#ballet quinn

[bropunzeling]

How is ballet!Quinn doing?

due to [gestures at life, wedding planning] i have not worked on that fic in a long time but (a) he will always live in my heart (b) you best believe brady tkachuk has a season subscription to the ballet company livestreams and always texts quinn super supportive things while hoping that the undercurrent of "i would literally do anything for you" does not shine through too much (it does, but quinn hasnt quite figured that out yet). quinn was in romeo et juliet in the spring and brady nearly bit through his tongue at the blousy shirt/white tights combo.

[dance-world]

Dylan Hoffinger, Kyle DuPree, Tyler Stewart, Dylan Vonder Linden, Drew Fountain, Vincent Arzola, Adam Houston, and Sam Quinn

[sultrycarrie]

[balletthebestphotographs]

Lauren Quinn and Valentino Moneglia Zamora

Lauren Quinn and Valentino Moneglia Zamora, “Arabian Dance” (pdd) from “The Nutcracker”, story by Brian Selznick based on the fairy tale “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King” (1816) by Ernst Hoffmann, music by Pyotr Tchaikovsky Пётр Чайковский, choreo by Christopher Wheeldon, costume design by Julian Crouch, The Joffrey Ballet, Lyric Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, USA.

Source and more info at: The Joffrey Ballet Website The Joffrey Ballet on Twitter The Joffrey Ballet on Pinterest The Joffrey Ballet on You Tube The Joffrey Ballet on Facebook The Joffrey Ballet on Instagram

Photographer Cheryl Mann Website Photographer Cheryl Mann on Flickr Photographer Cheryl Mann on Facebook Photographer Cheryl Mann on Instagram

Note I: This blog is open to receiving and considering any suggestions, contributions, and/or criticisms that may help correct mistakes or improve its content. Comments are available to any visitor.

Note II: Original quality of photographs might be affected by compression algorithm of the website where they are hosted.

[thegivenchythree]

Richard Quinn s/s 2023

[vanilla-poisons]

It’s such a common knowledge to all my friends that I used to do ballet as a kid but I forget that my college friends don’t know/not everyone knows. So yesterday two of them were badly dancing as a joke and said “you can’t judge us” and then I said “yes I can” stood up and did like a mid pirouette and they just were like huh??? Which is understandable because I’m 5’1, average body type, gay trans asian non binary with bright yugioh colored hair. Like that’s not ballerina material. I’m not even good at ballet but the fact I even know the names of moves and can do basics is very amusing to some people.

[jmarotte]

[destinylordoffreaks]

Batch 2 of my pictures of iris

 first off, we have a picture of Iris in a casual outfit versus her superhero outfit. I never really designed any other versions of irises superhero outfit because the longer I drew my characters the more I found myself this drawing them being like a normal people with that being said, casual iris appears to be dancing and that’s because she is don’t think I’ve mentioned yet, but Iris is a ballerina. She loves dancing, and has been practicing ballet since she was little, becomes a reoccurring theme.

Then we have a portrait. I think this is the first time I drew iris with dark skin but it’s kind of hard to tell at what point her skin tone changed because I didn’t color in most of her sketches. I don’t know why but here it is the first picture I can find of her with darker skin 

 Then we once again have our my little pony designs. I don’t know why decide to draw the ponies wearing clothing I just did. I was kind a looks like a cross between sparkle works g3 and Babs g4

Although I am working on some new my little pony design for my characters, I don’t have one for Iris yet I do however have a bunch of G3, my little pony coloring pages that I used to flush out color designs for the ponies. Do you guys want to see her new color palette I can post to pictures. 

Do we have yet another attempt to draw Iris in a Disney art style this one is based directly off of a picture of Ariel. No ones surprised

Then we have a bunch of portraits I did of all of my female characters I had at that point Idon’t know what happened, but Iris came out looking kind of Native American. I had colored versions somewhere, but they came out so weird and wonky that I must’ve buried them in a folder somewhere cause I cannot find them, I remember not liking the way they turned out and I know I still have them. I just can’t find them. 

Then, finally, we have the body study for Iris, who also shared a page with kamili next to that we have a picture of some costume designs that also include the real world influences for their looks stories completely fictional so it doesn’t take place in the real world. Hence there are no actual, African-Americans, Hawaiians, etc.. These are just the influences that I drew on for their appearances 



[noeeshouseee01]

well... pibe si me tenes tanta ganas decimelo y deja a tu noviaaaaa

[brainddeadd]

I need more bonus dad Quinn please????

It’s so adorable! 🤭🥰

Quinn had always been there for you and your daughter, stepping into a role he never had to fill but did anyway—willingly, wholeheartedly. He never hesitated, never wavered. And tonight was no different.

The little theater buzzed with excitement, parents shuffling into their seats, cameras at the ready. Your daughter, in her tiny pink tutu and sparkling ballet slippers, had been practicing for weeks, spinning around the living room while Quinn watched with the softest smile, always ready to catch her if she stumbled.

He should’ve been at practice. He should’ve been on the ice, running drills with the team, but when your daughter clutched his hand this morning, wide-eyed and hopeful, asking, "You’ll be there, right, Quinny?”—there was never a choice.

So here he was, sitting beside you, a bouquet of flowers in his lap, fidgeting slightly like the nerves of the recital were his own.

When the curtain rose and the music started, your daughter stepped onto the stage, scanning the crowd until she found him. The moment their eyes met, her little face lit up, and she gave the tiniest, proudest wave. Quinn grinned, waving back, his chest aching with something warm and unshakable.

He didn’t care about the missed practice.

He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

[babydollmarauders]

THE START OF IT ALL — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

summary: how jack and y/n (lovie) met, through the grace of quinn

warnings: bad parental guidance, small mention of body insecurities and anxiety. (4k words)

notes: a well overdue fic! i’m so thankful to you guys for being patient with me as i navigate writing in my hectic new reality of college and working full time! <3

goosebumps trail my exposed skin, the chilling air of the practice rink nipping from my lack of sweater.

the sound of skates scraping against the ice rings in my ears, mingling with the bangs of sticks hitting against pucks and creating an oddly peaceful soundtrack for my meditation.

my feet are killing me.

capezio tights stretch across my legs, making them shimmer in the fluorescent lighting of the rink, and a black leotard hugs my body, neatly pulled together with a pink wrap skirt. ballet flats adorn my feet, my pointe shoes laying idly in my dance bag in the seat beside me as i watch the national development team practice.

it feels like so long ago that i came and watched my first practice; the one fateful day of september seeming light years away now. but in reality it was only a mere couple months ago that a group of us dance girls had decided to walk down the block and watch a practice.

Natalie and Thalia wanted to check out the guys, and me? i just didn’t want to be left out. but then watching one practice turned into watching two, and then three, and before i knew it, it became a regular occurrence. it didn’t matter anymore that the girls lost interest and no longer tagged along, in fact, i enjoyed the time spent alone.

this became my safe haven; no dance partners to critique my fouettés, no parents whispering in my ear that i’m not doing well enough in school or that i’m not practicing my dances enough or that i need to go on a diet because i don’t look as pristine or perfect in my leotard as the other girls do. just me and the sounds of several sixteen year old boys whipping pucks into the net and gliding around the ice.

as the piercing sound of a whistle slices through my peace, i know that afternoon practice has ended, my serene escape over until tomorrow.

as the team shuffles off the ice and back into their locker room, i revel in the silence for a little while, taking the moment to change from my flats to sneakers; the twenty-seven minute trek home will be a lot more terrain than the five minute one from the ballet studio to the rink, and a lot harder on my shoes.

pushing up from my seat, my hand wraps around the strap of my dance bag, slinging it over my shoulder as i slide through the rows of seats. my feet squeak against the cement steps, two at a time until i reach the exit floor.

pushing through the glass doors, i slip out into the crisp November air, ducking my head as i walk past a group of players that stand around their cars after practice, hair damp from post-practice showers. a few more players can be heard slamming the doors of their cars, obviously in much more of a rush to get home than their teammates.

it only takes five minutes of walking for me to become paranoid, a black GMC following behind me with every turn i make. my heart stutters with anxiety, my pace speeding as i attempt to shake the fear that rakes my body.

but as i speed up, so does the car, until finally the drivers window rolls down as they drive at a pace similar to my walking speed. inside is a teenage boy, a familiar face that i know i’ve seen on the ice of the usntdp rink.

“hey, you watch our practices.” it’s a statement, he knows i do, i assume a lot of them know. it’s kind of hard to miss the thirteen year old girl sitting alone in the stands every afternoon.

i stop, turning towards the boy as i nod in response.

“i always see you walking home, do you want a ride?” he asks before his eyes widen, stumbling over words, “wait, i just realized how that sounds— i’m not trying to kidnap you, i swear! you just live a few houses down, i figured i’d save you some time.”

i’m aware that my answer might be stupid and not very well thought out, but in this moment, i truthfully don’t care— the boy seems trustworthy, an odd sense of warmth radiating from him, so i nod again.

“yes, please.”

his head nods in the direction of the passengers side, unlocking the doors as he tells me to hop in; and i do so, slipping into the seat and hastily pulling the seatbelt across my body.

“i’m Quinn,” he introduces, a hand held out in front of me, “i play for the national development team.”

“i know,” i hum out, shaking his hand, “i’m y/n.”

Quinn steps lightly on the gas pedal, continuing the route to our apparently shared street.

“so, why do you come to the practices?” he questions, and though the question itself sounds a little judgy, his tone is soft, “at first i assumed maybe you were a sister, but then i’ve never seen you with any of the guys.”

i watch as the trees pass by in a blur through the window, my hands fidgeting with the strap of my dance bag that sits on the floor between my feet.

“it’s peaceful.” i confess, making him throw me a lopsided smirk mixed in with furrowed brows, “i don’t really get along with any of the girls in my ballet class, and my parents don’t get home from work until dinner time. its nice to just kill some time and listen to the sounds of the skates on the ice and the pucks hitting the net.”

Quinn hums as though he understands me, and for once, it actually feels like someone does. we’ve barely spoken to each other, we’ve only just met, but for once in my life, i feel as though someone isn’t judging me or about to tell me what i could do better.

“i get it.” he shrugs, “so, have you been a hockey fan, or are you just a little oddball and like the sounds?”

a small smile spreads across my lips, a laugh escaping at his joke, and Quinn garners an appearance of pride at making me laugh. his chest puffs out just slightly, his posture straightening and a smirk resting on his lips.

“i am,” i nod, before i realize i should clarify, “a hockey fan. i’m a hockey fan.”

it’s Quinn’s turn to chuckle now, eyes flickering towards me before they settle back on the road ahead, “but i get the feeling you are a little oddball, aren’t you? or at least maybe some other people think so.”

the vibe in the car turns stony, my body tensing.

“yeah,” i drop my eyes to my hands, finding great interest in the dirtied white color of my bag strap, “i prefer to keep to myself, you know? it feels like all everyone tells me is how i can do better. how i can perfect my dances, or how i’m so pretty but i would be so much prettier if i did this or that, or how despite straight A’s and a 4.0 GPA, there’s more i could do to get into a stupid ivy league that i don’t wanna go to-”

i suck in a deep breath, cutting off my rambles prematurely, because here i was dumping all my insecurities and problems on a boy three years my senior and who i’ve only just met.

“i’m sorry, those are some shitty people.” Quinn frowns, a hand tightening just slightly around the steering wheel.

“that was all my parents.”

“fuck,” he curses, glancing over at me quickly with wide eyes as we turn onto our street, “your parents said all that?”

i shrug, nodding my head, “it’s what a parent does, right? they criticize you to be the best you can be. the girls in dance aren’t much better.”

Quinn parks the car in front of what i assume is his billet house, turning in his seat to face me properly.

“a parent should guide you to be the best version of yourself, not criticize you until you become the person they want you to be.”

his words repeat in my head, my brows threading together as i hum in acknowledgment of his statement.

rather than truly respond, i unbuckle my seatbelt, pushing the door open as i gather my bag from the floor.

“thank you for the ride, Quinn. sorry for dumping all my problems on you.”

i don’t give him a chance to respond, hopping out of the car and slinging my bag over my shoulder as i shut the door.

i’m only one house away when i hear him yell, “hey! same time tomorrow?”

i spin around confused, finding him standing next to the car with his hockey bag slung over his own shoulder.

“what?”

“same time tomorrow! i’ll drive you home!” he smiles gently, before giving a small wave and heading into his house.

what the fuck just happened? did i just make a new friend?

***

my entire body aches, my toes in particular feeling incredibly sore due to the bruised skin that covers them, but i push through.

only a week until the spring performance and i still don’t feel that my solo is where it should be. my pointe shoes make my toes prick with pain, but over time, the pain turns into a stinging numbness.

my reflection stares back at me in the mirrored wall, a frustrated puff of air passing through my parted lips. my tutu caresses my arms as i let them fall to my sides, lowering back down to flat feet.

in the mostly empty building, i can hear the ring of the bell above the front entrance followed by muffled conversation approaching the private room i currently occupy.

i walk over to the chair that holds my things, my brows furrowing as i check the time. i still have five minutes until Quinn is due to pick me up. that gives me more than enough time to run through the solo once more.

walking over to the barre, i flex my feet a couple of times. but before i can begin to dance, i’m bombarded by the sound of conversation.

“what are we doing at a dance studio?” a male voice echoes through the building, grumbling in obvious annoyance.

“i told you, i have to pick up a friend.” i recognize that voice immediately; Quinn. my close friend of four months.

“a girlfriend?” i scrunch my nose at the other person’s question, part of me wanting to shout out that i can hear them.

“a girl that’s a friend, yeah. more like a little sister.” a heated blush rises to my cheeks, a smile spreading across my lips.

he thinks of me as a sister.

a knock sounds against the door of the private room before it creaks open, Quinn’s head popping in.

“hey, twinkle toes, you ready to go?” he smiles warmly, his eyes sparking with care as he eyes my outfit, “nice tutu.”

“you’ve seen this one before.” i giggle but it quickly dies off into a sigh as i think about how much work i still need to put into the dance, “give me one sec?”

“yeah, go for it.” he nods, “mind if i come in?”

“come on in.”

closing my eyes, i take a deep breath, tuning out the sounds of Quinn and his company entering the room. breathing out, i enter fifth position.

plié, passé relevé, back down to fifth position, my eyes open as i run through the rest of the dance, focusing on my core and watching myself in the mirror.

my sight flickers to Quinn, a smile on his face as he watches me dance, and for a moment i feel so proud of myself. but then my sights set on the boy beside him.

fluffy dirty blond hair mussed atop of his head, beauty marks dotting across his soft features, and beautiful blue eyes that watch my figure. he’s the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen.

i stutter in my steps, suddenly nervous and self conscious in front of the unfamiliar face, and before i can fix my form, i buckle under his stare; missing a step before my ankle twists, a sharp tinge of pain shooting up my leg as i stumble back down onto flat feet.

“shit.” i whimper, my facial features contorting in pain as i flex my ankle, gauging my pain level.

“are you okay?” Quinn stammers, eyes wide in concern, “what happened?”

“i’m fine,” i sigh. walking over to my bag, i pull my flats out and sit on the chair, beginning the process of taking off my pointe shoes, “i just got a little distracted.”

“distracted?” Quinn repeats, confusion plaguing his features before he looks back at his company, his lips quirking into a smirk, “y/n, this is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is y/n.”

my face heats under the heavy gaze of Jack’s blue eyes, his shoes tapping against the floor as he steps forward, extending a hand in front of me.

“hi.”

he smiles and it’s as though the whole world slowed, as though the universe was saying ‘look. look at him. perfection personified amidst your very eyes.’

“hi, it’s nice to meet you.” my hand slips into his, shaking lightly before i pull away, distracting myself by continuing my endeavors of changing my shoes.

Quinn and Jack share whispered huffs, mumbled words between the two of them as i slip my flats on, shoving my pointe shoes in my bag.

i stand now, removing my tutu and holding it carefully, leaving me in only my tights and leotard.

“i’m ready.” they both look over at me, Quinn nodding in acknowledgment before he turns and wordlessly begins walking out, leaving his brother and i to fall in line behind him.

“so how did you guys meet?” Jack asks me as we step out of the private room, his voice hushed.

“i go watch the development program practices a lot, Quinn saw me walking home and offered me a ride.”

“you like hockey?” he raises a brow as he looks over at me with a bright grin.

“mhm.” i hum, “i’ve watched it my whole life. my dad is a red wings fan.”

we exit the building, following Quinn to his car.

“good team.” Jack replies, his voice far off, eyes staring ahead as though deep in thought; and i assume that’s the end of our conversation until he speaks again, “i liked your dance. pretty.”

blood rushes to the apples of my cheeks and i bite my lip to hold back a smile, “thanks.”

i pull open the car door as Quinn unlocks it, climbing into the back seat so that Jack can sit up front with his brother. but i’m surprised when he joins me in the back, earning a look from Quinn.

it’s silent as Quinn starts the car, pulling out from the parking space and out of the lot.

“so,” Jack starts, gaining my attention once more, “you dance and you like hockey, what else should i know about you?”

i ponder the question for a moment before i look over at him, “there’s not much to tell. i’m an only child, i like taylor swift, i don’t know.”

“well what do you and your friends do for fun? do you wanna be a ballerina when you graduate?” he turns towards me, letting me know i have his full attention.

“i only have one friend.” i shrug, “Quinn. and he and i usually just hang out at his billet house or at the rink. he’s been teaching me to skate.

“as for the ballerina thing, i don’t think so. i love dancing, but i don’t want it to be my life.”

Jack hums, nodding his head in thought before his lips part again, “give me your phone.”

“what?”

“gimme your phone.” he makes a grabby hand, waiting for me to pull my phone out of my bag before i set it in his palm.

he turns it on, getting in easily with my lack of password, and quickly types something before handing it back.

“two.” he smirks.

“what?” my face punches in confusion.

“you have two friends now.” i look down at my phone, a new contact open with his number inputted in.

“okay.” i smile, not quite sure how to react to this gorgeous boy wanting to be my friend. it’s a new feeling that i’m not quite used to.

the car is silent as we pull onto Quinn and i’s street, but if i remember correctly, he’s staying at a hotel with his dad for the next couple of days.

“hey, twinkle toes.” Quinn calls out from the drivers seat.

“yeah?”

“you still coming to the game tomorrow?”

“i plan on it.” i tell him.

“alright, you’ll be sitting with my dad and Jack.” he informs me, “Jack, you good to wait for her at the entrance to take her to your guys’ seats?”

Quinn stops in front of my house, unlocking the doors.

“yeah, sure.” Jack confirms, watching as i exit the vehicle, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“see you tomorrow!” i smile. i shut the door, Quinn’s window rolling down as he calls out a goodbye, “bye, snuggles!”

i can hear Jack snort out a laugh as i walk away, a wheezed echo of “snuggles?!” coming from the back seat.

“shut it, Rowdy.” Quinn grumbles, rolling up his window before peeling away.

***

thirty minutes.

i spent thirty long minutes picking out my outfit for tonight. when i originally said i would go to Quinn’s game, i had just planned on wearing a USA Hockey sweatshirt and some leggings; but now that i’ve met Jack and know i’ll be with him? i refused to dress down so much.

descending the stairs of my house, my mother peers over the back of the couch, her hair in a tight bun and her laptop in her lap, slaving over a law case with files piled beside her.

“what are you so dressed up for?” she inquires, her glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose.

“i have Quinn’s game tonight.” i walk around the couch to stand in front of her, my nikes shuffling along the area rug.

“i’m so proud of you.” she smiles, and for a moment i’m left to ponder where this could go, “you’re finally taking a care to how you present yourself.”

and there it is; the subtle jab. it can never be a real compliment, there’s always gonna be the underlying insult muddled in somewhere.

“are you going with friends?” she questions, her focus falling back on the open computer screen in her lap.

“kinda?” i’m not quite sure what to call Jack, he said we’re friends, but we also don’t actually know each other.

“kinda?” my mother echoes in wonder, looking back up at me as i wander into the kitchen to retrieve a water bottle.

“yeah. i met Quinn’s brother yesterday, the one a year older than me?” i start, “i’m sitting with him and their dad at the game. i don’t think i would call us friends really, but we exchanged numbers yesterday.”

my mother sighs, pushing her glasses atop of her head in order to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“does this boy play that brutal game too?”

my mind wanders back to what Quinn has told me about his family in the past, “yeah, they all do.”

“oh y/n, don’t get too wrapped up in these boys. they won’t do you any good.” she tells me, “find a nice boy, one who wants to do something substantial with his life.”

“we’re just friends, mom. it’s not like anything is gonna happen.”

“but you want it to.” she narrows her eyes, waving her finger towards me, “i can see it. mother’s intuition. don’t fall for this boy.”

who is she to tell me who i should fall for? she and dad barely even speak anymore. i wouldn’t even call what they have, love.

“it’s just going to a hockey game, mom. their dad is gonna be there too.” i sigh, “i gotta go.”

“how are you getting there?” she asks, “are they picking you up?”

“no,” i shake my head, “dad said he would drive me.”

her brows furrow, “your dad had to go into work.”

i gape at her, a blank look covering my face. i shouldn’t be shocked, this happens all the time. it’s the same reason i walk home from ballet, or why i’ve come to rely on Quinn to pick me up for school. but somehow, it still always feels like a cut to the heart.

my mother sighs, shutting her laptop and rising from her seat, “i’ll drive you. come on.”

“you would think he would try and spend more time with you. but it’s always work with that one. work then family.” she mutters, ranting to herself as she slips her shoes on, grabbing her keys from the dish on the entryway table.

i fall in line slowly behind her, dreading this car ride already; because it appears it’s one of those days. the days where my mother will do anything to appear better in my eyes than my father. including talking down about him to me in hopes to make me more upset with him than i already am.

and i was correct. the entire drive was spent with me sitting silently in the passengers seat, watching my surroundings pass by as she went on and on about all of the things my father has done wrong in the past week.

i couldn’t get out of the car quick enough, nearly breaking the car door off its hinges as i throw it open. calling out a goodbye to my mother and assuring her that yes, Quinn would be driving me home afterwards, i slam the door shut and jog towards the arena entrance.

slowing down upon the sight of the glass doors, my body lights up, butterflies flutter in my stomach as i spot Jack in the lobby just through the doors. he wears jeans and a gray hoodie, converse tied to his feet, and he looks down at his phone, glancing up every few moments.

when his eyes land on me through the clear glass, a friendly smile spreads across his lips, slipping his phone into his pocket and taking a few steps towards the door, propping it open for me.

“hey!” he chimes as i reach the entrance, “puck should drop soon! i was gonna text you to check in but, i didn’t wanna push anything.”

my heart rate picks up, my cheeks burning at the idea of seeing Jack’s name pop up on my phone, “you can text me any time.”

Jack’s smile drops into a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement, “i’ll keep that in mind.”

“our seats are this way.” Jack begins pushing through the lingering people in our way, many not paying any attention to the people in their way as they try and navigate towards their own seats.

for a second, i’m pushed away from him, worry flooding my mind as i think of how i’ll try and find our seats if i lose him. but then he looks back at me, his eyes finding mine, and he must see the anxiety that fills my body, because it’s not a moment later that his hand finds mine.

his hand slips into mine, interlacing our fingers as he gently tugs me closer to him as he walks, a reassuring quirk to his lips, “i got you. it’s okay.”

and somehow, all my worry melts away, just like that. for some reason, i feel like he’s telling the truth; it’ll be okay.

there’s something about Jack’s presence that calms my nerves. that makes me feel okay. and it sounds utterly insane because i’ve known him for all of twenty-four hours, but i feel like i can truly trust him.

as we reach our seats, Jack sitting next to his dad with me beside him, he still never lets go of me. instead, he rests our hands on his thigh, glancing over at me to gauge my reaction before he speaks.

“you okay?”

and finally, for once, i’m telling the truth, “yeah.”

[bropunzeling]

BALLET QUINN PLEASE

ok i am still trying to like. figure out writing quinn and also. the plot lol so this is very slow going BUT here's the last few paragraphs i have:

The problem, of course, is that to get to the spring, they must get through December, and that means Tchaikovsky. When Quinn was little, he loved The Nutcracker—the infectious music, the costumes, the spun sugar magic of it all. 

Then he had to dance it every year. It gets insipid after the fifth time around.

“I swear,” Jana mutters, leaning on her elbows as she drops into a straddle. “I will hear the little bells in my sleep.”

Quinn nods as he massages the arch of his foot. It’s tight again, and his ankle is sore. He’ll need to see the physio soon.

Even during rehearsal, half sketching out the steps, Brock and Melissa already seem like they’re on stage. It’s the kind of thing Quinn wishes he was better at. He always starts from the steps, from the way his body moves; it takes a long time before he finds the character of it, the flashes and tics that will eventually coalesce into the living, breathing person he becomes under the lights. He doesn’t have the same easy charm that Brock does, the smile and presence that has landed him every role with a prince in the name since Quinn started here.

[dance-world]

Tyler Stewart, Vincent Arzola, Drew Fountain, Kyle DuPree, Dylan Vonder Linden, Dylan Hoffinger, and Sam Quinn

[bibibusinessman]

More Gotham Times Headlines

Billionaire Bruce Wayne is in hospital with 5 broken ribs after he fell off his sons horse.

Gotham High Student has been suspended following an incident involving a front flip contest.

Gotham Ballet Academy student makes State Championship.

Billionaire Bruce Wayne’s tinder profile has been hacked. His bio now reads “I have 10 children”. Gotham Times reports that Bruce Wayne only has 7.

Supervillains Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn tie the knot at a small ceremony in Gotham Park. Members of the Batfamily were reportedly in attendance.

Son of Billionaire Bruce Wayne wins Gotham High science fair with a miniature atomic bomb. Student was suspended following win.

[balletthebestphotographs]

Lauren Quinn and Valentino Moneglia Zamora

Lauren Quinn and Valentino Moneglia Zamora, “Arabian Dance” (pdd) from “The Nutcracker”, story by Brian Selznick based on the fairy tale “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King” (1816) by Ernst Hoffmann, music by Pyotr Tchaikovsky Пётр Чайковский, choreo by Christopher Wheeldon, costume design by Julian Crouch, The Joffrey Ballet, Lyric Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, USA.

Source and more info at: The Joffrey Ballet Website The Joffrey Ballet on Twitter The Joffrey Ballet on Pinterest The Joffrey Ballet on You Tube The Joffrey Ballet on Facebook The Joffrey Ballet on Instagram

Photographer Cheryl Mann Website Photographer Cheryl Mann on Flickr Photographer Cheryl Mann on Facebook Photographer Cheryl Mann on Instagram

Note I: This blog is open to receiving and considering any suggestions, contributions, and/or criticisms that may help correct mistakes or improve its content. Comments are available to any visitor.

Note II: Original quality of photographs might be affected by compression algorithm of the website where they are hosted.

[itsonlyjoseph]

The First Time You Met | Joseph Quinn x Reader

synopsis: short one-shot of meeting Joe at the pub

warnings: None, English jargon

word count: 1.5k

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You were sat at your desk working quietly when your co worker knocked on the wood as if it was a door, getting your attention easily.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asked you.

“Uh, nothing I guess. Go home, open a bottle of wine and watch the telly til I fall asleep.” You smiled up at her, as if that was the high life.

“Oh come on, it’s Friday. Come out for once.” She practically pleaded with you.

“I don’t know. I’d have to get home and change and then come back in. Where do you even want to go?”

“You don’t have to go crazy, we’re only gonna’ be at the Churchill.”

You thought for moment. You hadn’t been out with your friends in a while and you definitely needed a break.

Your vibrator needed a break.

The Churchill Arms was a lowkey pub that didn’t require you to dress up too much. In fact, you’d look a bit silly if you did.

“I guess I can come.” You mumbled.

Eleanor, your co worker, squealed at your agreement and gave you a tight hug around the shoulders.

“Oh, my god, yes! This is gonna’ be so much fun. We haven’t seen you out in actual months.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t been that long.”

“It has.”

You narrowed your eyes up at her in a mock offence.

“We’re heading over right after work so make sure you’re ready.”

“Okay…” you mumbled as she walked off.

You liked your friends and you liked going out, but you also like going home, putting on your big socks and getting under a fuzzy blanket with the fireplace going.

You weren’t a loner or anything, you were just comfortable being single and having no responsibilities other than yourself.

You’d made it this far alone and you were proud of yourself. It felt good to do whatever you wanted and eat whatever you wanted for tea and decorate your house however you wanted.

Something you never admitted, however, is sometimes on very rare occasions, you did feel a bit bored or lonely when you had no one to talk to about your day or your nightmares or the latest film you just watched.

Soon, five o’clock rolled around and you packed up your things and haphazardly shoved them into your purse, walking down to the lobby to meet the others. You were wearing your typical work clothes. Casual, black knitted jumper and brown plaid trousers with some maroon Mary Jane ballet flats that cost more than you should’ve paid.

Luckily for you, your place of work was very casual and easy going but “casual and easy going” in London probably meant something different to the rest of the world.

The pub was already relatively busy considering it was a Friday night but not so busy that it was practically a nightclub. This is how you liked it.

You got a table close to the back and sat as one of your other co workers went to the bar to get the first round. The atmosphere was easy going and after a short while, you felt yourself actually really having fun. The conversation flowed easily. You’d poked fun at your bosses and horrible clients, talked about upcoming projects, talked about guys (much to the dismay of the lone male co worker amongst the group), and everything in between.

After the third round of lager was brought back to the table, Eleanor leaned over to speak quietly to you.

“I don’t want to alarm you but there’s a really cute guy looking at you.” She giggled.

You rolled your eyes and paid no mind to her. Like you said before, you were quite content being a singleton.

“No really, I think you should probably chat to this one.”

You decided to entertain her and turned your head to this alleged man checking you out.

You made eye contact and felt your breath get sucked out of your lungs.

That’s fucking Joseph Quinn, you thought.

You turned back to Eleanor with a somewhat dumbfounded look on your face to see her clearly excited one.

“I doubt he is looking at me of all people.” You said, taking a large gulp of your pint.

“Dude, he’s not stopped looking at you. Even when you went up to the bar.”

“Surely not.” You were suddenly ten times more shy than before.

“Surely yes, go talk to him!” Eleanor urged. The rest of the group was completely oblivious to your conversation, too engrossed in their own. Not that you minded.

“I can’t just go talk to the Joseph Quinn you idiot. I’ll choke and trip and just make a fool of myself in someway.”

“No you won’t. You’re always so hard on yourself.”

You were now very aware of the celebrity and it was making you feel small… and hot.

“Okay I have an idea. Take a deep breath, glance over and smile and then grab your coat and go for a fag. See if he follows.”

“This is so stupid.” You said, taking a deep breath. Obviously you knew who Joseph Quinn was. You never really gave it much thought but definitely thought he was attractive, just like every one else.

“Just do it!”

“Fine!” You gritted through closed teeth.

You took the last gulp of lager and grabbed your coat, walking towards the beer garden, but not before shooting him your best smile you could muster up.

Your eyes connected for a brief moment and you felt your spine tingle.

The air outside was chillier than when you’d arrived at 6pm.

You leaned against the brick wall and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Even though Eleanor had practically kicked you outside, you would’ve stepped out for a smoke at one point or another.

You were outside for about two minutes alone with the other drunks when the back door opened and out stepped Joseph. You could tell it was him even through your peripheral. He just had aura about him.

Slowly walking over to you, he pulled out his own smoke to pop between his lips.

“Hi.” He said with a sweet, bashful look.

“Hey.” You smiled shyly.

“Do you mind if I pinch your lighter?”

You didn’t say anything, just shyly getting your zippo out of your pocket and flicking it open, igniting the end of his cigarette and ignoring the thumping in your chest.

“Thanks.” He said, moving his head back slightly and taking a long draw.

There was short silence between the two of you until he spoke up again.

“I’m Joe, by the way.” You smiled down at you.

Wow, he was incredibly attractive this close.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He repeated, not breaking eye contact. “What do you do, Y/N?”

“I work in television, actually.”

“Oh really? That’s really cool. So do I.” He seemed rather excited.

“Yeah, I know.” You giggled.

“Yeah, I figured you probably did. I guess anonymity isn’t really an option for me anymore.” Joe seemed rather tense now. Perhaps he was hoping you didn’t know who he was and he’d have a real conversation for once.

“Probably not. But hey, it’s not like I’ve never been around a famous person before. I do work in television after all.” You reassured.

“So what exactly do you do in television.” He asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“I’m a production manager.”

“Oh wow, what have you worked on?” Joe asked you, gazing down at you.

“Uh, I worked on Fleabag, Broadchurch, a show called Sherwood. Couple things like that.” You began to get shy again. Here you were, telling a famous actor about your boring job, probably the pants back on him.

“What do you have to do exactly when you work on a show?”

“Well, I basically organise location, actors, crew, funding, marketing, all that sort of stuff…” you began to explain and Joseph looked actually genuinely interested. This never usually happened. Whenever your friends dragged you out and you began chatting to a guy, he always seemed so bored when you spoke about your job.

Not Joe, though. He was listening intently and asking actual questions and sometime during the time you’d been speaking, you both stubbed out your cigarettes and he’d stepped closer to you.

You only realised how long you’d been talking when Eleanor popped her head out to tell you they were leaving now.

“Oh, uh yeah. I’ll be right there.” You said to her before turning back to Joe.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.” You smiled.

“Yeah, neither.” He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I actually had a really good time talking to you, though.” You said sincerely.

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled back.

There was a beat silence as the two of you just looked at each other. You gave him one last smile and turned to walk back inside to your friends, silently praying that he’d ask for your number or offer to walk you home or at least something.

You’d almost made it to the door when you heard Joe swiftly turn on his heal and call out to you.

“Can I have your number?” He asked, rather frantically, like he’d almost missed his shot.

You turned back to him with a small, shy smile.

“Yeah.” You giggled. “Okay.”