You did so well with Lily and her mom told me that you were the best teacher she’d had so it’s not just me saying that either.”

“You’re too kind,” Cat blushed, busying herself in her task to avoid having to make eye contact with anyone, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Not at all,” Virgil pressed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more patient teacher myself either, so it’s not all one sided.”

“Wait, what?” Scott spluttered incredulously before Cat had a chance to answer, his brain catching up with the implication of what Virgil had just said. “Cat was teaching you, too? I thought this was about Lily getting to be a fairy for the day, not you getting ballet lessons?”

“It was,” Virgil explained equably, rather enjoying his brother's response. “But she was worried that Cat would feel left out if she was dancing with Mark so I agreed to be Cat’s prince for a while.”

“He was very good at it too,” Cat continued, throwing a big smile at Virgil. “Next time I need a partner, I definitely know who I’m gonna call.”

Despite initially feeling that dancing so closely with his brother's girlfriend was perhaps crossing a line that he wasn’t very comfortable with, in the end Virgil had thoroughly enjoyed his time in the studio. It had come as no surprise to him that ballet was nowhere near as easy as Cat made it look; during the afternoon, he had discovered muscles that he didn't even know existed and a nagging suspicion was growing that they would all be aching in the morning.

“I did nearly knock you over a couple of times though,” he grimaced, remembering the shriek Cat had let out as she’d overbalanced and nearly fallen.

“You’ve still got a better record than Mark some days,” Cat laughed as her foot let out a loud crack. “He’s dropped me so many times that I’ve given up even counting any more.”

“OK then big guy,” Selene piped up, jumping up and holding out her hand “Show me some of your moves.”

A knock on the door interrupted any answer, quickly swinging open to reveal one of the ballet masters from the company, on the hunt for Cat.

“Sorry to bother you when you’ve got guests,” Gary started apologetically, nodding a greeting to the other occupants of the room, his eyes widening slightly as he realised who they were. “Irina’s back has just spasmed and she’s out for tonight. Steven was wondering if there’s any chance you could step in for her?”

“Of course,” Cat answered without hesitation, her eyes meeting Scott’s in a brief apology before turning back to her colleague. “Is she OK?”

Having three guests who had travelled a long way to go out for dinner and drinks that night complicated things slightly, but there had been no question in her mind as to whether she would do it. Injuries that meant a missed performance weren’t that common but they were a hazard of the job and it was up to the rest of the company to pull together when they occurred.

“She’ll be fine in a few days. It seems to be nothing that some rest and heat won’t solve,” Gary informed her, watching her shrewdly, knowing what was likely going through her mind.

“Well that’s something at least,” she agreed as she began to wind her hair back into a bun, relieved that nothing more serious had happened.

“Do you think we’d be able to get tickets for tonight?” Virgil asked, glancing over to Scott and Selene and receiving matching nods of agreement.

“I’m not sure,” Gary replied. “I think it’s a full house but I can check it with the box office and if there’s no availability, we can arrange for you to watch from the wings, seeing as it’s exceptional circumstances.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Selene smiled, sitting herself back down and wondering what happened next.

“Right, is there a studio available?” Cat asked, taking charge of the conversation, her mind already running through what she would need to do in order to be ready to perform in a few hours’ time. “I’ve not danced it with Ivan before so we’ll need to run a few things before the show.”

“The Ashton is free for you,” Gary advised, his hand already on the door handle. “He should be on his way up there by now so just pop up as soon as you’re ready.”

“Perfect,” Cat acknowledged, giving Gary a nod as he took his leave before turning to her companions. “Sorry about this. It’s not exactly how I thought we’d be spending the evening. You guys are more than welcome to still go for dinner if you want and I can catch you up later?”

“Don’t be silly, of course we’ll stay and support you,” Scott told her, placing a quick kiss on her cheek, keen not to disturb her too much as she grabbed her phone and started typing out a quick message. “If there’s anyone in the world that knows a thing or two about plans being derailed by work, it’s us, so you really don’t need to worry.”

“Agreed,” Selene added. “Anyway, I’ve always fancied a night at the ballet so it’s worked out pretty well if you ask me.”

“Definitely,” Virgil nodded his agreement. “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“What’re we actually going to be watching tonight?” Selene asked, watching Scott carefully as he hovered around, clearly with something to say.

“Coppelia,” Cat replied absently, finishing the text she was sending and grabbing a nearby bag, tipping several pairs of pointe shoes onto the floor before joining them herself, her mind working overtime trying to decide which ones she should wear that night.

“But that’s three acts,” Scott cried, his horrified tone making her look up in surprise as he crouched down beside her. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK doing that?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cat reassured, slipping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him toward her, their foreheads resting together in a pose that had always brought them comfort. “I’ve just messaged Mark asking him if he’ll grab me some dinner from the canteen and there’s only a couple of pas de deux that I need to go through with Ivan so it shouldn’t take long. Then I can have a bit of a rest before I need to start getting ready.”

“OK, well, so long as you’re sure,” Scott conceded, pulling back to allow her continue what she had been doing.

“It’s not the first time I’ve stepped in at the last minute, nor will it be the last,” Cat smiled, seeing the tension leaving Scott’s shoulders as he continued to sit beside her, now idly playing with the ribbons from a pair of discarded shoes.

Selene and Virgil exchanged looks, impressed at how Cat had seamlessly handled Scott’s overprotective nature.

“Is this something that you have to do quite a lot?” Virgil queried, interested to find out more of the workings of the company now that the tension had died down a little.

“Every so often,” Cat shrugged, finally finding a pair of shoes that she thought would do her for the evening, quickly slipping them on and tying the ribbons as she spoke. “We have multiple casts for every ballet as well as understudies so there’s always going to be someone around to take over if an injury happens. My main concern just now is that I’ve not danced the bloody thing for about six weeks so I might be a bit rusty in places.”

“How do you remember all the steps?” Selene asked as Cat shouldered her bag and hustled them out of the room, handing Scott a rehearsal tutu to carry as she did so.

“Muscle memory,” Cat shrugged, as they made their way down the corridor towards the studios. “We do so much practice that when the music starts you don’t even need to really think about it. In an ideal world, we’d have a chance to run the whole thing before going on tonight but that’s not going to happen.”

She paused as the lift doors slid open, waiting for everyone to get in before continuing, shooting a quick smile of reassurance at Scott as she spoke.

“I do need to have a break at some point so I’ll just need to think my way through it. In the past, I’ve just listened to the music and it’s all come back so I’ll probably do that tonight. It’s like rehearsing but without the sore feet,” she laughed, pleased to see that at least Virgil and Selene were nodding along as if they understood her, even if Scott looked slightly lost.

“Visualisation is such a powerful thing,” Selene agreed as the lift let out a loud ding, signalling their arrival.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Cat smiled, leading them through more corridors and past an impressive looking fitness suite that had Scott and Virgil wishing they could stay and investigate it further. “It was something we were taught at school and I remember thinking it was complete rubbish at the time but the older I’ve got, the more invaluable it’s become.”

“Is that cos you’re getting a bit creaky now?” Scott teased, dodging a well-aimed elbow from Cat.

“You tell me, old man,” she shot back to sniggers from Virgil and Selene. “If I’m creaky, that must make you practically geriatric.”

“Shocking,” Scott countered, clutching his hand to his heart. “That’s no way to talk to your elders.”

“Oh, shut it, you,” Cat grinned, pushing open a heavy door and ushering them into a large, airy studio, nodding a greeting to the young Russian dancer already present who was to be her partner for the night.  

Wondering what she had done to deserve such a supportive boyfriend and surrogate family, Cat could only smile as she watched them taking their seats at the front of the studio before turning back to her task, pushing all other thoughts out of her mind.

-x-

“Do you think they’ll get the flowers delivered in time?” Selene asked quietly as they waited outside the dressing room for Cat to emerge, all three of them having been kicked out while she got into her first costume for the night.

“I hope so,” Scott replied, checking his watch as a nearby speaker announced that it was fifteen minutes until curtain up. “They’ve never let me down before but I’ve never had to order them on the day of the show either so I don’t know.”

“Is it just me or are they five minutes early?” Virgil asked, his own watch showing twenty minutes until the show was due to start.

“Maybe they’ve met you at some point?” quipped Selene with a wink.  

“It’s a theatre thing,” Scott replied knowingly, cutting his brother off before he could defend himself against the accusation levelled at him. “I don’t really know why but apparently it’s just how it’s done.” “Theatre folk are weird,” Selene agreed with a shrug just as the door behind her opened, revealing Cat looking every inch the ballerina that she was. “No offence,” she added, turning to the dancer.

“None taken,” Cat accepted smoothly. “Shall we get going then?”

Scott smiled, her hand warm as she slipped it into his on their way down to the stage. He could hear his brother's voice from somewhere behind him as they crossed the giant scenery dock, telling Selene about some of the scenery that he had no doubt been looking at earlier in the day. It almost seemed funny to him that these surroundings no longer seemed strange to him when he had only been a part of this world through his association with Cat for a few months less than a year.

“How’re you feeling?” he murmured as they made their way ever closer to the double doors that would lead directly to the stage.

“Bit nervous,” Cat admitted, grateful for the immediate squeeze of support that he gave her. “There’s a lot of people out there tonight and I don’t want to let them down.”

“You’ll be brilliant,” Scott reassured her. “I don’t just think, I KNOW you’ve got this nailed down in your head so just go out there, enjoy yourself and the story will shine through.”

“Thanks,” Cat smiled. “What would I do without you to support me?”

“Exactly what you did before you met me,” Scott grinned. “You’d go out and absolutely smash it because that’s what you do best.”

Unable to argue, Cat just smiled as they reached the heavy doors, letting Scott hold them open as they waited for Virgil and Selene to catch up. Entering the darkness of backstage, it took a moment for their eyes to fully adjust as Cat led the way behind the stage, greeting other dancers as she went.

Virgil found himself completely transfixed by the cathedral like space before him. Everywhere he looked, there was something else demanding his attention. A beautifully detailed town square stood on the stage, illuminated by row upon row of lights hanging on battens high above as dancers clustered in groups performed stretches that made him hurt just to look at, while others warmed up turns and lifts on the stage, hidden from view of the audience by a pair of enormous red curtains.

“This place is amazing,” he whispered to Scott as they walked, letting the girls go on ahead. “I can’t believe you never told me how huge it was.”

“I never really thought about it,” admitted Scott. “The first time I was here I was a bit distracted by a certain someone, and then it just became normal I guess and I stopped really noticing it.”

“Trust you,” Selene called over her shoulder while Cat did her best to stifle a laugh.

Unrepentant, Scott just grinned back, standing by his statement as Virgil shook his head helplessly, knowing that his brother was unlikely to ever change.

“I’m going to have to leave you guys here I’m afraid,” Cat informed them, a member of stage management appearing to usher her guests to their seats in the wings.

“Good luck,” Selene told her, giving her a quick hug, the nervous energy of her friend crackling around her.

“Break a leg,” Virgil added, giving her a hug that she was almost certain could crush the air out of her entirely if he wanted.

Watching as Scott wordlessly took her in his arms, their foreheads pressed together once more, Selene squinted slightly, revealing the black aura surrounding the dancer slowly becoming blue and then red as his presence calmed and grounded her, releasing the nerves and replacing them with focus for the job ahead.

All too soon, Scott had to let go, a final few whispered words of encouragement finding their way to her before she was gone, moving into her world on the stage. His eyes tracked her every move as he was ushered away, feeling strangely like she was going somewhere he could never follow.

“She’ll be fine,” Selene reassured him as they took their seats, seeing the way that his brow was knitted together in worry. “I think you’re more worried than she is.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “It’s just hard knowing that there’s nothing I can do to help.”

“You’ve already done more for her than you know,” she smiled, giving him a reassuring pat on the leg. The atmosphere continued to crackle around her, reaching a crescendo as the stage was cleared, the unmistakable sound of the orchestra beginning to filter through the giant curtains that separated them from the public spaces of the theatre.

A hush fell on the wings as the overture played, the chatting and joking between colleagues that had been going on around them now replaced by focus as everyone concentrated on their particular roles to ensure the performance went off without a hitch. Sitting quietly, Scott couldn’t take his eyes off Cat as she stood talking quietly with Ivan, hands flying animatedly as they illustrated their discussion, clearly still working out some of the finer details for their performance. When the conversation was over, a quick hug and high five preceded his departure, heading purposefully around the back of the stage and leaving her alone, looking somehow smaller and more fragile than he thought she ever had.

As the whir of machinery beside them signalled the lifting of the curtains, he watched as she took a deep breath, calming her breathing before reaching down to check her shoes one final time. A few steps back and forward on pointe seemed to relax her as she listened intently to the music, waiting for the exact right moment to open the door of the set in front of her and disappear into her domain, a round of applause from the audience greeting her arrival.

-x-

It was a different Cat that greeted them at the end of the curtain calls, flying into Scott’s open arms for an all too brief embrace before being swept away again, a multitude of friends and colleagues demanding her attention as she rode the adrenaline high of a job well done.

“How is she even still upright after that?” Virgil wondered, thinking back to his own brief experiences in the studio earlier in the day and how exhausting they had been.

“Sheer bloodyminded determination,” Scott replied knowingly, watching her fondly as she talked to the director of the company, experience telling him that it wouldn’t be long after they got back home that she’d crash completely, likely falling asleep curled up next to him, her head balanced on his shoulder. “At least she said that today had been an easy day.”

“I think her exact words were ‘only five hours of rehearsals’,” Selene chipped in. “Remind me to talk to both of you at some point about what the word ‘easy’ actually means, because I’m not sure either of you understand it properly.”

“Well, the rehearsal I saw certainly looked pretty tiring,” Virgil agreed as Scott good naturedly rolled his eyes at her, the memory of the panting heap of dancers that followed their performance of the pas de deux earlier still fresh in his mind.

“Ya know,” Selene added, a glint appearing in her eye. “If she’s able to do that after dancing all day, I think she might actually be fitter than any of you guys.”

“You’re probably right there,” Scott agreed cheerfully as invited guests who had been seated in the auditorium began to filter onto the stage, their eyes wide with wonder at the sheer scale of it, suddenly remembering when that had been him.

Spotting Cat now deep in conversation with a woman and child, Selene nudged Virgil who had become distracted and was closely inspecting one of the lighting booms standing in the wings. “Is that Lily and her mum over there?”

“Sure is,” he smiled, enjoying seeing her excitement as she inspected Cat’s tutu and headdress, delicately reaching out to touch the material as if it might break.

“Should we go and say hello?” Scott asked.

“Give them a few minutes,” Virgil advised. “She’s so excited about meeting the dancers and I don’t want to distract her attention. They’ve earned it.”

“Good call,” Scott agreed, watching his girl with interest as she hurried into the wings, returning a few moments later with a pair of pointe shoes and presenting them to Lily as a souvenir of the night.

“She’s good with her, isn’t she?” Selene mused as the girl’s squeals of delight carried across the stage to them.

“She's been great all day,” Virgil agreed. “She’ll be a brilliant coach one day, I’m sure of it.”

Scott nodded his agreement, wondering why he’d never even considered what Cat might do once her career on the stage was over. He’d always known that dancers careers were short and that Cat would kill him if he even suggested that she might be more than halfway through hers already, but what might happen next was something that they’d never thought to discuss before.  

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about actually,” Virgil said, cutting into a daydream of her no longer being tied to London and moving to the island with him. “It’s not directly related but I think it might be something she might be interested in.”

His interest piqued, Scott’s attention snapped to his brother, wondering what he was about to suggest. “Go on.”

“Well, we had a pretty good chat earlier about funding for the arts and ballet in particular, and she said that there was a real issue with access for kids from deprived backgrounds,” Virgil explained.

“OK...” Scott encouraged, suspecting he knew where this was going.

“She said that there would be lots of kids out there like Lily who are talented but won't ever get the chance to make a career out of it because it’s too expensive,” Virgil elaborated, “so I was wondering what you thought about setting something up that could help with that?”

“Now that’s not something I’ve ever really thought about,” mused Scott, the logistics immediately beginning to run through his head.

There was already a well funded branch of Tracy Industries that was responsible for all manner of humanitarian and conservation projects around the globe, along with providing funding for numerous scholarships and internships to help give talented people from less privileged backgrounds the opportunities that may otherwise be denied them. A fund for the arts wouldn’t be beyond their usual remit, he thought, and it would certainly broaden their horizons somewhat.

“It’s not something we need to make a decision on immediately,” Virgil added, sensing the cogs turning in Scott’s brain. “It’s just something I thought could make a real difference to people.”

“It’s a good idea,” Scott agreed, liking the sound of it more and more as it settled in his mind. “We’ll run some numbers and take a look at what the logistics might be and we can make a decision from there.”

“What’re we making a decision on?” asked Selene, wandering back over from where she’d found herself engaged in conversation with some of the stage management.

“Just an idea for some charity stuff,” Scott answered quickly, keen not to get drawn into a further conversation, especially as he could see Cat beckoning them over.

Looking around the stage as the others made small talk with Lily and her mum, Scott’s mind continued to turn over Virgil’s suggestion, unable to deny that it was a good idea and one that Cat in particular would be excited about. A smile flitted across his face as he thought of how pleased she would be when he told her about it, solidifying his decision to keep it to himself until it became something more tangible.

“I think it’s time to get out of here” Cat declared, gathering up her large bouquet as the group said goodnight and the remaining guests were shepherded off the stage.

Scott nodded in agreement. It had been an amazing night that had given him much to think about but for now, there was a beer with his name on it somewhere out there and he was very keen to get out of the theatre and find it.

[revengeoftheantichrist]

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Manipulation, Inappropriate behaviour at the dinner table, cock-warming 

AO3  <<<Previous

Chapter 7: Honeymoon

The journey to Paris had been a long, you spent most of it sleeping off the remnants of your fever in Michaels arms. Michael had spent the time writing away and reading documents in languages you were never taught. But you had finally arrived. The sights, sounds and smells had you in awe. The city was worlds away from your gloomy English castle.

You were staying in a large townhouse in the city, passed down to Michael from his grandmother. It was clear that old French nobility once resided in this place. The balconies were lush with greenery and gave you beautiful views of the city. The interior was illuminated with natural light during the daytime. The soft glow of the candles added to the romance at night.

Michael had surprised you with a new wardrobe just for the trip, waiting ready for your arrival. After taking a nap, he took you on a boat tour of the river, seeing the famous sights if the city in person. That night he had a meal prepared in your townhouse, the finest of French cuisine.

////

On your second day, you went shopping. Hearing the prices of some of the items your husband had bought almost made you faint. He made good on his promise and took you to the finest cloth merchants in Europe. The shelves were lined with the finest Chinese silks, Indian cottons and the softest of velvets. Your mind was racing with what you could do with them, the designs you could bring to life.

“Anything you want my love, it’s all yours,” Michael whispered to you, kissing your hand.

You walked further into the shop, going to inspect the fabrics you wanted, Michael stayed behind to talk to the shop owner.

“What happened to the blonde one?” asked the owner. Michael just shrugged. “Poor girl, she’s very pretty but nothing lasts that long once you have your hands on it. I always wonder who you’ll bring in next.”

Michael glared at him, “Keep your mouth shut, you’re lucky she does not speak the language, she’s got sharp ears. To answer your question, she will be the last.”

The owner looked sceptical, “that’s what you said last time.”

They stopped talking as you made your way back, having chosen the fabrics you wanted. The owner went to cut your pieces for you, totalling up the bill and preparing to send them to your current lodgings. You smiled at Michael, “the bill is still less than what you spent two hours ago.”

“well, you can’t put a price on looking good,” he laughed. You both walked out, onto the next destination.

////

Your third day was spent in museums. You think you saw Michael’s face in the statues from the ancient world.

Most of your day was spent in the louvre, looking at the pieces you had only read about, never thinking you’d be able to see them.

“This museum is very big my love, is there anything in particular you’d like to see?” Michael asked.

“’Psyche revived by cupids kiss’,” you blurted out.

Michael chuckled, “Of course my love,” gripping your hand and leading you towards the statue.

You gasped as you saw it, gripping Michael’s hand tighter. “It’s so pretty in person.” The sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating the faces on the statues. Cupid’s look of relief and adoration was prominent in the detailing.

Michael looked at you the same way.

“Do you like it my love?” he wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes, but Michael we’re in public you’re being scandalous,” you chided.

“Hmm?” he raised his eyebrow. He trailed his hand down your arm, holding your gloved hand, before slowly pulling the glove off. You blushed at the gesture, looking around to see if anyone was watching. He began to place kisses on your cheek and neck. Stroking your now bare palm with his thumb. The action making you shudder.

“M- Michael no is not the time nor place!” you blushed.

Before he could go any further, you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. It was Mr. Shepherd.

“Nice to see you here Langdon,” He greeted, winking at you. Michael huffed and stopped what he was doing, standing up straight and putting your glove back on your hand.

“Wish I could say the same about you Shepherd,” Michael bit back.

“Fine then, I’ll talk to your beautiful wife,” Duncan turned to you, “How are you Lady Langdon? I hope your injury is feeling a little better now.”

“I’m very well thank you for asking, I’m healing well thanks to my Husband,” you replied. Michael’s grip on your wrist got painfully tighter. “How’s Miss Vanderbilt?”

“She’s well, still in the US, I’ll be returning to her after a stop in Geneva.”

“We have things to do today, so if you’ll excuse us,” Michael interrupted.

Michael started to drag you out, but he was stopped by Duncan, “Join me for dinner at least?”

Michael huffed and mumbled a ‘fine’.

The three of you headed to dinner, the conversation about business, making you zone out. You were brought back to the conversation by Michaels hand trailing up your thigh, you bit your tongue to keep your sounds at bay. He took your hand under the table, placing it over his trousers, making you feel his hardness. He moved your hand up and down, giving you a steady rhythm and encouraging you to do it by yourself. You lightly stroked him through his slacks, feeling him twitch occasionally.

“I’ll be back,” Shepherd left the table. Michael stopped your hand.

“Get under the table,” he ordered. You looked at him, mortified. He rolled his eyes and pulled you under. Sitting In front of you and pulling his hardness out. “Keep quiet,” He whispered. “Open your mouth,” Stroking his thumb over your lips.

You looked up at him with your doe-like eyes, hesitating a little before slowly opening your mouth. He rubbed his pre-cum around him, before pulling your head towards him. “Don’t bite,” he warned. You took him into your mouth, Blushing at the situation. He hissed at the feeling of your tongue working around him. He composed himself as Duncan came back.

“Where’d your wife go?”

“She’s feeling a little nauseous, she’s gone upstairs to rest a bit, she’ll be back for dessert,” he punctuated with a thrust, making you gag.

“What was that noise?”

“what noise?”

Duncan shook his head, thinking he must be hearing things. Michael tugged on your hair as a warning.

The conversation started again, you slowly moved up and down his length, using your hand for what you couldn’t take yet. He began to twitch again, taking breaks in the conversation and blaming his ‘tiredness’. All Duncan had to do was look down or move his feet slightly forward to catch you out in this humiliating position. But you had to admit, the thrill of it made you tingle.

Duncan finally left the table again. Michael pushed the table back and looked down at you, grinning. “If only he knew what a whore you were for me,” gripping your hair and thrusting into your mouth rapidly. He came with a loud groan. “Don’t you dare swallow, or I’ll take you in front of him and the whole staff, understood?” he warned.

You pulled off with a ‘pop’, rapidly nodding with tears in your eyes. He helped you up back to your seat. Readjusting your dress and hair so you’d look presentable. He took a napkin and wiped your eyes. Kissing your cheek before Duncan made his way back.

“Feeling any better Mrs Langdon?” All you could do was nod.

“She gets quiet when she’s sick, so don’t mind her,” Michael waved off, resuming whatever conversation they were having, you occasionally nodding to any questions asked to you.

Duncan finally left after what felt like forever. Michael turned to you, gripping your chin. “Open your mouth little dove, I want to see if you can follow instructions.”

You opened your mouth, showing him the mixture of your spit and his salty semen. He hummed in approval, moving your head around, watching it coat the inside of your mouth. “Always a good girl for me.”

He kissed you, open mouthed and tasting himself. Some of it dripping out and down your chins. He pulled away and made you swallow what remained. You finally looked at him again. Your lips both swollen and mouths glistening. The image was so erotic, you leaned up to kiss him again, hard; gripping his hair and pulling him closer, wanting to do nothing more than consume him, to swallow him whole. He pulled away, looking at you with glassy eyes, “Lets take this upstairs,” dragging you up to return the favour, to satiate the hunger.

////

The fourth day was spent at Versailles, you think that Michael would fit right into a place like this, the thought making you giggle.

“What is it?”

“I think this place is very you, that’s all.”

“What do you mean about that?”

“gaudy, over the top and very expensive,” you smiled.

He stopped and stared at you, looking offended. You started to laugh, hard enough to start crying.

“I am no longer sharing my desserts with you,” he pouted, sticking his tongue out at you.

The joy had almost made you forget about his antics in the city two years ago.

Almost.

On your fourth night, you had been invited to dinner by the Director of the Robichaux Ballet company. Constance Langdon had been a patron of the arts in France, Michael’s own mother was a known cellist. He had continued to sponsor the dance academy after Constance had passed.

You were greeted by Miss Cordelia Goode, the former Prima and now director.

“Lord and Lady Langdon, what an honour it is to have you here tonight.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here, I’ve heard a lot about the talents of your girls, news travels as far as my little village too,” you replied.

She took you on a tour of the facility, finally leading you to the dining room, where you were to dine with the current roster.

“This is our new Prima, Mallory,” Cordelia presented a mousey brunette, Michael greeted her and kissed her hand, sending a wave of jealousy through you.

You were finally seated for the feast. Only able to speak to some of the girls as most of them only spoke French. A red-head teacher, Myrtle, looked at you with worry, but you dismissed it. Michael and Cordelia getting into a heated conversation.

“You know why I’ve invited you Michael, where’s Madison?” quizzed Cordelia.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“My former Prima followed you back to England, after you had taken her honour. You promised marriage, remember? And now you bring another bride here?”

“Madison never came to me. I have no letters, no correspondence. Are you trying to accuse me of something?” Michael sipped his wine.

“Then where is she? My best dancer would not just run off like that,” she shot back.

“She might have wanted a different life and never came back, using me as an excuse to get away.”

“She would have at least written to me. Does your wife know about her? about your nights in this city? About your affair with the most sought out dancer in Europe?”

“No, she does not. And it will stay that way. I’m putting my past behind me now, looking forward to a future,” he held your hand.

“She’ll find out what type of monster you are soon enough, you’re lucky she doesn’t speak French,” she ended the conversation, going back to her own meal. Michael started to converse with Mallory, his new beneficiary.

There was a slight issue with Michael’s attempts to keep secrets. You spoke and understood French, he just didn’t know.

You sat and silently picked at your food. Myrtle gave you a knowing look. You hoped she understood that you wanted to keep your unknown skill a secret.

The revelation of the missing girl and Michael’s former lover weighed heavy on your mind. Were you just a replacement? Would you be replaced by Mallory? Something told you Michael knew exactly where Madison was; she wasn’t ‘missing’.

Next>>>

[youngjusticeslut]

Center Stage (Chapter 4)

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Characters: Adora, Catra, Glimmer, Bow, Mermista, Sea Hawk, Kyle, Perfuma, Frosta, Angella, Micah, Shadow Weaver Ships: Catradora, Glimbow, Seamista, Kygelio, Scorptra Rating: T+ Summary: A Catradora Ballet School AU AO3

Adora wakes up long before her alarm goes off.

First day of classes. Big day. Her phone tells her it’s a little past six in the morning, and a quick glance to the side of the room tells her that Glimmer is gone, bed unkempt. Carefully, she crawls out of bed, hoping not to wake Catra. Though judging by the girl’s soft snores, there’s not much to worry about.

Six am means she has two hours to kill before her first class. Two hours is plenty of time. Enough for a quick workout, a thorough stretch session, and maybe even a bit of breakfast. If her stomach calms down enough to eat, that is.

From her bedside table, she grabs her earphones and plugs them into her phone. Quiet as can be, she starts with a series of pushups, followed by crunches, bicycle kicks, and leg lifts. Three sets, rinse and repeat. It helps Adora work her nerves out, and lucky for her, Catra sleeps through the entire thing, unaware of it all. She takes extra time to stretch out her muscles, especially her feet. They’d be put through the ringer today, the least she can do is prepare them for what’s to come.

By the time she showers and grabs a couple of muffins from the cafeteria, Catra’s just waking up. She smiles, seeing her awake when she enters the room. Glimmer is still nowhere to be found, it seems. “Hey there,” Adora greets softly, trying not to startle her roommate. “Late start?”

“Not an early riser,” the brunette responds. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty. Still got about thirty minutes until class.”

“Shit.” As if on cue, Catra’s stomach growls. She glances away in mild embarrassment.  

“It’s okay,” Adora says, tossing her a muffin. Catra catches it without missing a bit. “I came prepared.”

Adora tries not to relish the look of surprise on Catra’s face. Score a point to her, for being the best roommate ever. As Catra nibbles on the muffin, Adora rifles through her drawers, pulling out her black leotards and pink tights. Boring, but apparently the required uniform at Bright Moon.

She keeps her back to Catra as she’s changing, humming to herself as a distraction. At the moment, she doesn’t even remember the name of the song she’s humming. It’s a Spanish one, something Mara would sing most mornings as she made breakfast. The routine quells the little bit of homesickness that she’s feeling.

Once she’s dressed, she walks over to the mirror and starts to pin up her hair. By now, Catra’s finished the muffin and has also begun to get dressed. “Want to walk to class together?” she asks, hoping to continue extending the olive branch. She’s not great at making friends, but she promised Mara and Razz that she’d make a better effort at it.

“Uh, sure. I have to brush my teeth, though.”

“That’s okay, I’ll—wait, is that what you’re wearing?”

Catra glances up from adjusting the straps on her leotard. “Yeah?” She pauses, cocks her head to the side and gives a little smirk. “Doesn’t suit your taste?” Unlike Adora, she wears red, with nude colored tights. It looks far better than it should, and Adora can’t help the blush that tints her cheeks.

The question leaves Adora flustered, more than it probably should. It’s too early for this. “What? No. No, it’s fine. Cool actually, super— I mean…” She stops rambling and collects herself with a deep breath. “What you’re wearing is nice, but Bright Moon has a uniform.”

“Uniform?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you read the orientation packet?”

Catra’s face says that she very much hadn’t, but the girl shrugs it off and takes off the hair tie from around her wrist. “Whatever. It’ll make me stand out.”

“I don’t think it works like that. What if you get in trouble?”

The brunette pauses from tying up her hair, shooting a quick look at Adora. “Worried about me?”

Adora scoffs and crosses her arms. “I’m trying to save you from getting your ass kicked out on the first day.”

“They won’t throw me out. Trust me, once they see me dance, they’ll forget all about what I’m wearing.” Her words are strong, but something in Catra’s eyes doesn’t exactly convince Adora. It comes off more like a front, a facade to protect her. Part of her wants to call Catra out on it, but something stops her. Truthfully, it’s none of her business. Who is Adora to stop Catra from doing what she wants?

“Hey, it’s your funeral,” Adora ends up saying.

Catra finishes to tie up her hair, leaving it in a sloppy bun with bangs framing her face. It’s a stark contrast to Adora’s sleek, neat do. “I appreciate the concern,” she says with a wink.

While Catra scoots past her into their shared bathroom to brush her teeth, Adora checks the time on her phone. Class starts in fifteen minutes. She pulls at her fingers for something to do, resisting the urge to chew on her lip. They’re cutting it awfully close. What if all the good spots are taken by the time they get there? She really wants to show up early, scope out the other girls, make a good impression on the teachers.

“Almost ready?” It comes with a bit of a whine, and Adora mentally kicks herself. Now Catra probably thinks she’s such a goody-goody. It doesn’t matter, though. There’s no answer. “Catra?”

“Nearly done. If it’s getting close, go on ahead.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll catch up.”

Permission granted, Adora grabs her already-packed ballet bag and slings it over her shoulder. She barely remembers to grab her room keys on her way out the door. Part of her feels guilty for leaving Catra behind, but she really doesn’t want to be late. Especially not on the first day.

Thanks to her strategic mapping technique from the day before, Adora is able to make it to class in less than five minutes. The dorms aren’t too far from this particular studio, and for that Adora is eternally grateful. As expected, several girls are already there in various points of preparing their pointe shoes. Glimmer stands off to the side, testing out a shiny pair of shoes. In comparison, Adora’s faded ones look abysmal. She really needs a new pair.

Adora takes her place in the center of the room, close to the barre. When class begins, she’ll be front and center; perfect for watching the teacher, and right up front to get her noticed. Easy. Almost too easy. Her pointe shoes are already broken-in, so she takes the time to prep her feet properly before slipping them on. No distractions today. She has to be at the top of her game.

Her nerves aren’t nearly as bad as they were on the day of her audition. Maybe it’s because she’s already in and the hard part is over. Or maybe it has something to do with being inside the gorgeous dance studio again. Last time she was in here, it felt like a dream. Today, it’s her reality.

“Adora!” Perfuma waves at her, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s your first day, how are you feeling? Did you eat breakfast?”

Any other morning, this amount of energy so early in the morning would have turned Adora off. She doesn’t mind it so much today. “Yeah, I got something to eat. And I’m fine. Excited for it to start, really.”

Perfuma places a hand on Adora’s shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. “Glad to hear it. No stress?”

“Not really.”

“That’s great! I’m sure you’re going to be amazing.” For some reason, Perfuma’s encouragement actually helps Adora feel better. She knows that she’s only met the girl a day ago, but there’s something really calming about her general demeanor.

Adora’s about to respond when the doors to the dance studio open. A flock of boys enter the room, and the excitement increases tenfold. Returning students hug and squeal and group together. Off to the side, Adora finally locates Glimmer. She throws her arm around a boy, who cheers and spins her around in delight. Following right after the boys are a group of adults. Teachers, she assumes, judging by their higher air and the way they watch the students interact. Adora recognizes Angella, Spinerella and Netossa from the audition. Angella holds herself at the front of the room, standing beside a dark-haired man.

“Good morning,” she announces, bright and chipper. The energy in the room immediately simmers down, and many echo the words back to her. “We are so pleased to welcome everyone to the first day of what I am sure will be a wonderful year.”

As she welcomes the new students, Adora scans the crowd for Catra. She doesn’t find her. Biting her lip, she attempts to  focus back on Angella. Why is her roommate like this?

“You are our senior class, which means that this will be your last year attending Bright Moon Academy,” the man beside Angella continues. “At the end of the year, we will be picking the top dancers to join our company.” He scans the crowd, and offers a kind smile. “While I’m sure that all of you are incredible, this year we will only have room to add six students to the company.”

Six students? Adora clenches her fist in determination. She’s faced worse odds.

“Throughout the year, we will be observing you and your talents as ballet dancers. However, we will not make any final decisions until we see how you dance in the final workshop performance. With that said, we wish you all the best of luck, and advise you to make this your year.”

When Angella finishes speaking, the group claps. The door opens again, and Catra walks in, completely neutral, not a hint of shame on her face. The man beside Angella raises a brow. “So nice of you to fit us into your schedule, Miss…?”

“Catra.” She grins right back at him. “And no sweat.”

The class snickers at her response, but if Catra cares, she doesn’t show it. Adora sucks in her teeth. Late, again? Really. Is Catra actively trying to get herself kicked out, or does she just not care?

“One more thing before we dismiss you for classes. As you may have heard, the company gala is taking place this weekend. We always invite our senior students to attend the performance and help out at the party afterwards, so please plan accordingly. We do expect you all to attend,” Angella says. “Thank you all!”

That said, the teachers trickle out of the room and the boys bid their goodbyes before leaving for their own class. A dark-haired teacher remains at the front, hands clasped tightly. Catra catches Adora’s eye and gives her a wink, but her expression changes completely once she sees the teacher. That’s weird.

“You may call me Madame Weaver,” the woman continues. “In this class, we will be working on technique, sequences and formations three times a week. At the barre,”  she instructs, giving no pleasantries. Needless to say, the girls toss their bags to the side and scurry to their positions at the barre. Adora already has her spot, and Catra manages to grab the spot on the opposing end. Their hands are inches away from the other. Adora’s not sure why, but it makes her nervous.

“Let’s start with our pliés. First position, demi, and stretch. Full grand plié and return. Port de bras forward. Full port de bras back. The same in second, third, and fifth positions, and then rise and take a balance in fifth.” She speaks a little too quickly for Adora to fully understand what she’s asking, but since she’s good at following along, she’s not too worried.

Madame Weaver nods to the pianist in the room, who begins the opening transition. To no one’s surprise, the girls move through the pliés seamlessly. Thanks to her rigorous stretch earlier, Adora feels nice and limber.

The teacher walks around the room with something to say about everyone. Mermista needs to relax her fingers. Perfuma needs to work on feeling the support from her center. Glimmer is complimented on her technique. Adora glides through the movements, feeling confident and waiting for Madame Weaver to no doubtedly comment on how wonderful her technique is.

When she gets to her, she pauses. “Your name?” Madame Weaver asks.

“Adora.”

“You need to work on your turnout. Without it, your dancing suffers.”

It’s not the advice Adora expected to hear. She looks down at her feet and adjusts her turnout, feeling less comfortable. “Better,” Madame Weaver says before moving on. As Adora continues her plies, she watches from her peripheral as Madame Weaver approaches Catra.

“You will be on time to my class and wearing appropriate attire. You would do well to remember that your place here is subject to my approval. Do I make myself clear, Catra?”

Adora doesn’t hear a response, but she assumes that Catra agrees, for Madame Weaver moves away and proceeds onto the next student. Something about her interaction with Catra unsettles her. It’s almost like they know each other. With a slight huff, she forces the thought out of her mind. She can’t think about that right now.  

The class continues. They spend an hour on barre work alone. From there, they move on to floor work and practicing routines across the room. As much as Adora would like to admit otherwise, she struggles. She comes out of turns too slow and stumbles one time too many for her liking. Madame Weaver works quickly and she isn’t always able to catch everything she says. On the whole, she feels like she has much to improve on.

When class ends, Adora sinks down to the floor and yanks open the laces of her pointe shoes. Her feet throb and she just wants to be out of them. Lunch sounds good, too. The lonely muffin she had for breakfast is long gone, and she needs more than just a salad today.

“Hey.” Adora looks up to see Glimmer, offering her an apologetic smile. “Don’t let it get you down. The first day is always rough.”

It’s hard not to take her words personally, especially not after an entire class where Glimmer was the model student. She swallows any bitterness and smiles back. “I guess you’d know, huh?”

“Trust me, there are days I mess up too. Do you want to go have lunch?”

Adora slips into a pair of slippers and stuffs her pointe shoes in her bag before standing up. “Lunch sounds great. I don’t think I’m in the mood for salad though.”

Glimmer laughs and interlocks arms with her. The action is unexpected, but welcome. They head in the direction of the cafeteria, arm in arm. “Hard same. What are you thinking?”

“I could go for a sandwich. Grilled cheese?”

“Deal.”

In less than ten minutes, the two are in line at the cafeteria waiting to pay for their food. Adora steals a fry off her plate, nibbling at it to quell her hunger. “So, it gets better, right?”

“So much better. Weaver never gets easier though.” Glimmer chews on the inside of her cheek before looking off to the side. “She’s just very… particular.”

Adora remembers the short conversation she overheard between Madame Weaver and Catra. Note to self, stay on Weaver’s good side. Couldn’t be that hard, right? Glimmer seems to have figured it out. “She likes you, though.”

“I wish she didn’t. Believe it or not, I kind of hate being the teacher’s pet.”

“What? No way.” When it’s her turn, Adora sets down her tray and pulls out her student ID to pay for the meal. She’s so lucky that she qualified for Bright Moon’s scholarship program. Mara and Razz were more than willing to chip in, but Adora’s never been comfortable with putting more financial burden on them.

“Way.” Glimmer pulls out her card to pay for her food when she looks up and her eyes widen. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?”

“Glimmer!” Angella meets them at the cash register, a stack of papers in her hand. “You haven’t answered my texts. How was your first class?”

Glimmer flushes in embarrassment and grits her teeth. “Mom, you’re holding up the line.”

“Oh, you’re right. Here, let me pay, Dear,” she says, handing the cashier her credit card before Glimmer can argue. Once they’re all settled, Angella walks with them toward a less crowded spot.

“Adora, this is my mom,” Glimmer introduces reluctantly. “Mom, Adora.”

“Yes, Adora. I remember you, from the audition.” Angella takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s so nice to meet more of Glimmer’s friends.”

“Mom.”

Angella clears her throat, smiling bashfully and letting go of Adora’s hands. “Right, sorry. How was the first class?”

“It was good. Nothing to worry about. Right, Adora?”

Adora nods, quickly trying to swallow her mouth full of a couple more fries. “Yep! Just fine,” she says, hoping that Madame Weaver hasn’t already soiled her reputation to Angella.

“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. I won’t pry any more, you girls go on and enjoy your lunch, I just wanted to say hello.” Angella takes note of her daughter’s tray and rests a soft hand on Glimmer’s shoulder. “I thought we agreed on salads for lunch. We spoke about this, Glimmer.”

Glimmer turns as red as the ketchup on her plate. It clashes horribly with her hair. “Mom, I know. I promise, salad for dinner,” she mutters, unable to look at Adora.

The answer pleases Angella, for she pecks her forehead and lets go of her. “Good. Keep an eye on your phone, and call me tonight?”

“Yeah, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”

“I will. Bye girls.”

Adora watches after her as she leaves before following Glimmer to where she’d hunkered down at a nearby table. Glimmer angrily stabs a fry in some ketchup before tossing it to the side of her plate. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she warns before taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“Fair enough. My family can be a lot too,” Adora says, trying to make Glimmer feel better. “Was your dad the guy standing next to Angella this morning.”

“Yeah. I may have mentioned it yesterday, but they run the school and the company. My dad takes a bigger role in the company, and my mom the school. It works out.”

“Must have been cool to grow up around all these ballet dancers. You must have been able to learn so much from them.”

Glimmer nods, swirling a fry around in some ketchup before popping it in her mouth. “Something like that.”

As Adora digs into her grilled cheese, she notices Catra sitting at a table not too far from them. She talks to a girl with platinum hair and she looks… upset. The tall girl attempts to comfort her but Catra moves away. It seems that Madame Weaver’s words really got to her. “Kind of serves her right,” Glimmer notes after following Adora’s gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“Who does she think she is, showing up late on the first day? And breaking the dress code at that! Catra’s just asking to be kicked out,” Glimmer scoffs, taking a bite of her grilled cheese. She chews, mulls it over, and smirks. “Or maybe she just likes attention.”

Glimmer’s words don’t sit well with her. Adora crosses her arms and takes a shaky breath. “Look, I know you and Catra don’t get along. But you didn’t hear what Weaver said to her. It was… way harsh. Harsher than it should be.”

“That’s just how Weaver is.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not saying what Catra did was right, and I’m not going to sit here and make excuses for her. But I’m also not going to sit here and badmouth her.” Adora looks down at her plate. “That’s not who I am. Okay?”

Glimmer reaches for her hand. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Let’s just talk about something else?”

“Yeah.” Adora looks back in Catra’s direction, but the brunette is no longer there. Maybe she’ll talk to her later, see what’s going on. “So, about the Gala thing this weekend… Can you wear jeans to that?”

[bapyess1r]

Amphetamine

Chapter 1

Talia’s POV

A tall, dark figure stood at the backdoor entrance. “What the hell are you doin’?!” the voice said followed by the click of a pistol. I can honestly say I wanted to cry.

“Shit! I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” I was shaking, not sure whether to put the book back or try and clean up the mess I made.

“You didn’t mean to snoop through my shit?” he questioned, stepping forward into the light. He was a handsome older man with a well defined build. And I mean really well built. He had a bandage wrapped around his right arm and butterfly stitches on his prominent forehead. He looked as if he’d seen some shit. Why else would he be waving a pistol around? Just then, Marcel and the band had come to my rescue.

“Sammy stop!” I could hear Jules yell as Marcel forced his way between the two of us, his hands up in surrender. I clutched the book to my chest tightly, tearing up a little bit.

“Hey hey hey chill man! Relax! She’s with us! She’s that new vocalist I wrote you about!” He pleaded calmly as the man hit the lights and stared at my horrified face for a moment. The tension in his face eased up and with a relieved sigh he put the safety on his pistol, walking over to the island in the kitchen area.

“Shit.” he huffed, probably from getting all worked up. Marcel patted my shoulder to console me a bit and walked somewhere to grab a broom and some towels. “Sorry, sister! In my line of work, you can’t uh… ever be too careful.” He pulled a cigarette and placed it between his shapely lips before flicking a silver engraved lighter, tossing it and the pistol on the counter carelessly.

“HOW FUCKING DANGEROUS IS TREASURE HUNTING?!” I snapped suddenly, shoving the book into his broad chest rather roughly. He scoffed and turned to look after me.

“I’m so s- Hey! I said I’m sorry!” he called after me, but I was already out the door. Fiercely walking down the street, my hands were shaking, fiddling about my jacket and pants for my own cigarette and lighter. Each breath was heavy and just a little bit shaky. I almost died. I almost got shot. As I reached the community docks, I still couldn’t believe it.

“Fuckin’ A. More therapy….” I commented aggressively, crossing my arms in front of me to shield myself from the cold winds coming in off of the salty waves. I tried my best to focus on the moon and forget what just happened for my own sanity. I thought about why I came here as the laps of the water coaxed my mind into the void.

 I moved from New York, a failed performer. Not music, but dance. Ballet and Contemporary as a major. I went to school for it. Trained under the best of the best. Graduated even… I tried looking for a job and nobody would take me. Even with my recommendations. I began to feel depressed about it and suddenly didn’t want to try anymore. I moved in with my Godfather and Godmother under the conditions that I would help watch their kids and get a job as a dance teacher. So here I was in the sunshine state. The kids cheered me up for the first few weeks, teaching became my second joy. But I still felt an emptiness… my Godfather encouraged me to  practice music again after hearing me be emo in my room, my electric guitar through my speaker on low quality sound and soft as I sang a thing I wrote. He introduced me to Marcel. He was about average height, handsome as hell, smooth cocoa skin, and a smile that blinded like a million watts. The wrinkles near his eyes gave away that he might’ve been a tad older than me (26). He was 35. Marcel brought me to the rest of the band. Jules on keys was a skinny Courtney Love looking girl with green eyes. She was also 30. The only one closer to my age was their drummer Louie. He rocked a buzz cut and Jason Vorhees tee almost every day. He was 29. The only one who was missing was their guitar player. He was the eldest of the members and currently away for business. After they told me about him, I never questioned it again. I actually forgot he was a thing until tonight…

“Excuse me.” said a familiar voice, pulling me from my thoughts almost immediately. When I looked behind me, there he was. That man again. Subconsciously, I took a step back and he held his hands up to show himself harmless. At that moment, my cigarette had unbeknownst to me burned down to my finger and burned my fingers. I dropped it with a hiss as it tapped itself out on the concrete. “You okay?” he asked. Eyeing him, I crossed my arms again.

“I’m fine.” I said. The winds began to blow a little harder and I shivered, turning to look back out to the water. That’s when I felt heavy denim fabric cover my shoulders. I looked at him just as he backed away. It was a few minutes before I could say anything. “Thank you…”

“Not a problem. Listen… back inside I… I really am sorry.” He said. As I listened to his apology, I detected a Boston accent. If I hadn’t met him the way I did, I’d almost call it adorable. “It’s uh… It’s been a trip. I didn’t expect much adventure in this job and I was absolutely mistaken.” I took a long and suspenseful deep breath before speaking with remote interest.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Too much to tell over a smoke.” He said with a coy smirk. I gave a brief smile as I lit another cigarette. “Sam Drake.” he stuck a large rough hand out for me to shake. “Guitar and Lead Vocals.”

“Talia Aaron. Guitar and Vocals.” I said proudly, giving him a strong handshake. He raised a thick brow and scratched the stubble on his chin.

“Seems we’re at an impasse, doll.”

“Not exactly. I think we’re meant to tag team these vocals. I can hold down some rhythm while singing, you play lead, you hold down rhythm while you sing, I can hold my own on a solo if need be.”

“Woah woah woah,” he chuckled deeply. “How do I know you can even sing?”

“How do I know you can even sing?” I said, letting the smoke fall out of my mouth with a smirk. Sam pursed his lips and nodded, smoke leaving his nose then mouth as he spoke.

“Touche.” he began fiddling with the lighter between his fingers. “Well I hope you don’t mind me taking this weekend’s show from ya. It’s been a while and you haven’t heard the full band yet.” He said slickly. I turned to look at him. I mean really look at him this time. He had a rugged charm about his face. Weathered by age but still like fine wine. He was a bit beaten and bruised at the moment but I could tell it exhilarated him. I also noticed the tattoo on his neck of the four birds flocking in a circle, shone by the street lamp that finally decided to come on. His brown v neck clung to every muscle of his upper body just right. His long thick brown hair pushed back off of his chiseled face. There was something slightly youthful about him when he smiled and I felt a slow burn across my cheeks. Taking another drag of my cigarette, I nodded slowly.

“I’d love to see you play.” The words came out much flirtier than intended and it was kind of embarrassing. With a nervous chuckle, I kicked some gravel around with my heeled boots as he towered over me, staring into my eyes with a playful smile. I looked at him from beneath my false lashes and bit the inside of my cheek, turning my head to avoid giving him the satisfaction that he was totally working on me. I shook my head and put out my cigarette, shedding myself of the heavy denim jacket he’d given me. “You’d better get to practicing. You’re a little late to the party.” I cooed, opening the gate and walking briskly to my Godfather’s.

Sam’s POV

I watched her as she walked away with probably the most perfect ass I had seen in a long time. And I’ve seen plenty, believe me. I smirked as a faint feeling of lust arose in my chest. I turned back to face the ocean and took a breath of that fresh salty air before polluting it once more with another cigarette. I pulled out my phone and dialed Victor Sullivan to let him know I had touched down safely in Florida. Then I called Nathan to tell him I was home for a while. We talked about the trip and he just listened and fanboyed with me as I spoke. Then he hit me with it. “So I know you slept with somebody. You always find somebody.” he chuckled.

“Ouch, little brother!” I feigned my feelings hurt with a chuckle. “I’ll have you know I am a respectable gentleman.”

“Save the lies for the job, Sam.” Nathan laughed. It warmed my heart to hear him being healthy and happy and safe out of harm's way for once.

“How’s my niece?” I asked. Cassie: absolutely precious, such a sweetheart.

“She asked about you just before bed actually. I’m sure she’ll be glad to know that you’re back safe and sound.” he responded. I hung my head feeling a tad bit guilty.

“Eh… for now anyways.” I said taking a drag.

“What- you got another job already?!” he sounded surprised honestly. As much as I complained about my joints and my back hurting lately.

“Not yet, little brother. I’m home for now…” I told him, suddenly thinking about the new girl with a faint smile. “I plan on recovering for a couple months… I’ll see about a job then after I’m all healed up.” I tossed my cigarette into the ocean and headed home.

“Alright then.” he said. Suddenly, I could hear Elena calling him in the background in a harsh tone.

“Sheesh… She sounds pissed- what’d you do?” I chuckled.

“Not the laundry. Gotta go! Take care, Sam.”

“Be good, little brother.” I said before I heard the line drop on his end.

I hung up as I arrived at my garage still filled with my boneheaded bandmates. “What the hell are ya still doin’ here?! It’s so late!” I chuckled, arms open wide to what felt like my second family .

“We missed you!” Jules squealed, getting up to hug me. I cooed as I embraced her small frame and accepted the glass of whiskey handed to me by my good friend Marcel.

“So…” he began.

“What?” I asked absolutely cluelessly as I sipped on the Tennessee whisky.

“Talia?” Marcel was grinning from ear to ear. Clearly more excited about her than I was. Hell I didn’t know the girl. But my face betrayed me with a slick smirk and an almost perverse chuckle. “Fire, right?!”

“I mean yeah! She’s a good lookin’ girl! A bit on the young side… I haven’t heard her sing yet so I can’t determine just yet.” I said, trying not to make a fool of myself with the slight school boy feeling I got by just thinking about her.

The four of us spent the night drinking and talking until the sunrise. And as much as I loved them, all I wanted was a hot shower and a long nap in my own bed under my own roof so eventually I had to kick em out. Walking back into my home, I looked around, finally settling in and getting used to being home again. I kicked off my boots and let my limbs hang off the couch. Every muscle, bone, and joint in my body began to scream at me. “Ugh…. I hate to say it but…. I’m definitely getting too old for this.” I groaned as the alcohol began to send me off to sleep.

[clintbartonswife]

nutcracker

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Summary: You help Natasha reclaim her love for ballet @panicfob​ xmas #9 : nutcracker ballet Notes: mentions of red room abuse, recovery, dance therapy? masterlist  || 25 days of xmas masterpost

A smile spread across your face as you glanced down at the text message from your friend, pride swelling in your chest. “What’s made you so smiley?” Tony asked, throwing himself on the seat beside you, peaking over your shoulder to read the text message. You groaned at his nosiness but let him read it anyway, lifting your head up to answer him. “My friend just got the leading role in the Christmas nutcracker this year” Words of congratulations were heard from all around the room, only the redheaded assassin staying quiet, a flash of hurt crossing her face before she reapplied her emotionless mask. Not wanting to make a scene you decided to ask her about it later, instead passing on the well wishes on to your friend.

“What happened earlier?” Your voice cut through the comfortable silence of the bedroom, the sudden question making Natasha’s relaxed posture tense slightly. “I don’t know what you mean” “Yes you do - it’s okay if you don’t want to see the show with me, you know you don’t have to right?” The redhead sighed, turning to face you, eyes shining with rare honesty. “I am happy for your friend, I know how hard it is to reach that level of skill, but after-” she paused to take a shaky breath, face hardening, “after the red room I lost all love for the dance. It was a weapon, something I had to do to survive rather than a fun thing with my friends” You felt yourself frown as you shuffled closer to your girlfriend, pulling her into a hug. She huffed a laugh at your sudden closeness, silently grateful for the comfort. “I wish I could’ve helped you” you murmured, words muffled against her soft skin, “nobody deserved what you went through - what I wouldnt give to punch those bitches in the face-” She snorted, hand moving to absentmindedly play with your hair, “Clint helped me with that in our early days. We burnt the school to the ground” You made an appreciative noise, burrowing further into the warmth of her body. “Remind me to give him a big hug tomorrow” Nat let out a small laugh, humming her affirmation before reaching over to turn the light off, placing a quick kiss on your forehead as she moved. As the two of you settled into the darkness, you could tell something was still on her mind so you willed your tired brain to stay awake for just a few more minutes. “I’ll think about it” she eventually said, earning a soft kiss on her collar bone - a silent thank you.

A few weeks later you skipped into the common floor living room, tickets in hand. “Guys! I’ve got the tickets” That caught the attention of your fellow avengers, cheers echoing around the room. “These are for the second night - she could only get 2 tickets for opening night for us because, obviously, she has her family that she needed tickets for, so those will be for me and Nat” you explained, handing a ticket to each person, catching Nat’s eye with the unspoken agreement that the invite wasn’t forced. Once everyone was distracted, you noticed Natasha slip out of the room. Clint gave you a look - one you knew very well by now - telling you to go after her.

You eventually found her in one of the private training rooms, ballet shoes on, standing deadly still in the middle of the space. Not feeling like your intrusion would be welcome, you instead stood in the doorway, waiting for her to make her move. After a while of her just standing there, you let out a small breath and knocked on the door, announcing your presence. She whipped around to face you, jaw clenched. “What?” You smiled at her, moving deliberately across the floor, making sure all your actions were predictable so as not to spook the assassin. ”I was wondering if I could join you in dancing?” “But you don’t know ballet” “Doesn’t mean I cant try” you shrugged, “Besides, you could always get a laugh out of it in the end” You saw her go to contradict you and effectively cut her off before she could speak. “Because that is what dance is about. Not being perfect, but having fun with friends” Her eyes widened slightly in realisation, hesitantly nodding at your proposition before asking FRIDAY to play Tchaikovsky: No.14b Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy. When seeing your raised eyebrow she simply shrugged and said ‘because Christmas’ before letting the music wash over her. Even after her first few steps you could tell she was taking it too seriously. As soon as she started to move in what looked like practiced steps her face lost all humour, becoming the blank mask that you were all-too used to seeing. When she mis-stepped slightly her back tensed, whole body pausing mid move as if she was waiting for some kind of retribution. Oh. Oh. It was in that moment you understood: not only was dance used as a weapon, but also as a punishment. “Nat, they’re not here” you said, cutting through her stupor, “they cant hurt you anymore. They don’t control you” Her leg dropped gracelessly back to the floor, back still straight. It wasn’t much but it showed she was listening. Taking this as a go ahead, you told her to look at you, beginning to move once her eyes fell onto your body. “That’s all wrong” she stated, voice dull, as she watched you flail clumsily around the floor. You knew you looked ridiculous, but the repressed smile growing on her face was enough to make you smile too. “Says who?” you fired back, grunting as you did a particularly awful pirouette, “I don’t see a teacher in here. I’m just dancing to the music” As the music changed to the next symphony, you heard a second step of footsteps hesitantly join you, almost copying your movements. “Mme B” You raised your eyebrow, filing away the confession for later, and carried on your ugly moves. “Well I don’t see her here” Natasha nodded, slowly at first, until you could see the breakthrough in settling in her eyes. Encouraged by this, you carried on talking. “Besides, she sounds like a bitch. Fuck that” That pulled a laugh from the redhead, a sudden shocked sound, but the blank slate was finally gone, and in it’s place was hopeful hesitancy. “Fuck that” she repeated, eyes shining.

[gwenore]

The Demon’s Opera house. Chapter 11.

Chapter 11: Christine and Erik have an heart to heart as they start to grow closer to each other. 

---

Christine had been able to reach the evening post with a letter to Raoul as well as getting to speak with Meg who was luckily still awake. It had not been easy to explain her reasons for how she acted… but luckily Meg was just happy that she had a change of heart.

She had asked if she was worried about her tutor’s reaction to her missing a session. It was a good an explanation as any…

“Where did you get that ring?” Meg exclaimed looking at it, Christine quick to pull her hand away, rubbing her finger gently.

“A present… from my tutor,” she muttered softly. “But… I should hurry back. I will see you early tomorrow.”

Meg again was surprised at her friend’s actions… yet it all seemed to come back to this mysterious tutor…

The need to keep him secret.

Who could he be?

And then there was that she carried a ring of his… it certainly did not look like any promise ring which she had ever seen, black as coal that it was… but… if he was eccentric, which he surely must be… it was not impossible.

At once Meg’s mind went to all the scandals which so easily happened to the woman who earned the adoration of men on stage.

Yet Christine was not the type of woman to fall for the charms of such men… no he must be a musical genius of sorts… that being what drew her towards this man.

But… why keep it a secret if she was indeed engaged as the ring would suggest?

Meg knew that she had not been sleeping in the opera house for some time… though… she could not remember anyone having seen Christine actually leave… could her lover be someone at the opera house?

If that was the case… Meg could not think of who… but she was certainly going to find out!

---

After her talk with Meg, Christine had rushed over to the nearest largest mirror where Erik helped her to the other side. They didn’t speak much on the way back down, but the air was easier between them than it had been in quite some time.

Like the bad feelings had been aired out…

Of course there was much left to discuss between the two of them. However… both of them were exhausted and decided to simply have a simple meal before crawling into bed. Christine rested on the bed in her night gown as every light in the chapel went out so that again she would not see him once that mask was removed and he had to lower his guard.

She listened to his movements, trying to imagine what he was doing and what he looked like. She let out a long breath as she felt him climb up behind her.

But like before… he didn’t reach out to touch her… that distance still between them.

Christine’s eyes closed, and despite being exhausted, sleep would not come… her head was simply too filled with thoughts…

Slowly she turned around and was met with those softly glowing red eyes, the only thing that she could see in the dark. Christine let out a soft hum as a slight smile came upon her lips as even from his eyes alone she could see he was surprised.

“Cannot sleep as well?” she questioned. Due to her movement, they were now laying closer than before.

“I suppose…” he murmured softly.

“Are you in pain…?” Christine was rather concerned reaching out her hand towards his chest, but his hand grasped her, stopping her fingers from reaching him.

“No…” however his voice was rough and trembling.

“Are you certain?” she whispered, feeling how his hand gently caressed hers, running his fingertips slightly across the ring, Christine feeling an odd tingle shoot up her arm.

“Yes… you need not worry,” he whispered. Christine stared into those demonic eyes, not moving her hand away.

“Why… why was it so important that I carry your ring?” she asked, daring even to go so far as to lean even closer to him.

“It…” he murmured softly.

“For among humans… I am certain you know the meaning of it…” she tried to discern the features of his face by the light of his eyes.

“It…” he stuttered as he let his hand fall from hers, avoiding her gaze. “… I just wanted a promise… a sign… that I would no longer be alone…”

Christine swallowed, before she slowly reached out her hand, knowing that with the way they lay, his demon side was pressed against the pillow. She felt him holding his breath as her fingers brushed against his forehead, moving up towards and letting them gently brush though his hair.

“I wish I could show you that you are not alone, Erik…” she whispered softly, continuing to stroke her fingers gently through his black hair. He was practically trembling under her hand.

“Do you wish for me to stop…?” she asked, wondering if her touch was detestable to him. She felt him shake his head.

“Please… if you would… please continue,” he whispered softly. Christine gently smiled towards him nodding her head.

“As you wish…” she whispered, slowly tracing down his face, feeling his sharp cheekbones gently. His breathing shivered as he reached up his human hand, resting it on her forearm, as if he was pleading with her not to remove her hand.

Christine let her hand continue down, allowing it to rest on his neck just below his jaw bone, continuing to stroke the skin there gently.

“Life has not been kind to you… has it?” she simply whispered to him, feeling that despite he was clean shaven, there was prickling sensation where the stubble had started to grow.

Erik did not respond, simply tightening the grasp on her forearm tighter. Christine continued to gently stroked that area below his chin gently.

“How about we… talk… a bit?” she then asked. “We have talked a lot I suppose… but we haven’t truly gotten to know each other… there is still this wall between us…”

She felt his hand move up her arm slightly, caressing the silken sleeves of her night gown.

“I suppose… if you wish…” he said softly. “What do you wish to know?”

Christine thought for a while… of course there were several questions which she had been bursting to ask for a while now… about demons… all the implications that carried with it… however…

It was a sensitive time now… she would have to pick her questions carefully.

“You know so much about music… I have never met anyone who has such passion nor can play or sing like you can… but where did you learn?”

He let out a soft hum. “I suppose it is from my father’s nature… several humans have called upon him… to have him teach them the arts… to grant them the ability to reach what they have always thought was out of reach. The curse of the artist… no matter what they do… they will never be satisfied… and some are willing to sacrifice everything in a hope to reach that satisfaction…”

He shrugged slightly. “Does not end well… as the moment it is reached… the artist loose their reason for life…”

“That is… dark…” Christine whispered softly.

“I suppose… the other part is that I grew up in an opera house… even if I could not participate… I was always surrounded by music… it was my only comfort…”

Christine swallowed softly… “I… I think it is more than that…”

“Oh?” Erik questioned.

“Yes… I have stayed with you for quite some time already… I have had time to watch you. You work hard on your music… there is quite the concentrated look on your face when you play or write… you have a real passion for your work… despite your… born talents… that doesn’t take away from the work you put into your music,” she spoke honestly. Watching him work… it drew Christine closer to him. He became alluring to her…

However if she were to approach he would quickly stop what he was doing, even hiding his writings from her.

Erik had to swallow so that he would not let his voice betray the tears which ran down his cheeks. Those words… they had hit his heart deeper than the wound he had created.

“Thank you…” he murmured softly. Christine nuzzled against the pillow softly.

“I mean every word of it…” she smiled softly. “I would like to see what you have written… perhaps even sing some of it… if you would feel comfortable about it…”

She hesitated slightly as she saw how those eyes looked at her.

“I would… I would enjoy that most ardently…” he then said with a slight tremble in his voice. “I have to admit most have been written with you in mind…”

Christine’s heart skipped a beat. To think that someone had spent so much time composing something for specifically her to sing. It touched her and she felt her cheeks fluster. It was… was it not what she had ever wanted? It was… her dream… was it not?

To have someone adore her so much… that was so inspired by her… that they would compose music for her?

“I am looking forward to it…” she smiled softly towards her.

Erik had to clear his throat. “And you? Have you always wished to sing?”

Christine had to think for a bit. “I believe so… my father was a musician… a violinist.”

“I know of him… he played here more than once. He was a very talented musician,” Erik nodded his head. Christine had to let out a chuckle.

“Coming from you that is high praise indeed! I have heard you criticize just about everyone in the entire opera house!” she exclaimed, Erik himself having to let out a chuckle himself.

“Hmm… nothing which is not warranted…” he then muttered. Christine had to raise a slight brow at him, not certain if she agreed with his statement.

“Anyway… he took me on his travels… I grew up surrounded by music… and I fell in love with it. He encouraged me… he truly was a friend and a teacher as well as a father…” she said softly.”I was happy…”

Her eyes fell slightly as she let out a sigh.

“But… such times do not last… and he passed away… leaving me all alone. Luckily I had been taught ballet as well… so Madame Giry got me work here… but music has always been my true passion. I got to sing in the chorus and now I have an actual part. I know it is small, but…” she smiled. “I am truly excited for it…”

He let out a soft hum.

“I am truly happy for you… you deserve that part… and everything else…” he murmured.

“You have been very supportive to me…” she told him softly, continuing to gently scratch him with her finger nails.

“I adore you… truly… you are an angel…” he whispered softly. Christine chuckled as she shook her head.

“I don’t know about that…” Christine laughed softly. “I am far from an angel…”

“You are the closest that I will ever come to one…” came the murmur from the demon. Christine’s breath shivering a bit as she realized that he was truly damned simply by the actions of those that brought him into the world.

She could not answer him… not knowing what sort of comfort that she could give him when she could not save him…

His eyes slowly closed, lost in the gentle touch. Slowly his grip on her arm loosened and fell to the side as his breath slowed to the point she knew he was asleep.

“Good night Erik… I hope you sleep well…” she whispered, but did not pull her hand away from him. With his eyes closed… she could not see him… but she remained awake for some time… simply looking ahead into the darkness to where she knew he was before she too succumbed to the world of dreams.

[viktcria-blog]

stellaluna • viktoria “vik” • aaland s u l l i v a n

icy breezes float across naked flesh as melodies coated in melancholia float across stale air. useless factoids trail across their mind, she traces patterns against florals sitting in tepid water. she strokes the neck of an empty champagne bottle, shatters it against marble. they say it’s all too much, the thought beckons bumps to rise against her skin.

d e m o g r a p h i c s

full name: stellaluna viktoria “vik” aaland

age: twenty-one 

sexuality: bisexual 

gender: demiwoman / she & they

major & minor: psychology ( major ) & anthropology ( minor )

♪ icy — kim petras

family • history • connections • plots  under the cut & exhaustive

f a m i l y

                father ( adoptive / deceased )                                   mother ( adoptive )                    peter aaland ( sol invictus )                             camille aaland ( née bordelais )

                                                    grandmother ( adoptive )                                      vikoria “angelique” bordelais ( née eriksson )

( cancer / death tw for everything below this warning )

• their father was a musician who went by the alias “sol invictus” ( after the roman sun god ), his band, invincible, was extremely successful in the late eighties / early nineties and has some classics ( the most helpful comparison i have for sol is kurt cobain mixed with alex turner and flung back to the 90s. )

he was diagnosed with cancer when vik was a child, and became involved with a faith healer and his cult ( the sun’s chosen children ) before his death. after his death, there was a vicious battle over his estate, as he left everything to the cult and its manipulative leader. this is a dark chapter of vik’s life, and she didn’t entirely understand what was going on due to her young age, just that her father was dead and it ruined her mother. sol’s involvement with the chosen children was the subject of much tabloid gossip, and so was the legal battle.

• her mother was a model and the daughter of a swedish-french film star ( the original viktoria ) who married an “english screenwriter with a french name.” camille is very fond of horses and horse racing and has spent large parts of her life on stud farms ( including her own parents’ stud in england, where her mother retired to ), and currently lives on one in mexico, somewhat close to mexico city.

• viktoria is adopted, she was born in sweden  ( which both of her adoptive parents had a connection to ) and placed for adoption by her birth parents shortly after. they don’t particularly care to know anything about their birth parents, and haven’t made any effort to seek them out. they were adopted when they were two years old, so they retain some vague memories of the orphanage, but they can’t speak swedish anymore.

h i s t o r y

places lived

stockholm ( childhood )

tokyo ( childhood )

los angeles / new york city ( childhood )

oxfordshire ( childhood / as a teenager )

mexico city / valley of mexico ( as a teenager )

paris ( to attend the paris opera’s ballet academy, as a teenager )

important / helpful information

being a rockstar’s child had its difficulties and successes. vik was always the coolest child in any given room ( at least, by default ) but she spent most of her childhood in impermanent places: tokyo ( two years while sol & invincible were recording a reunion album ), los angeles and nyc ( whenever her father’s profession demanded it ), oxfordshire with her mother and grandmother, stockholm for a few years post-adoption. they never made many real friends, and cultivated a reputation for being just like silk ( pretty and difficult to hold onto ) over time. they’re used to being alone.

dancing, particularly classical ballet, was their first love. they took their first class in tokyo when they were still very young, and they were good. when she was dancing, vik wasn’t someone else’s child, she was her own person, with her own passions. after their father’s death, their mother became despondent ( especially as the legal battle was lost ) and they needed to get away, so they used some of their talent and a lot of nepotism to audition for the paris opera’s ballet academy ( one of the best in the world. ) not that they’ll admit to the nepotism. from age 12-17 vik lived alone in paris, attending the academy and going by her mother’s maiden name ( bordelais ) in order to deny any connection to their father. 

vik stopped dancing when she was 18, after she moved back in with her mother after her grandmother’s death ( without her, her mother would have been completely alone, so it was necessary, and repayment for the five years of freedom she had been afforded. ) but dancing remains their first, and currently only, love, and she still does it. just not under the eyes of any teacher.

their gender expression is hyper feminine ( lots of glitter and neon ) but this doesn’t mean they’re a woman. vik identifies as demigender ( specifically a demiwoman / demigirl ) and came to the realisation that she was not fully comfortable with her identity was a girl for the first time after her father’s death. they don’t particularly care to explain it more than “you can be feminine without being female.” anyone who comes into proximity of her is aware of her pronouns and identification. 

they didn’t want to go to providence. when they were applying, they were disgusted by the enormous wealth and privilege that surrounded them ( nevermind how often she uses hers ) and found it repulsive. but providence was the best school and the easiest to bribe, and in the end, the college was very, very far from mexico city.

in their first semester, they mostly kept to themself, keeping their head down so no one would ask questions about who they were or where they came from. but in her second semester, vik started performing again: she had a third story window, a highly fuckable toned body, and she missed ballet. egged on enough times by partygoers struggling through snow or melt, they would take to their window, a silhouette of a person, smooth bare skin and mystery. performing became parties. parties became more parties. being a partygoer became being sol invictus’ child.

they’re in a constant state of reinvention. are they a good student, or just rich and the child of someone famous ? does she like the endless bacchanalia and orgiastic weekdays, or is it all she knows at this school ? what the fuck is vik going to do with themself after graduating with the degree they don’t care about ? don’t ask.

tldr no one understands what she’s doing, let alone her. & they have a reputation as the person to go to for a party.

c o n n e c t i o n s  ( q u i c k f i r e )

champagne prince(ss): someone vik parties with, possibly a procurer of illicit substances, they have a soft spot ( possibly romantic ) for them

twisted sibling: horribly toxic relationship that consists mostly of egging each other on and fucking each other up 

cheat sheet: vik doesn’t like to study, so they’re her go-to “study partner.” aka, the person she bribes to help her ( aka.... write her papers for her )

invincible ? don’t know them: someone who’s a fan of vik’s father’s band / knows all the gossip and is intrigued by why it was like to grow up as sol’s child

no danes allowed: international kids club ? ( aside: idk what citizenship vik even has lol ? i just realised this ! )

p l o t s 

cause of you, now my heart is so icy ( former lover / enemy / angst / pining / fuck it )

vik’s first real relationship, started at providence, probably in second year ? very intense, ended really, really badly ( think public shouting matches. ) occasionally, always, in moments of weakness, they miss this person immensely, and considering going back / taking them back. she doesn’t even remember why it ended in the first place, at this point. ( but some part of vik also knows it will end in the same fiery crash if they try again. )

this could also be platonic because losing friends ? painful.

gave me something to believe in  ( member of or close to / fascinated by the sun’s chosen children cult )

for the most part, the cult that their mother is certain played a role in killing their father hasn’t played a role in vik’s life in years ( beside camille aaland’s refusal to say its name of the name of its leader. ) but new york is a big place, and the internet is strange and vast, so this plot involves someone who is a member of, or close to someone who is a member of, or is interested in the sun’s chosen children ( a “self help group” dedicated to spiritual healing and the abandonment of modern medicine, in actuality a cult. ) vik still carries a lot of resentment for what they did to her mother and some small part of them fears the chosen children. so living / partying / studying in close proximity to someone who is involved with them is probably not going to end well.

don’t search me in here, i’m already gone baby ( “perfect match” / counterpart / mystery )

someone vik is highly interested in ( platonically / romantically / sexually / whatever, 22 year olds are dumb ). they feel like every time they try to get close to this person, they slip away, which is something vik has a lot of practice doing herself. she doesn’t like it being turned back on her, and she’s starting to run out of patience for them.

... but not yet. 

i ain’t ever gonna settle ( patron / private shows / throwing parties so one person will come / ideal / disaster in the making )

dancing is such a big part of vik’s life, and stopping their dance career may be one of the few things they actually regret. this person is vik’s “dance partner” and “patron”, someone who always encourages her to dance for / with them ( sometimes in private, wink, but as always this could be platonic ) and whose approval she craves for no reason she could name. they’re stumbling towards being dependent on this person, and it’s not going to end well, but for right now, it’s passionate and full of feelings and admiration and divine adoration. 

[rebellingstagnationblog]

Toyland - Perry Como

@pharaoh-ink asked for a Quackerjack chapter where we explored him working during the holiday season before he was a villain. 

@anachrolady made this gorgeous art piece for this story. Please go commission them! You will not be disappointed! Click here to see what they can do and their prices.  

You can also find their work here: http://www.darkwingtower.com/

The World of Color show soundtrack will pick up again with tomorrow's story. But for now, onto Quackerjack!

It had never been a toy shop in the Negaverse; it looked like it had been a bookstore instead. Quackerjack didn't know why he had wanted to visit except that the idea had consumed him to the point where no other thoughts had been circling in his head the past few days.

So he'd come.

And now that he was here.

He didn't like it.

It had looked better in the Prime Universe. When it had been his.

Sitting in the middle of the abandoned shop, with the roof half caved in and plant life crawling up what remained of the walls, Quackerjack cast his mind back. Visualized his toy store. As it had once been in another universe a lifetime ago.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

The most wonderful time of year was reserved specifically for those who didn't work in retail. Long hours, unreasonable requests, a staggering amount of product being shoved onto the floor only to fly off the shelves moments later. Constant turn around, money flying everywhere, and emotions running high.

It was enough to cause many an employee to swear off the Christmas season. Or to quit retail all together.

But to Jack, it was a magical time of year.

Colors were brighter. Displays were alive with their moving trains and flying reindeer. And the children. Eyes wide with wonder, hopes so very high for what was to come on the 25th day of December.

He enjoyed this time of year so much that he'd even gone so far as to design his shop around a Christmas song. The licensing had gone through so he'd been able to name if after the song in question. Toyland.

From the outside, it didn't look any different from the other stores lined up along the block. A rather ordinary shopfront, the name carved into a wooden sign that hung above the doorway, a jester hat — his logo — painted across the bottom, complete with golden jingle bells on the ends. Large bay windows bracketed the door, giving a clear view to his displays and window dressings. The purple door was the only sign that something was different about this particular store, and often brought in customers to investigate.

The interior of the shop was lovingly crafted from the crown molding to the hardwood floors, dark and light woods playing off of one another across the shop. There were areas with rugs laid out surrounded by plush chairs and small tables where the children were encouraged to unleash their imaginations and test out which toy would be so lucky as to go home with them. The shelves lining all the walls were a smooth varnished wood, always stocked full of the latest and greatest toys. "Toyland"'s lyrics were painted in loopy gold script along the crown molding, a constant reminder to Jack about the sanctity of his vocation.

A large pine tree stood proudly in the center of the shop, children scurrying around and playing with the toy soldiers, nutcrackers, stuffed mice, rocking horses, and dolls that had been set up in an elaborate battle scene around the base. The Nutcracker was extremely popular this year. Which Jack had (correctly) predicted. Not that he was saying his predictions always came true. They just usually did. What could he say? He knew the toy game and how to use it to his advantage.

"Hullo, Mr. Jack!" came a small voice.

Jack leaned over the counter to spy a small girl, hair in messy curls around her face. "Hello, Alex!" he cried, smiling down at her. He spread out atop the counter so as to maintain eye contact with her and kicked his legs up merrily behind him. "Why weren't you at playtime today?"

Playtime was a daily occurrence at Toyland. Jack gathered all the children in the largest section of the shop and debuted his newest creations, allowing the kids to test them out before the products hit the shelves. Some of his regulars, like Alex, prided themselves on attending playtime religiously, and weren't afraid to speak their minds about what worked and what didn't.

Alex's brow furrowed and she drew her beak into a frown. Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "Mr. Jack asked you a question."

Squaring her shoulders and looking up to Jack with no apology in her big eyes, Alex said, "I was in detention, Mr. Jack."

"So close to Christmas?" Jack lamented, placing his beak in the palm of his hand. "What happened?"

"Mrs. Kapla said I was fighting, but I wasn't. Honest! There were bullies pushing Emily around at recess, and she's too small to push back, so I did it for her." Alex crossed her arms. "And I'd do it again."

"Alex!" reprimanded her mother.

"I would!" the girl insisted.

Jack smiled down at her. "I'm proud of you for standing up to the bullies, little playmate. But maybe next time you could get a grown up to help you?"

"There wasn't time!" Alex said, throwing her hands up in desperation. "The bell was about to ring and we were all gonna go back inside and no one saw it happening except me so I had to do something!"

Alex's mother — he never bothered with the names of the grownups; they were all boring people who had forgotten how to use their imaginations — looked at Jack, her eyes half-lidded. "Do you see what I have to deal with?"

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes and returned his attention to Alex. "You were very brave."

Alex looked at him, hope in her eyes. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. How about this: when you see the bullies pick on someone again, you can help out your friend and then tell a teacher later?"

Alex cocked her head to one side. "I guess that could work."

"Of course it will work! I'm a genius after all."

"A genius toy maker," Alex corrected, already sarcastic at the age of nine. He loved it. "It's not the same. What did you and the other kids play with today?"

"Oh! Let me show you!" Jack careened over the counter to join Alex, hurriedly digging through his pockets and kneeling down to her level. "You've heard of wind-up toy soldiers. How about a wind-up ballerina who can dance on her own?"

"Outside of a music box?" She sounded skeptical. "How does she balance?"

"Magic," Jack said with a grin, pulling out the ballerina and setting it on the counter. He wound the key in the doll's back and it began to dance, arms and legs gracefully moving to a song played by a phantom orchestra. Alex was transfixed, her little hands gripping the edge of the counter as she watched the toy dance.

Her mother mouthed, "Thank you," to Jack but he waved it away, focusing on Alex. Her reaction was what he really needed. He was proud of this particular toy, but the opinions of his playmates were essential to his creative process.

"Does she have to be in pink?" Alex asked eventually, glancing at Jack.

"Well, ballerinas usually wear pink, don't they? What other color would she wear?"

"Whatever color I want. There could be different tutus. Besides, she'd have to have different clothes for all the ballets she dances in."

Jack's eyes grew wide. "A whole wardrobe of costumes." He jumped up, a grin on his face as he turned to his cashier. "A whole wardrobe!" Leaping up onto the counter, he exclaimed, "A WHOLE WARDROBE!"

The adults in the store looked horrified by his actions, hurriedly looking away from him or whispering to one another. Some of the children looked curious while those who'd participated in playtime earlier today looked disappointed that they hadn't thought of the idea first.

Scooping up the ballerina and sitting atop the counter, Jack grinned down at Alex. "You can't get anymore detentions. I need you at playtime."

Alex smiled. "You do?"

"Yes! No one else came up with that idea. It's genius! Isn't it genius, Claire?" He turned to his cashier.

The young woman smiled back, making Jack's stomach do several loopty-loops, before leaning over the counter to cast her sunshine on Alex. "Absolutely. Mr. Jack knows a genius when he sees one."

A customer approached the counter, toys in hand, and Claire invited them forward while Jack jumped down to join Alex again.

"Tell you what, little playmate, why don't you take this ballerina with you?"

"Don't you wanna keep her?" Alex asked, staring at the doll with wonder on her face. "So you can make more?"

"I have more that aren't finished yet in the back. You take this one and in a few months, bring it back and we can set you up with a whole closet full of tutus and costumes."

Alex glanced up at Jack before grinning and taking the doll gently from his grasp.

"What do you say to Mr. Jack, Alex?" her mother promoted.

Cradling the doll close, Alex said, "Thank you, Mr. Jack."

"No, no. Thank you. You always make my toys better." He winked at her before waving goodbye as her mother ushered her out of the store.

A customizable ballerina. Why hadn't he thought of that?

The rest of the day flew by in a whirlwind of ribbons, scotch tape, and colorful paper as he rang up customers and boxed his latest and greatest creations. As the hustle and bustle wound down, Jack worked on putting the store back in order while Claire closed out the registers.

Or, he was supposed to tidy up. He kept getting distracted watching Claire count the bills with her long graceful fingers. Seeing her tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Observing how a faint line appeared between her brows as she totaled everything up. She'd worked at Toyland for a few months now and had become one of his favorite employees. Not just because she was pretty and did funny things to his insides, but because she was kind and patient and saw the same wonder in the children that he did. Because she sometimes took part in playtime with them and gave good constructive feedback.

Because, to her, these weren't just toys. They were a realm of possibility. A chance to help mold young children's imaginations and explore a better tomorrow.

"I know you're watching me."

Jack tripped on the edge of a display case and nearly took out his teddy bear brigade. Righting himself, and hoping he at least looked suave doing it, he glanced over at the counter. To where Claire was watching him with a knowing smile on her beak.

"N-no," he said weakly, leaning up against the dollhouse display and crossing one foot over the other. Like the cool kids in movies. "I was just…." Unable to find a decent excuse, he loped over to the counter, nearly tripping over his own feet along the way, and gesticulated madly to distract her. "Do you think we need some decorations across the front here?"

"The children would pull them down. You know how excited they get." Claire leaned over and studied the bare wanes coating of the cashier's desk. "Though, it could benefit from something."

"See? Just what I had been thinking. We are on the same wavelength."

Claire glanced up with a smirk.

Jack felt his cheeks heat. He cleared his throat and crouched down, trying to visualize something in the blank space. "A mural, perhaps?"

"Or more song lyrics?" Claire stacked the money together before slipping it into a bag and zipping it closed.

"That's an idea! There's gotta be more songs about toys out there." Jack cocked his head to one side, as if the angle would help lyrics fall into his head.

"I've always liked 'Pure Imagination' myself." Claire said. "Reminds me of you."

"Am I as mad as Willy Wonka?"

"Madder."

Jack glanced up, mock offense on his face.

Claire grinned and rested her forearms on the counter, her elegant hands entwining with one another. "You have to be mad to make all the amazing toys that you do."

Jack straightened up, an eyebrow raised. "I'm not sure if I should be offended."

Claire's smile grew soft as she leaned down. "You can be whatever you want to be."

Jack was about to give his retort, but it died on his tongue when he realized how close they were. Only the smallest of inches separating them. Her pale green eyes suddenly the center of his world. The smile slowly slipping off her face as she studied him, her beak opening as if to say something.

She seemed to be getting even closer. Maybe because he was stretching up towards her. Or was she dipping down to him? Both, he realized, as the distance between them grew smaller.

Her eyelids fluttered, long eyelashes sweeping over her cheeks. His heart was racing, the pulse pounding in his ears.

A sharp rap on the front door had Claire jerking backwards, her cheeks coloring as she glanced towards the noise.

She pulled her beak up into a polite smile and scurried over to open the front door. "I'm sorry, ma'am, we're closed for the evening."

"Oh, can't I come in for a moment? I promise I'll be quick. Its just, my son hasn't stopped talking about this Wiffle Boy, and all the other stores I've been to are sold out."

"What's a wiffle?" Jack asked, crossing the shop to stand behind Claire.

"Wiffle Boy. He's a character I think," said the woman, pushing her hair out of her face and shrugging. "I don't really know much beyond it's all these kids are talking about. Do you have anything that's Wiffle Boy?"

"I haven't heard of any board games about a Wiffle kid," said Jack, glancing over at his inventory. Was there a new release? No, he would have heard about it. Maybe if he knew what a wiffle was, knew what shape or color he was looking for….

"Oh, not a board game!" said the woman. "A video game."

Jack turned back, a sneer on his beak. "We don't sell video games here. We sell real toys. Toys that inspire children to create and become well adjusted adults, not something that will desensitize them to violence and turn them into criminals."

The woman's eyebrows rose.

Claire motioned over the woman's shoulder, saying, "There's a video game store down the street. You might have better luck with them."

"I'll try there, then. Thanks, and sorry to trouble you." With that, she bundled down the street to the video game shop that had opened up just after Halloween. Blinding lights flashed through the windows, sure to induce a migraine with their colorful and constant strobing.

There was no finesse to the display. No class. No sense at all. It was all just thrown together, the electric components whirring and blinking in a desperate attempt to pull in wayward shoppers.

The worst part was that it worked on some of them. Children would bounce when they saw the store, distracted by the shiny things inside. Jack didn't like those children; they were the ones who looked at his toys and asked, "But what does it do?"

Claire closed the door with a snap, and ensured their printed sign was turned so the "Closed" side faced the street. "I should probably get going," she said, sending a smile up to Jack as she walked back to the counter and scooped up her money bag. "I have shopping to do myself before I go home."

"Sure, sure," said Jack, giving one last cursory glare to the gaming store. "Thank you for all your help today."

"Of course," she said before disappearing into the stockroom.

Jack turned off the lights in his display windows and was straightening up the train village when Claire returned, buttoning her coat with her purse hanging off one shoulder.

"Don't stay up too late. Even mad geniuses need their sleep."

Jack grinned. "I'll do what I can."

"That means you'll be in that workshop of yours all through the night trying to get your ballerina's wardrobe sketched out."

He shrugged. "These toys won't invent themselves."

"I suppose not. But rest is important, too." Stuffing a hat on her head, Claire nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Jack tucked his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure what to do with them. "See you tomorrow."

Claire gave him one last smile before exiting the shop, Jack locking the door behind her. He glanced up at the words painted above the frame. The letters were in need of a fresh coat of paint. He would have to book his artist after the madness of the holidays.

He turned off the lights and headed to the stockroom where a staircase curled up to his apartment. Before closing the door and retiring for the night, he paused at the foot of the staircase, hand on the railing, and looked out over his shop. As was his custom.

With the Christmas lights the only beacon shining through the darkness, the words over his doorway practically gleamed. "Once you pass its borders, you can never return again."

Jack flicked off the Christmas lights and climbed upstairs to his apartment where his workshop lie in wait, ready for an evening of experimentation and innovation.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

Quackerjack was startled out of his memories when he heard an insistent banging on the door. Who even knew he was here? He stomped over and flung it open with a ferocious scowl on his beak.

Which he immediately wiped away when he saw who was standing on the stoop.

"Get your stuff," snapped Negaduck, his expression dark. "We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" Quackerjack asked.

Negaduck glared. "I said get your stuff." He spun and marched away.

Quackerjack bounced after him, his pockets already stuffed with toys.

They joined Megavolt, who had been standing a few feet away, and the three of them trudged through the Negaverse with Negaduck in the lead.

This song, in particular, I played on repeat while writing Jack’s dialogue and characterization. 

[gumblefur]

Is it May already?  Last month I replied to the annual email about booking our homeschool testing places, and it went something like this: “Thank you for all your help providing testing in the past but now my children have aged out and no longer require this service.  You have been invaluable to our family. Thanks again!”  Well that was an email that I felt like I had waited a long time to be able to send!  Then it happened and everything seemed so final.  Suddenly those years were over so quickly.  

As educators, this time of year we like to think about how successful we have been – whether that means like for me the whole of our homeschooling years, or for many of you, this current year.  Do we measure success merely by results of a test, or a series of tests?  Or is there more to it than that.  The obvious and screaming answer to this question is a resounding YES!  Of course there is more to measuring growth than test results!  That moment when your reluctant reader gets to the end of their first chapter book, even if it’s a level below where they “should” be but you chose it to build their confidence.  The time when, on not knowing the answer to a question, instead of throwing a fit, they begin to look into where they can find said answer; they start asking the right kind of questions.  That instant when they see a sibling struggle and they gently guide them to the right place. These things can’t be measured in a test but they’re the things a momma stores up in her heart as keepsakes of growth success.  So… apart from it being a legal requirement here in Washington State, what is the point in end of year testing?  It will vary from parent to parent but for me it meant two things:

A current snapshot

The annual test showed me where they stood at that moment in time.  Test-day nerves notwithstanding, it illustrated where there might knowledge gaps that need to be addressed.  Were they at the State and National grade level expected for their grade level of study? I would look at the results of the test and use the information to plan for the coming year.  The results would help me know if I needed to change up the curriculum or keep on the same track.  Were there indicators that our current curriculum was fitting their current learning style?  It would tell me if there was something extra that I needed to ensure was included in the next year’s study.  In short, the annual test snapshot was useful to inform me as I planned the year ahead.

A growth-measure

I would take the results and compare them year-on-year to measure for any improvement.  I’ll admit I’m a bit of a math nerd and loved doing this! Was their testing level equal to a grade level increase on last year or was it more… or less?  Where had we seen real measurable statistical growth in the last year?  Where the improvement was less than a grade level, were there mitigating reasons for this, or did I need to rethink that line of study?  For example, the year we moved house and some of our books were packed in error, there was a month or so of flying by the seat of our pants so-to-speak for science. Or did I choose a different scope and sequence to that being tested in a particular subject? ! As the years of results stacked-up I could see whether the increase gradient was consistent or if there were any worrying rises or falls.  Did one huge improvement in a particular subject come at the expense of another? Was there evidence that we needed more time for enrichment classes – or was too much time spent on this?

I made sure to tell the children that where their tests and quizzes at home throughout the year were about whether or not they had worked hard enough to fully understand their work, this annual testing was about if I had achieved my goals as a teacher.  Was I teaching them the right things in the right way for them? They were not to be nervous about the test but to have some fun and enjoy the experience of being with all those other children.   They came to look forward to annual testing!

Here in our homeschool program, in ballet class, we have been measuring how close to the ground the students can achieve in splits on the right and on the left.  I took a measurement in April, one in May, and will take another one in June.  Good flexibility is very important for the dancer’s ability to achieve clean lines of movement and shape in space.  It will help them to move more freely.  I’m taking more than two measurements so that anomalies can be cleaned out.  For example, what if they did an unusual workout the day before the second measurement was taken that made their height from the floor increase rather than decrease because they were unusually sore?   I won’t take more than three in the ten-week course because any more than that is not as helpful for them – there’s more to dance ability than flexibility and I don’t want to give them a skewed focus.  I was very encouraged though that every child that was present for the second measuring day found some improvement on at least one side!

That was rather a lot to chew through for a blog so I’m going to leave you with a couple of links.

Here is one to the Washington Homeschool Organization page all about what is legally required of the homeschool family regarding testing:

http://washhomeschool.org/homeschooling/the-law/#Annual-Testing

Below is a fun link to an article all about learning styles with links to some assessments included:

https://www.weirdunsocializedhomeschoolers.com/how-to-homeschool-determine-your-childs/

Keep on keeping on!

Debbie

[coldandforbidding-blog]

Task 001: Questionnaire

Tell me how’s the way to see; show me all that I could be.

APPEARANCE.

Hair colour: Blonde Eye colour: Steely blue, rather round. Glasses or contact lenses: Contacts. Fun fact: being quarter Veela does not make you impervious to having astigmatism.  Height: 5′9″ Weight: 135 Build: Dainty frame, slender arms, perfect posture; a dancer’s body.  Scars: None, though she will acquire them over time.  Birthmarks: Pale brown birthmark on her cheek. Of all the features that she was blessed with, this one is her favorite.  Tattoos: On her left side, rib cage, she has a small vine of Lily of the Valley flowers.  Distinguishing features: Her ethereal aura is the first thing everyone notices about a Delacour girl. Being a quarter Veela, one look at Fleur and you are simply captivated; she radiated allure and charm, though whether that comes from her genetics or upbringing, it’s a rather blurred line. Though separate from her silvery voice or the darling way she walks, when she lowers her guard and lessens the Veela charms, her defining features include her intense jawline, large eyes, and pale blonde hair that frames her face -- and most of her torso. 

PERSONALITY.

Bad character traits: 

Blunt; explicit; straight-forward; curt. In how many words can one say rude as hell? Fleur doesn’t understand why people get upset with her honesty. She tells men when there isn’t going to be another date; she lets girls know when their boyfriend should be dumped. She doesn’t sugar coat the frivolous day-to-day; it’s rather black and white. If you are unhappy, why stay that way? Many simply write Fleur off as rude, spoiled, and inconsiderate. Look to the way she speaks of the Boy Who Lived. Little boy, this. Scrawny knees, that. All she sees Harry as is this tiny, skinny boy who is constantly being circled by wolves. Her efforts to draw attention to his short-comings in conversation is her way of saying that he needs to be left alone, be his own person. Clearly he won’t live up to all of the myths spoken about him. And she doesn't feel the need to explain herself at all. She thinks that him being a “little boy” makes it all clear. On top of that, the language barrier makes her blunt opinions even more boiled down. Stubborn; though Fleur will always listen to reason and logic, she will not waver from her heart. As a Taurus, Fleur is incredibly practical and can be swayed with the right facts in front of her. On the flip side, it is incredibly difficult to change her mind once she believes she is morally in the right. You cannot sway her in a political conversation; not in the pureblood debate, not on magical creature’s rights, there’s very little point. Her convictions are just like her wand; inflexible.  Materialistic; vain; over-indulgent. This is how people see Fleur. She loves the good life, and will work her ass off to see herself remain there. One can always find this Ravenclaw done-up for class; it is very rare to spot her not indulging in the finer things. She wears clothing like armor, she must be impenetrable. God for bid she loses her voice in an argument without her pearl necklace or someone find her Achilles heel without her powder blue pumps on. For Fleur, it isn’t enough just to be pretty, you have to be the full package. Though she tends to play her cards close to her chest, there is clearly some deep rooted insecurities muddled in all of this. She sets impossibly high standards for herself, for that’s the best way she believes -- at least at this point in her life -- that people can take her seriously. Intimidation visually, respect verbally.  

Good character traits:  Loyal; supportive; unwavering. I based a lot of my writings and musings based on the star sign that I assigned to Fleur; Taurus. It just simply fits so well in my opinion! The ruling planet being Venus alone is explanation enough; “the planet of love, attraction, beauty, satisfaction, creativity and gratitude.” Like…that’s homegirl right there. Her loyalties are fierce and LOUD. And her reaction to betrayal is that much stronger. There is no question regarding which house she belongs to -- for someone who doesn’t care for Quidditch all that much, she still manages to boast her house pride. My best example from canon is her loyalty to Harry once he saves her sister in the Second Task. Absolutely floored by his selflessness, wanting only for Gabrielle to survive the horrid fate she was nearly resigned to. Fleur promised that she would never forget, and she never lost respect or loyalty towards Harry or the causes he rallied behind.  Affectionate; doting; romantic. @riss come back before you post from drafts Bright; capable; humorous; savvy. In the time between her departure from boarding school and her enrollment in Hogwarts Academy, she spent that buffer primarily teaching ballet to young children at the studio she grew up in. Though she threw most of her childhood into the craft, dance isn’t exactly her life’s passion. Fleur, much to the dismay of others, has political savvy. More than that, she had an activist’s spirit. She feels as if her mind, body, and heart must share worth and cultivate strength by working off of one another. Despite her own struggles, she knows how fortunate she is to have been born a Delacour woman. And that isn’t something that she often forgets. Beauty and charisma yet, strength and uncompromising will. And despite keeping her emotions close to her chest, she does NOT by any means keep her opinions to herself (unless there’s a reason i.e. not disclosing which side she favors, as to not make herself or her family targets). “Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” damn right it is. She’s blunt, penetrating, and a down right riot if you catch her at the right time and place.     Optimistic or pessimistic: Optimistic. Introverted or extroverted: This is cheating but, she is an introverted extrovert. Good habits: Exercising her mind, body, and soul. Keeping on top of herself -- always trying to improve as a person. Don’t you know that only fools are satisfied?  Bad habits: Speaking before thinking, judging others upon surface features -- despite how much she loathes when people do that to her, drinking too much too late into the evening.  Pet peeves: Being interrupted, people assuming she’s heartless, disrespecting teachers, chapped lips, people snorting their snot when they should absolutely have blown their nose ten minutes ago.  Guilty pleasures: Speaking about someone in French, proving that she has brains to back up her beauty, the finer things™.  Fears: Falling from high heights (hence her distaste for Quidditch), bringing shame to her family’s name, and as the war brews, she will fear her family being targeted due to her efforts involved with the Order.  Secrets: I would like to spend more time with Fleur to figure this out <3 Political views: This will have its own post when I get to it. It truly is a dense topic for Fleur.  What do they consider an overrated character trait: Being polite. Nice is different than good. What do they consider an underrated character trait: Humor. She is putty in your hands if you can make her laugh.  What would they change about themselves if they could: Her relationship with women. Fleur is this ethereal entity, adored by men. And this negatively impacts the way she extends a hand to other women and vice versa; her insecurities versus their’s. Fleur is imperfect – at this point in her life, she fears and resents other women at times though struggles with also wanting to uplift them and stand strong as ladies should. It is hard for her to get past the way people judge her. She has issues with wanting to be liked and pined after -- she cannot deny that she loves the ego boost. Though if men she is attracted to pine for someone who is not her, Fleur becomes very cross -- she’s basically won the genetic lottery! Let’s say for example she has feelings for Viktor, who has feelings for Hermione. Fleur’s jealousy would flare up and her instinct would be to tear Hermione down -- how could he pick her over her? Comparing her to the other, trying to poke at Hermione’s flaws, only to gradually begin tearing herself down; do I bore him? Am I not his type? Am I trying too hard? Why does she have to not even draw a iron to her hair and he’s all over her? However, she knows that this isn’t healthy for her or anyone else involved. Improving her relationship with women -- and inadvertently men -- is a big goal this school year. 

PAST AND FUTURE.

What does their family consist of: Her mother, father, and her baby sister. Do they find family important: Intensely.  Do they have siblings: Her dear Gabrielle, whom she constantly dotes on.  What was your character like as a child:  Believe it or not, there was a brief time when the little Delacour girl was not a blunt, spunky – oh, how she hates that word – force to be reckoned with. It’s true; there was a simpler, quaint, and fucking quiet Fleur that existed before she reached her prime. Despite being greatly opinionated as a young girl, she normally kept defiant feelings and all of those snarky comments she wished she could make to herself – she didn’t need to be known as the troubled daughter, now did she? No, no, Fleur was supposed to be a simple girl – taking piano and “young socialite” lessons like her parents had greatly encouraged. She loved her mother and father dearly, wanted nothing more to be a good role model to her sister, the least she could do was play the part. Being part-Veela, the Delacour beauty was rather renowned. As she got leered at and comments from men from a very young age, Fleur was timid and hid herself in defiance. Large sweaters, the loosest slacks her mother would allow, only baring her shoulders in the comfort of the ballet studio. What was your character like as a teenager: The older her and Gabrielle got, the more she used her assets and genetic aura to her advantage. She became solid teflon. Sharp tongue with quick wit, wore clothes like body armor, lowering her guard to very few people. Fleur felt the need to protect Gabrielle from feeling as insecure as she did growing up. What advice would they give their younger self: The quote that I will use for Fleur until the day that I die: There are two things a man is always willing to believe about a woman. One, that she is weak. And two, that she is attracted to him. Best childhood memory: Helping her mother and father construct baby Gabrielle’s nursery, who was still in Apolline’s tummy. They didn’t allow her to do much heavy lifting in the process, she was still quite little. She can remember that day with such distinction; all windows were wide open, natural light baking the room to such a perfect golden brown that she hardly wanted to paint over the wall with the baby pink color that she had helped her mother pick out only hours before. She can recall buzzing with excitement in her chest as she spoke to Apolline’s tummy, peppering it with kisses, hoping that Gabi could understand and feel how much Fleur already loved her. And the unmistakable feeling of her heart breaking whenever her papa would remind her that her sister wouldn’t be coming home for a few more weeks.  What are their future ambitions: Fleur is still figuring that part out. All she knows is that she wants to make a difference, as cheesy as that may sound. Aside from her occupation, she’s at a loss. She is at a point in her life where decisions are starting to matter.  What do they want to be ‘when they grow up‘: Working for or with the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is her biggest passion at the moment. She’s partial to the Beast Division, though the Spirit Division would be a close second.  

MISCELLANEOUS.

What are their hobbies: Ballet, staying up late, reading and researching, dueling, partying with friends.   What is their patronus: Upon taking the “full” patronus test with Fleur in mind, her patronus is a Unicorn! Which I feel is very fitting; unicorns are rare and sought after creatures, who are classically depicted with feminine qualities and they have a stronger affinity towards women in general.  What place would they most like to visit: At the moment? Muggle London -- though truly any Muggle-populated metropolitan.  What is in their purse or wallet: This could really change for any occasion but, I’ll go with a casual day at school. Her wand, an exact-o blade in case anything should happen to her wand, her glasses anything should happen to her eyes, compact mirror, tinted lip gloss, a rather well-loved note pad, a blue pen, and her latest copy of the Wizard newspaper in France -- her mother always send an owl with the latest copy, sometimes with notes in between columns.   What is on their bedside table: Her glasses case, whatever book she was reading the night before, her diary, and her casual jewelry tray.  What do they value the most in a friend or partner: Trust. Mutual trust. At the end of the day, Fleur doesn’t have time for instability. When she needs to lean on someone -- which doesn’t happen all the time -- she doesn’t have time for ulterior motives. Though she holds loyalty to a high degree, there is no loyalty if you have done nothing to gain her trust or display that you trust her entirely.  If they could have one magical skill perfected, which would they choose: Non-verbal magic. It is a skill that her father and mother have mastered with such ease, and she simply wishes to follow suit.  What would they ask a fortune teller: Likely about the crossroads she is in right now. Should she just return to France once her time at Hogwarts Academy is done? Or stay and fight for the causes she believes in? To be safe or to be free?

[maegfen]

Garcy prompt: Garcia and Lucy playfully dancing with one another, in the past or in the bunker, whichever comes more naturally :)

Here you are dear anon - my apologies for the delay! I hope you enjoy it :)Set some time after 2x05 but it’s pretty ambiguous apart from that.Rated: G

It becomes something a routine after that first time, after that initial ice had been broken, after they decided that actually, being in each other’s company wasn’t a hardship, wasn’t a chore, but was something to look forward to. It’s another cautious connection between them, but one that grows stronger with each occurrence.

This time it’s Lucy’s turn to pick the film. It’s late, everyone else has gone to bed, or home, none of the other occupants willing to encroach on Lucy and Flynn’s ‘alone’ time - none of them have been able to define the budding relationship, but everyone knows the two of them enough to give them the space and the time they need to find their way on their own.

Flynn slumps down next to Lucy on the old sofa (it’s still uncomfortable as hell, but they’re still making do…) and hands her a cold beer, while she grabs the remote from the table and flicks on the TV. They don’t speak a word, there’s no real need.

Lucy flicks through all the channels twice before settling, inevitably, on the the black and white oldies, their go-to when nothing else takes their fancy. (There’s so much chaos and panic and fighting in their life that all modern films suddenly hit too close to home, no matter how outlandish the subject matter.)

Flynn loves Bogart, while Lucy is more of a Bacall fan, but tonight it is Fred and Ginger and soft music and romance. Lucy raises an eyebrow in question at the man sitting next to her, double checking if her choice is okay (she knows him well, she knows he’ll agree to anything she chooses…) Flynn doesn’t answer directly but smiles, nods and gestures for her to turn the volume up so he can hear the opening swell of the overture.

They stay pretty quiet throughout, laughing at all the right points, Lucy gasping at all the choreography and Flynn bopping his head slightly to the music at times. It’s comfortable and fun and this is the time Lucy relishes, when Rittenhouse doesn’t exist and her thoughts are filled with friends and good company and the potential of something more with the man sitting next to her.

She leans her head on his shoulder about half way through the film. Flynn doesn’t comment, just shifts slightly and moves his arm to rest on the back of the sofa instead, before, after a few minutes, letting it slide around Lucy, like a teen on a tentative first date. Lucy smiles and shifts a fraction closer.

Time passes, and they watch in silence as the plot moves forward, the music plays and the dancers drift across the screen in beautiful ball gowns and perfectly tailored tuxedos.

 “My mother tried to send me to ballet lessons once,” Lucy suddenly confides as Astaire and Rogers waltz across the screen, the choreography making them look like characters from a Disney film.

They’ve been quiet for so long that Flynn glances down at her.“What happened?”

“I was four; I spent the whole time running around ignoring the teacher and doing what I wanted. My mother was… encouraged… not to bring me back .”

She looks embarrassed at her confession, and sure enough, Flynn takes the opportunity to poke fun at her lightheartedly.

“Ah, the great Lucy Preston, undone by ballet shoes and plies. I guess there is something you aren’t good at!”

“I was FOUR!” she reminds him, shoving him gently on the the arm while she laughs at the absurdity of it all. He winces in jest and rubs at his arm before grinning at her. 

“And yet I suppose you never attempted to learn when you were older?”

Lucy suddenly stares at her rapidly emptying beer bottle, flicks some condensation from the glass and mumbles something incoherently. Flynn chuckles. 

“What was that?”

Lucy sighs and turns to face him and smiles slightly. He returns the gesture, the look lighting up his face. She thinks, just for a second, that she likes him more when he’s happy. 

“Actually I did. I took some salsa lessons in college….” She trails off.

“And?” Flynn encourages, a raised eyebrow as accompaniment.

“And I was too clumsy and I kept standing on everyone’s feet, so I quit.”He laughs then, long and hard, but not cruelly, never that. Flynn’s known her long enough to be witness to her true nature, she really is the clumsiest person he’s ever met.

Lucy takes another long pull of her drink. Flynn says nothing, just returns his gaze to the TV, where the lovers are dancing their final romantic number of the movie. He taps his feet to the music and just waits patiently, happy with the silence but ready to listen if Lucy decides to carry on the conversation.

“I just wish…” Lucy starts before trailing off once more.

Silence falls momentarily between them.

“Lucy,” Flynn whispers, catching her attention with her name while he squeezes her shoulder in silent support. Lucy figures he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “It’s just me. You can trust me remember; no judgment.”

His words, his manner, his, well, everything, seems to put her at ease. Lucy takes a breath and finishes her previous thought.

“I just wish it were that easy,” she comments, gesturing towards the couple moving in sync together on the screen. “I wish I wasn’t so damn clumsy. I think I just have two left feet,” she finishes despondently. She’s pretty sure she’s pouting.

Flynn looks at her carefully, seems to be contemplating something important as the music starts to fade, the film ending and switching immediately to a late night infomercial. He casually reaches over and clicks off the screen using the nearby remote, cutting off the way too enthusiastic host advertising knives and leaving them in the near silence of the bunker.

“Maybe,” he starts, voice husky and low in the quiet, “maybe you just didn’t have the right teacher.”

That’s all he really says before he stands slowly, placing his bottle on the table in front of the sofa. Lucy can only watch as he reaches out and carefully plucks her own bottle from between her fingers and sets it down beside his own.

The next thing she sees is his hand held out in invitation. Lucy rolls her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah come on Lucy, you know you want to.”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively, wiggles his fingers to tempt her to take his hand.

“Completely ridiculous.”

Flynn just wiggles his fingers again, while his other hand taps against this thigh. Lucy gazes up at him, sees the determination and mischievous sparkle in his eyes, watches him lick his bottom lip before dragging his teeth over it, leaving his lip slightly red and wet and oh so distracting - it’s a sign of his nerves Lucy knows, and the thought that Garcia Flynn could be nervous about her reaction causes her to shake her head a little; he’s such a fool (but he’s yours, she thinks, knows, understands…)

She reaches out then, just a little, just enough to grasp his hand with her fingers. He beams at her, laughs, and bows, bows, as if it’s an invitation to a formal dance in the early 19th century. Lucy wonders if he got all his dancing inspiration from Pride & Prejudice (he was a dead ringer for Darcy after all, she thinks; tall, dark, broody, stubborn and completely unable to say the right thing on more than one occasion…)

He tugs at her hand, and although she grumbles at his insistence, she eventually relents and allows herself to be pulled to her feet. He leads her away from the sofa to where they have a little more space. Flynn immediately curls his fingers around her own, tucking his other hand gently around her waist. He was so damn tall that Lucy thinks they probably look ridiculous, but at that moment, when she can feel the heat of his hand through her shirt, she can’t bring herself to care. She puts her hand round his back, grasps his turtleneck as if worried that this is all a dream and he’ll fade from view if she doesn’t hold on. 

Flynn doesn’t comment, just stands a little taller.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” is all Lucy can think to say, so Flynn just nods.

Despite his height he moves gracefully, twirling her around and away from him suddenly, clutching her waist as she returns to his side. Lucy laughs, swatting him on the shoulder when she has an opportunity. 

“Flynn, we don’t even have any music,” she exclaims, laughing as he spins her again.

“Oh now really Lucy, you think I haven’t thought of that?”

Flynn starts humming then, a soft tune, something familiar but not; possibly an old rat pack tune or a crooner melody.

He takes small steps to start, taking the lead, encouraging her to follow him, to move with him. She’s tense, too concerned about her feet, his feet, to fully enjoy the moment.

“Lucy,” he utters, taking a tiny step away so he can look at her properly. “Don’t think, don’t analyze, just trust yourself, enjoy yourself…”

She nods, settles herself more comfortably in his arms and allows herself to just feel the movement, allows herself to trust Flynn as he starts to direct them around the space of the room. 

He pulls her closer after a while, when she’s got the hang if it, when she’s laughing and twirling and clearly, actually, enjoying herself. It’s just a fraction, just a tiny movement on Flynn’s part, but it’s enough for his intention to be clear. His fingers squeeze hers, and Lucy takes the plunge, takes that final step and closes the distance, leaning her head on his chest and allowing herself to pull him closer. She can smell the faint traces of his cologne and the scent of him. Lucy leans into him, savoring his touch and the feeling of belonging and right. 

“I like this,” she whispers against his chest, listening to both his heart and the tune he hums.

She feels his smile rather than sees it. Hears the rumble of his approval in his chest as he mutters in agreement.

“Me too,” he replies, voice hushed and almost breathless, before he plants a lingering kiss on the top of her head.

They continue swaying in the quiet of the room, Flynn’s soft voice their only accompaniment.

[toutorii]

Various Honoka HCS

Cause Im self indulgent 😌

⁃ So when Noka was a baby, neither her dad, Shirou or Daiki knew what the hell to do with her wings.

⁃ Her first word was "Daiai" which was exposed to be "Daiki"

⁃ Daiki would call Noka "baby bird" and mo one will tell me otherwise

⁃ He also called Shirou "buddy"

⁃ She would fly around and their dad would make Shirou chase her down. Cause by this point, Daiki had already “joined” AfO.

⁃ When Shirou and Noka were taken in by their uncle, he just slept and let her do whatever.

⁃ Their uncle, also known as Eraserhead, was a very kind guardian

⁃ He went to each of Shirou's ballet concerts, and did Noka's hair for picture day

⁃ If you looked through his search history it would be filled with "how to do a braid for beginners"

⁃ Aizawa bought Noka various art supplies and bought Shirou new shoes whenever they needed them

⁃ He also worried for his nephew, who went missing right before Noka and Shirou ended up in his custody

⁃ Didnt want Noka or Shirou to become heroes

⁃ Cause he didnt want to see the two children he practically raised to be hurt

⁃ But because of their ties to All for One, the government forced both of them to become heros to "prove" that they had severed their bonds with All for One

⁃ Shirou's dream was to become a professional dancer and Noka's was to become a professional artist

⁃ And Aizawa was not happy that the two lights in his life were torn from their dreams

⁃ And so Shirou got accepted into the hero program, in class 1-A

⁃ He chose the hero name Shifter

⁃ Cause he could shift into any organic form

⁃ When he got 3rd place at the sports festival, Noka ran around her uncle's apartment screaming with joy

⁃ Noka is literally his biggest fan

⁃ Noka's first friend was a small purple haired boy name Hitoshi Shinsou

⁃ So naturally, she called him Toshi

⁃ And she refused to call him anything else all throughout middle and high school

⁃ Shinsou and Noka have sleepovers all the time and you can't tell me otherwise

⁃ When people would tell Shinsou that his quirk was villainous, Noka would always speak up cause she knew Shinsou wouldnt contradict them

⁃ Noka is always like that

⁃ Speaking up for others and herself. And her smart mouth tends to get her in trouble

⁃ Shinsou would fuss over Noka's wings. Like if they were dirty or a few feathers were out of place, Shinsou would sit her down and fix her wings.

⁃ "Toshi, your inner mom is showing"

⁃ "Its not my fault you cant take proper care of your wings"

⁃ When she told Shinsou about her acceptance into U.A's med course, he couldn't have been prouder

⁃ Noka is actually the one who encouraged Shinsou to train with her uncle.

⁃ But before that lets talk about Noka's time at U.A. so far

⁃ She was first introduced to class 1-A during the first combat training

⁃ Healed everyone who got very minor injuries

⁃ At the USJ attack, Shigiraki deteriorated part of Noka's hip. But her extremely enhanced natural healing abilities stopped the deterioration

⁃ So she has this big ass scar on the back side of her left hip

⁃ She wanted to absolutely murder Shigiraki for letting the Nomu loose on her uncle

⁃ But she doesnt have any damaging fire power

⁃ So she just tried to heal her uncle's wounds the best she could

⁃ Nearly gets herself killed many times with her smart assery

⁃ And gives everyone around her a heart attack in the process

⁃ During the sports festival, she helped RG heal all the students

⁃ Reprimanded Deku for overusing OfA

⁃ Oh yeah, she learned about AfO and OfA from her time with All for One (A/N: please dont kill me im trying to not make her too op 😭😭)

⁃ Is kind of like to Deku like Recovery Girl is to All Might

⁃ So fast foward to the internships

⁃ She interns with another oc of mine, Snow

⁃ Who is a healer but with incredible attack powers

⁃ Coincidentally, Noka was patrolling Hosu when the nomus hit

⁃ She recieved Deku's distress signal and ran to the scene

⁃ She didnt attack the hero killer, but ran to help Native and made sure he didnt bleed out

⁃ The hero killer didnt bat a single eye at her, deeming her not a threat

⁃ In the end, she didnt harm Stain so her hero guardian? didnt have to take any blame for her actions

⁃ Noka however did get nearly ripped in half by a nomu, so she had to stay in the hospital with Todo and Deku

⁃ So— Summer training arc

⁃ She just looked at her class and said "fuck this" and flew over the whole forest

⁃ She actually beat the wild wild pussycats back to the camp

⁃ She got to know Kota, telling him how she never wanted to become a hero

⁃ Kota may or may not have developed a kiddie crush on her 😳

⁃ But anyways, when everyone else saw her all nice and refreshed, needless to say they were upset

⁃ Some more than others

⁃ *remembers Bakugou nearly blowing off Noka's face because she cheated*

⁃ Aizawa just smirking at his niece cause shes so much like her mother

⁃ "DAMMIT TAKAHASHI. YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE YOU CHEATER"

⁃ "They said to use our quirks. Its not my fault your quirk is too grounded"

⁃ "WHAT— YOU WANNA FIGHT—"

⁃ "No I wanna eat, goodbye—"

⁃ Focuses on her attack and the healing capabilities of her quirk

⁃ Let me set the scene

⁃ At the beginning of UA, our Noka could barely heal up a small cut

⁃ But now, she can close up major wound with little to no effort

⁃ P r o g r e s s people

⁃ N e ways

⁃ So when they do the haunted quirk thingy

⁃ Hairi and Noka are paired up, to their delight

⁃ But they aren't able to go into the forest before the attack happens

⁃ Apparently, the league came for Bakugou and Noka

⁃ Cause the "master" wanted his first nomu to return to him

⁃ But all Deku knew was "they are after Kacchan and the master's first Nomu"

⁃ Nobody knew who the first nomu was except for Noka

⁃ See, AfO took and gave Noka various quirks, eventually ending up with her current quirk(s)

⁃ He did this to Shirou and Daiki as well

⁃ But Shirou's body wasnt able to handle as many quirks, so AfO discarded him

⁃ Daiki was not aware that Noka was a target, Shigiraki knew he would object and purposely left him out of the loop

⁃ Eventually, Noka is cornered by Dabi

⁃ His fire power vastly out matches hers

⁃ But she puts up one hell of a fight

⁃ And Kurogiri took her before she woke up and fought back even more

⁃ So everyone was panicking when they couldnt find Noka

⁃ Aizawa was panicking them most

⁃ His precious niece was missing, no, taken by the league

⁃ The students had never seen their teacher so frazzled

⁃ The thing that broke Aizawa more was the look on Shirou's face when he told him that his baby sister was missing

⁃ His precious baby sister

⁃ His whole world

⁃ Shirou didnt go out of his room for days

⁃ He was there when they were to save Bakugou and Noka

⁃ All Might fought AfO, and won

⁃ But there was no sign of Noka

⁃ Shirou nearly tackled Bakugou, demanding, no, more like pleading for him to tell him where she was

⁃ Bakugou merely said "She's gone, and I dont know where she went"

⁃ The whole class was in a panic

⁃ Where was Noka? Was she hurt? Was she scared? Was she in danger?

⁃ And the question that hung on everyone's mind the most was

⁃ Is she alive?

⁃ The emptiness of Noka's desk was deafening

⁃ Their smart ass classmate was nowhere to be found

⁃ And they all felt guilty

⁃ But none more than Bakugou

⁃ For he was the last to see her alive so to speak

⁃ And her last words to him were "Forget about me ya big oaf, you hear me? I don't want you sulking, or I'll personally beat your ass."

⁃ Forget about her? How could he do that?

⁃ Noka was the only person who didn't put up with his bullshit

⁃ From day one she put him in his place

⁃ And honestly shes the closest thing to a sister he has

⁃ During the hero license exam, all of class 1-A decided that Noka would be really upset if they all sulked and failed their exams

⁃ But the fact that only Todoroki and Bakugou failed would make her fall into hysterics

⁃ When class 1-A met the big three, Mirio told them that Noka was strong and stubborn to a fault, so they shouldnt worry about things that arent in their control

⁃ To which they asked how he knew her

⁃ Apparently Shirou, Amajiki, and Mirio have all been friends since elementary school

⁃ So Amajiki and Mirio had been there a lot for many crucial parts of Noka's childhood

⁃ When the work studies started, Deku went on patrol with Mirio and Shirou, AKA Lemillion and Shifter

⁃ Shirou couldnt help but feel so much guilt crushing him when Eri jumped out of Deku's arms

⁃ Cause Eri reminded him of his little sister

⁃ Speaking of little sister

⁃ She refused to return to the league, so Shigiraki sold her to giran, who then took her to Overhaul

⁃ For the last 2 months, Noka had been experimented on by Kai Chisaki

⁃ In the mean time trying to protect Eri and building a loving friendship with the young girl

⁃ Ill talk about this another time

⁃ So skipping to when they save her

⁃ It was a total shock for them

⁃ To see this wingless, pale, frail, bandage wrapped girl

⁃ And even more so when she spoke

⁃ Not having that bite that their Noka had

⁃ But a softer, more broken voice replaced her normally boisterous and confident voice

⁃ In the big battle agains Chisaki, Noka got slammed against a wall

⁃ Which in normal circumstances would be fine, but with her body in such a week state it immediately cracked her ribs and spine

⁃ Ochako helped get her friend to the ambulance as quick as she could

⁃ Shirou saw a fluff of pale pink hair out of the corner of his eye

⁃ He immediately turned to run towards the medical stretcher, but was stopped

⁃ He kicked and screamed something along the lines of "THATS MY BABY SISTER. PLEASE LET ME SEE HER"

⁃ In the most broken voice you would ever hear

⁃ In the hospital, after Sir. Nighteye had passed, Deku, Kirishima, Amajiki, Shirou, Ochako, Tsu and Aizawa were all waiting anxiously for Noka's surgery

⁃ When all of a sudden the door explodes open and the nurses and doctors are shoved out by an invisible force of heat

⁃ Noka was using her ability to set herself aflame and be healed in the ashes

⁃ But no one knew wtf was going on cause she learned the trick at the Hassaiki hideout

⁃ So p a n i k

⁃ But after the doctors confirmed her stablility, they all went back to school

⁃ The whole class bursted into tears when they told them about Noka

⁃ Jirou, Kaminari, Momo and Mina all being the most emotionally impacted

⁃ Bakugou was almost crying witb relief but he disnt show jt

⁃ They weren't allowed to see Noka for a whole month

⁃ Only family were allowed

⁃ She was hard at work recovering and going through therapy and they didnt want to disturb her

⁃ But when they (Kirishima, Deku, Ochako, and Tsu) did visit, they were shocked

⁃ There was this soft spoken, trembling, woman, and this was after a month of intense therapy

⁃ They hadnt event started physcial therapy yet, they wanted to get her tk the point she could be around others without going into a panic mode

⁃ But what really shocked them was how her wings hadnt grown back.

⁃ They were then told that they would never grow back, since the bone in them were completely ripped out.

⁃ Thus she needs a wheelchair while she recovers

⁃ Daiki sometimes visits her during the night

⁃ He apologizes to her over and over again for not being there when she was taken

⁃ But also to apologize for abandoning her and Shirou

⁃ She just cupped his wet cheek and said

⁃ "Daiki, I know you had a damn good reason to do what you did. Also you're my big brother. I dont care if you work for All for One, youre still my brother. And you'll always have a home with us. Shouta Shirou and I will welcome you back with open arms."

⁃ Needless to say Daiki just bursted into more tears

⁃ Anyways—

⁃ By the time the school festival comes around, Noka still needs a wheelchair, and isnt the strongest mentally, but she has made tremendous progress.

⁃ After the 1-A concert, Eri sat on Noka's lap the whole time. Except during the beauty pageant, in which Deku held Eri, and Mirio held Noka (cause shes a smol baby)

⁃ Noka was in charge of tesching Eri the basics while she recovered, since the young girl felt most comfortable with her

⁃ When the dual training session came around, Noka still couldnt do much moving around without draining her energy quickly. So she stuck with enhancing her quirk while she built up her physical strength.

⁃ Meaning she healed any and all injuries after the matches were concluded

⁃ Monoma made the mistake of saying something about her not making any progress, and Bakugou was t h i s close to murdering him 😌

⁃ Ever since Noka got back from the hospital, Bakugou has been v e r y protective of his honourary sister—

⁃ But Kendou smacked the blonde before Bakugou could do anything

⁃ Shinsou would totally go like "Noka are you okay? Are you sure you should be out here? How are you feeling? Do you feel sick?"

⁃ Cause Shinsou is a mom

Anyways I have a bunch more hcs but i dont wanna completely bore you. But I was thinking of doing this for Daiki Shirou and Noka as children. Or maybe for Phoebe 😳😳😳　

Comment or send an ask if i should