#cage dancer

[goddessmilalala]

Reblog this if you are pussy free!

[champion-of-love]

paris fashion week ss25 was all over my feed on twitter and here's the ones i think would suit some of the eah characters :)

chloé ss25

enfants riches déprimés ss25

valentino ss25

[crow-caller]

I had fun with the crunchy collage but today got into more artsy design. So I've done like 10 pages. so. I'll do more and share them when ready :3c

Text is from Creatures Of Heaven, my Forbidden Ship fic

[heckcareoxytwit]

It all comes down to this. After all the backlash from anti-mutant bigots who tried to sabotage her concerts and news propaganda trying to villainize her, all of which led to low attendance and cancelled shows. Yet Dazzler still goes on with making her final concert tour to New York. At the Grand Garden Arena of New York City, Dazzler gains support from not only the mutants; the others who support her are Mayor Luke Cage, Stevie Hunter the congresswoman and some of the Pro-Dazzler humans. Dazzler is allowed to perform the concert in New York as approved by Mayor Luke Cage and Congresswoman Stevie Hunter. Several hours later, Dazzler is in the backstage, getting ready for her concert when she is approached by not only her new boyfriend, she is also approached by Kamala Khan, Laura Kinney, Sophie Cuckoo, Anole, Prodigy and his new boyfriend. Kamala and her friends have come in to greet her as well as they are volunteering to keep an eye on any disruption happening to her concert. Just before the concert, their computer systems get hacked by someone; leaving Domino, Multiple Man and the dupes to reboot the systems back online.

Moments later, Dazzler goes onto the stage to perform her show. At first, it seems to go well until a huge cyborg interrupts her concert. As the cyborg silences everyone by absorbing the sound around them, Since Dazzler is unable to absorb the sound for her light powers, she and the mutants are left at mercy of the cyborg. Despite the silence around them, the mutants kept fighting the cyborg. While Kamala and others are distracting the cyborg, Domino encourages Dazzler to fight back by listening to the humming from the cyborg so that she could use her light powers to take down the cyborg. Thanks to Domino's quick-thinking and the teamwork from other mutants, Dazzler manages to defeat the cyborg. Also, the crowd of mutants and humans cheer and applaud for Dazzler's heroism.

Dazzler v3 #4, 2024

[anarchypumpkincowboy]

Okok so like first off, I need y’all to know that this idea only came to me because I’d been watching ballets and the Indian movie I’d mentioned earlier Natyam (which is really really good I really do recommend it) but anyways one of those ballets was Swan Lake. Where the prince looks like this

Let us all take a moment to imagine this being Jace… okay moment over onto the au

So Jace multiclassed into bard in secret like when he was in college. His parents wanted him to become a wizard, and he tried he really did, but he failed and dropped wizard courses right after the second semester. He’s always enjoyed dancing, and he’s very skilled, but he’s always known that he could never view dance as any sort of viable life path. His parents would disown him. Not because they necessarily dislike dance or him dancing; they just believe he could do better, more important, things in his life.

He obviously goes to every recital he can, and damned if he doesn’t want to be up on stage with them. He goes back to his apartment after the performances and practices the moves as best he can. Sometimes when at night the moon is bright he’ll go to the spot he found by the lake nearby that’s slightly hidden from view, and get lost dancing to nothing but the music of nature. He’s not really religious, not like his mother, but he does find that dancing under the light of the moon helps to calm his mind and magic.

When he fails out of wizard classes he decides that maybe it’s a sign to go for something he’s passionate in. But he CANNOT let his parents find out that he’s switched from wizard to bard classes. They’re the ones paying for the university, his apartment, and they control his trust fund. If they find out he’s pretty sure they’ll disown him unless he goes back to wizard classes.

So he signs up for them in secret. He gets Corvin, a rogue and one of his best friends/fuck buddies, to sneak into the offices and make sure that there is no way his parents could find out.

And Jace fucking loves his dance classes. His teacher tells him he’s a natural, a prodigy, it’s still hard work and he’s sore and exhausted both physically and mentally at the end of every class. But it’s more than worth it. He’s never been so happy and at peace than he is when he’s dancing and performing.

As time passes it gets harder and harder to hide that he’s not learning wizardry from his parents. He just barely makes it out of having to go back home in the summer break, tells them that he’s still struggling so he decided to take up summer lessons this year. His parents are proud that he’s putting in the effort. And he is taking summer lessons, just for his dance class instead.

This pattern continues for another year. He’s slowly been working his way into more important roles, he’s even had a few solos this year. His teacher tells him that if he keeps this pace then by the fall semester he should start auditioning for some lead roles, that he’s near guaranteed the lead in a most.

Unfortunately that summer his parents decide they’ve missed him, and to surprise him with a visit. Three guesses as to what they end up discovering when they go to wait for his summer “wizard” lessons to get out for the day… They are of course furious. And when they see his name on a poster about a recital happening the next day, well, they decide to surprise him there.

Jace is the lead, and he’s incredible, and it’s so clear how much he belongs on the stage. His mother is almost moved by his performance, almost, and his father is thinking they should’ve stamped this out of him as a child.

By the time the performance ends, Jace is exhausted and riding an after performance high. His plans are to go out and have a few drinks with some of the other dancers before going home and crashing. That is of course immediately thrown off course when he leaves the building and sees his parents waiting for him. They don’t exactly give him a choice but to get into their car and ride in a painfully uncomfortable silence all the way back to his apartment. Where his parents make it very clear that he’s had his fun but it’s time start being serious. And that they aren’t accepting no for an answer.

But he is serious about dance, he shows them articles written about his latest performances, tells them about how his teacher calls him a prodigy, how he’s guaranteed the next couple lead roles. They don’t care. His father tells him if he doesn’t give up these ridiculous dreams they’re pulling away all his funding and taking him back home. Jace just barely manages to hold his tears back till they leave.

Okay, okay so he has till the end of the summer to figure out how to pay for his apartment, his schooling, and everything else. Not too hard right? Except that he can’t get a job that’ll pay enough for everything. And he already devotes almost all his time practicing. So he asks around his group if anyone has any advice.

One of his friends brings up how he could probably get a few scholarships. Another tells him that he should definitely apply for the House Sunstone Arts Foundation. It’s a pretty prestigious program, but even his teacher tells him he’s got a great chance at getting it.

About 2 weeks after he’s sent in his application he gets a response asking for a meeting with one of the members of the Sunstone family for an interview. The letter has the date, time, and address. It’s at a pretty fancy restaurant. One of those places with a dress code. And it’s only 2 days away.

He gets there. He’s nervous as hell. And as he’s led to the table he gets even more nervous because fuck he was not expecting the person he was meeting with to be so hot. Porter stands up to greet him, they introduce themselves, and Porter pulls out the chair for Jace. They both sit down, Jace apologizes for being late (he wasn’t, Porter had just shown up early). Porter says it’s fine, that he’d only just gotten there himself. They order food, Porter orders a bottle of wine for the table, and they begin talking.

Jace tells Porter about his accomplishments, his goals, his dreams, anything and everything he can think of to get him this scholarship. Porter nods and hums along before eventually asking why he’s applying for it. Jace tells him about how dancing has always been his passion, but that his parents envision a different life for him and cut off his funding. Porter tells him that he’s seen the videos Jace had sent in, that he can see the passion and talent Jace has, that he’s in the final list of applicants.

They finish dinner. And when they shake hands Jace tells himself he just imagined the caress of Porter’s thumb on his hand. He goes back home, tells his friends he’s made it to the final list. And life continues on for another 2 weeks before Jace gets 2 letters. One, from the foundation giving him another date, time, and address for a final interview in 3 days at the same restaurant. And the other from Jace’s parents stating they’ve cancelled his lease and he’s expected back home by the end of the month. He’s got three weeks of freedom left.

He goes to the interview. Once again Porter pulls out his chair. The conversation isn’t too much different from the last interview, but this time Porter’s asking him more questions. Mostly about his personal life unrelated to dance. And he keeps filling up Jace’s drink. And Jace keeps drinking. He knows he should stop, he’s already had a truly unprofessional amount, but Porter keeps filling it up. And Jace thinks it’d be rude to deny more, plus it’s good wine.

Jace knocks over his glass at some point, spilling it all over himself. He curses and grabs a napkin to try to dab it out but Porter’s leaning closer having already grabbed it and starting to dab Jace’s shirt. Jace is definitely not imagining how the dabs feel like caresses. And he’s definitely not imagining the look in Porter’s eye when Jace shivers from the touch.

They end dinner not too long afterwards, Jace can barely sit still in his seat now that he’s clocked Porter’s attraction. Jace is also far too gone to drive himself back home. So Porter offers him a ride. They go outside and Porter’s driver pulls up near immediately. Porter opens the door and gestures Jace into it. The back has plenty of space, but as soon as Jace has slid over to the other window seat Porter’s sidled up right next to him, draping his arm across Jace’s headrest.

Jace thinks he might actually explode. He knows there is no hiding how he’s practically vibrating out of his seat the whole drive. Especially when they come across a particularly sharp turn and Porter curls his arm around Jace to keep him from slamming into the window. And then just doesn’t move his arm back. Not until they pull up to Jace’s apartment building and Porter tells him to expect another letter soon. And asks for his crystal number. Jace gives it to him, obviously, and just barely refrains from inviting him upstairs.

More time passes with only the occasional texts between the two, and about 4 days before he’s due back home with his parents he gets the acceptance letter. Apparently not only will it be funding his schooling and dance specific items, it’ll also provide housing. Which is such a relief given he can’t renew the lease. Jace gets a text from Porter telling him congratulations, and that he can come by in a few days to take Jace to his new apartment.

Rumors spread eventually that Jace only got the scholarship because he seduced Cliffbreaker. But after he finishes his last performance before he graduates and gets scouted by 7 different companies those rumors start to die off.

[s0fter-sin]

new poll time lads

[nerice]

(maleniaposting again) saw someone say there's a good chance that bc she's blind she never realized that miquella was stolen & that's why she attacks you. bc she thinks she is still safeguarding his transformation........... and i've been so??????!!!!!!!!!!! circling this like a fucking shark bc i always assumed the 'as i awaited his return' to be about him returning from wherever mohg kidnapped him to but it never really made sense!! that malenia doesn't go beat his ass and take her brother back (rationalized it as that after the caelid disaster she cannot risk going scarlet bloom again and losing herself which fighting mohg wld most likely cause) HOWEVER. HOWEVER!!!!! esp w the sote angle Miquella Traveling To The Realm Of Shadow *that* is what it is, right?? miquella built the haligtree sanctuary for her and all the other dispossessed, but her rot is already infecting it. corrupting it. it's in the treetops where you enter and down at the very roots where she rests. so miquella enters cocoon stasis bc he has to be better, different. different from marika and her golden order. which is why he travels to the lands of shadow, to learn of marika and her origins while in the meantime malenia is out fighting, conquering (the less she is at the haligtree the better) but then the caelid disaster happens & puts her in godslumber & finlay carries her back to the haligtree into the sanctum where she continues to sleep literally until you enter. the rot has taken her eyes. and mohg has taken miquella's cocoon while she was away, but there is no way for her to know that; she is defending this location on instinct. she doesn't know her brother is gone, and miquella doesn't know you killed his sister (yet !) :))

[maxwelljacobfriedman]

nsfw, flashing lights like crazy

[anothercomplaint]

Kendrick Lamar - Not Like Us

[s0fter-sin]

so lately i’ve been obsessed with a 141 dancer au

gaz runs classes, has a youtube channel and quickly becomes one of the most sought after choreographers in the music video scene. soap is his dance partner for his classes, he helps run them and does demonstrations with him

ghost is also a choreographer and he’s gaz’s Arch Nemesis

he's famous for never performing his routines, never doing public appearances without his skull mask and being highly exclusive with who he allows to perform his choreo which earns him his name (since he’s a ghost creator). gaz however is a social media darling, his classes and videos regularly doing huge numbers

they both popped up around the same time and are neck and neck in terms of popularity and skill and they immediately rub each other the wrong way

gaz accuses ghost of not actually choreographing his routines himself bc no one has ever seen him dance and ghost thinks gaz is a clout chaser who's just in it for the fame instead of passion

he became a dancer as a way to channel his rage after years of being an underground fighter, the discipline and physicality helping him more than fights ever did. he hates the thought of someone just using it just to get famous when it literally saved his life

deep down they know their accusations are wrong and they have a grudging appreciation for the other's talent but they'd both rather die than admit it

price is a famous dancer turned director they both work with frequently and they always fight over him; trying to get their routines picked for his music videos. he's also the only one in the industry who's ever seen the ghost perform (before he got famous and before the Incident™)

he finally gets fed up with them constantly being at each other's throats and hires them both to work together and choreograph a joint routine. they're both famous in their own right but this video is for a huge artist so neither of them can refuse no matter how much they hate the other

gaz has a gymnastics background but also a ballet background which lends him to a more fluid style whereas ghost’s style is stronger, more masculine with sharper movements so they naturally end up butting heads

then there's soap who has a completely different style altogether, focusing on a more modern, breakdancer style which makes him see everything completely differently

but it also adds to his self-doubt bc he didn't have a formal dance education, he built his entire repertoire by himself. people see him as inferior to gaz who has that very formal, highly disciplined style. his insecurities about only ever being seen as gaz's demonstration partner and that he can only do gaz’s routines so all his skill is just an extension of him instead of being seen as a dancer in his own right forces him to adopt a rigid - destructive - perfectionism in himself and his body

soap meets ghost before the first rehearsal. he gets to the studio early to practice when sees this beautiful man dancing

he has no idea who he is but he moves so seamlessly, almost better than gaz, and he immediately falls a little in love. the man catches him watching in the mirror and he flusters, getting worse as the man just smirks at him and flawlessly completes the routine

soap tries to save face and asks him to teach him the routine he's doing

the man agrees, introducing himself as simon. the style of the routine is familiar to soap but he can't focus on it when simon's hands are on his waist, guiding him through the steps; his chest pressed up against his back. they work together beautifully, picking up each other's body language and dancing together easier and better than they've ever danced with anyone

then gaz arrives and the vibe in the studio immediately changes

simon's easy confidence becomes hostility, pulling up the skull gaiter he'd let hang around his neck as he practically pushes soap behind him to square up to gaz

soap’s shocked when gaz hits back with the same energy until he realises it's the same way he acts whenever he talks about ghost and his stomach drops

he steps out from behind ghost to side with gaz and the betrayal in simon's eyes hurts more than anything he's ever felt

from there it's romeo and juliet; camp gaz versus camp ghost as they fight over every step of the choreo and soap is the poor bastard stuck in the middle

soap tries to channel that “you’re my best friend’s rival, i have to hate you,” mindset but he can’t forget the way it felt to dance with simon

and how much he wants to do it again

[fangdokja]

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world of blood and power, you became his perfect wife—calm, obedient, and indispensable. But beneath your icy façade, a deadly game of lies and survival brews, and he’ll never know that you’re the one who could destroy him.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. The Bride of Blood - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,459

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, sexual themes, BDSM

♡ His Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who first noticed you during a violent upheaval in the criminal underworld, where blood was spilled more than ink on treaties.

You were the perfect wife—elegant, calm, and obedient.

His men whispered about your grace, but he only saw the subtle precision in your movements, a dancer in a minefield.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who felt a perverse sense of peace watching you tend to his wounds after a firefight.

"You’re reckless," you murmured, stitching his torn flesh with steady hands. The sharp tang of alcohol filled the air, mingling with the metallic stink of blood.

His laughter was low and cruel. “And yet you keep mending me, zhena moya.” You didn’t flinch under his gaze, but your fingers trembled ever so slightly, betraying a crack in your otherwise impenetrable façade.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who surrounded himself with walls of loyalty and fear, yet you slipped through them like a shadow.

Your quiet efficiency made you indispensable; your loyalty, unquestionable. You never balked at the grotesque reminders of his power—the severed hands of a traitor, the guttural pleas of dying men.

"Why do you stay?" he asked once, watching you clean blood from the floor with detached precision.

"Because I vowed to," you replied, voice devoid of warmth. He smirked, taking it as devotion, never suspecting the mission beneath your skin.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who made you his wife in a spectacle of opulence and terror.

The wedding was a gilded cage, a feast of gold and crimson.

He kissed you beneath a chandelier made of diamonds and glass, while outside, his enemies burned in their cars, charred bodies marking the territory of his love. You smiled as cameras flashed, but your stomach churned at the sound of distant screams.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who trusted you enough to let you into his inner sanctum. Late nights spent poring over ledgers and strategic maps became a routine.

"Tell me, what do you see?" he’d ask, his voice honeyed with suspicion.

You pointed out weaknesses, vulnerabilities, your mind calculating probabilities faster than his most seasoned lieutenants.

He called you brilliant; you called it survival.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who can’t keep his hands off you, as if touching you is the only way he can prove to himself that you’re real.

His fingers are always tracing the curve of your spine, ghosting along the edge of your jaw, a silent claim. His touch lingers, heavy with possession, even when his mood is lethal and his hands are stained with blood.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who wakes you in the middle of the night, his body already pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. The sheets are kicked aside as he drags you beneath him, his weight suffocating and intimate.

“You’re my peace,” he says, though his touch is anything but gentle. He takes you slowly at first, savoring every cry, every tremble, before his control snaps and he devours you whole.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who fucks you in places you shouldn't be touched—

Against the marble counter in the kitchen, your hands slipping on the smooth surface as he drives into you; in the backseat of his bulletproof car while his driver pretends not to notice the muffled moans and the rhythmic creak of leather; even in his private jet, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he degrades you in Russian, the words dark and guttural.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who loves watching you come undone beneath him, your carefully crafted mask shattering in his hands.

He knows you try to hide your reactions, to remain composed, but it only spurs him on. “Don’t hold back, lyubov moya,” he says, his voice velvet-soft and cruel.

“Let me hear how much you need me.” And when you finally break, crying out his name, his smirk is equal parts victorious and feral.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who becomes almost animalistic when his jealousy flares. One stray glance from another man and he’s dragging you to his private quarters, tearing at your clothes.

“I’ll remind you who you belong to,” he growls, his hands rough and demanding. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, marked, and utterly consumed by him, your body a canvas for his obsession.

“Mine,” he’d growl, over and over, as if the repetition could make it true.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who has a near-obsessive fixation on filling you, stretching you, owning you in the most primal way.

“How are you not pregnant yet?” he muses darkly, his fingers tracing circles on your inner thigh. He pulls you onto his lap, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Maybe I need to try harder,” he whispers, thrusting into you without warning, his eyes burning into yours as he takes you again and again, his movements relentless, determined.

“You’ll give me an heir one day,” he murmured, his voice thick with possessive desire. “A little prince or princess with your eyes and my ruthlessness.”

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who couldn’t keep his hands off you, even during the most mundane moments.

Cooking breakfast? He’d slide behind you, his hands wandering beneath your robe. Reading a book? He’d tug it from your grasp, his lips finding your neck as his body pressed against yours.

"You’re a distraction," you muttered one night as he pinned you to the bed, his lips trailing down your stomach.

"And you’re my obsession," he replied, his voice dripping with lethal promise.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw sex as another way to own you, to remind you of your place in his world. But even he couldn’t deny the way your body haunted him, the way he craved your touch like a drug.

“You make me weak,” he confessed one night, his voice low and raw as he traced the curve of your spine. “And I hate you for it.”

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who began to suspect that you were too perfect.

The way you navigated his world of violence with clinical detachment. The way you always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even before he did. It wasn’t love, he realized; it was precision. A scalpel disguised as a wife.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw glimpses of something darker beneath your calm exterior.

The first time you shot a man—clean between the eyes to save his life—he swore he saw something flicker in your gaze. Was it fear? Regret? Or was it just the ghost of the person you’d been before? He couldn’t tell, but the thought consumed him.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who pressed you for your past one drunken night, his voice slurred with vodka and possessiveness.

"Who were you before me, malyshka? What did you dream of?"

You lied through your teeth, weaving a story of lost parents and humble beginnings. He crushed your hand in his, murmuring, "You're mine now. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you." You forced a smile, choking on the irony.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who unwittingly began to unravel his own empire in his obsession with you. His paranoia sharpened with every stray glance from his men, every unfamiliar scent on your clothes.

"Do you love me?" he asked one night, his breath hot against your neck.

You hesitated—only for a second—but it was enough.

His grip tightened, bruising your arm. "Say it," he demanded, voice a low growl. "Of course," you whispered, the words like glass shards in your throat.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who built a kingdom of fear and blood but found himself undone by the ghost of a woman who had never truly been his.

A woman who kissed him with cold lips and watched him sleep with calculating eyes.

A woman who loved the mission more than she could ever love him.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Alexia's Version) VIII

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You try to help your brother

It's not that being gay is bad, Jaume knows this.

His aunt is gay. His mothers are gay. You, his sister, are gay.

There's nothing wrong with being gay when you're a girl.

There shouldn't be anything wrong with being gay when you're a boy.

But when Jaume's at football, he knows that there is something wrong with it. He can't find boys attractive. He can't look at a boy and think he's handsome.

He has to like girls. He has to look at girls and think they're hot. He has to talk about girls with the rest of the guys. He has to get a girlfriend. He has to prove that he's just another one of the guys. He has to prove that he's just like them.

It doesn't matter if he becomes the best goal scorer in the world.

If they find out he likes guys then all that's he's worked towards doesn't matter. It's all worthless if the team decide he isn't one of them anymore.

The Putellas name, the Putellas legacy means nothing if the team decide he doesn't deserve to be one of them anymore.

You frown as your brother stares off into space, inching out your leg to the other side of the sofa, digging your toe into Jaume's ribs.

He yelps, turning to you accusingly.

"What's up with you?" You say," You're not watching the film."

"It's boring."

Your frown deepens. "You're the one that wanted to watch it."

It's a late evening, just the two of you while Alexia and Olga are out on one of their date nights.

Jaume's just come back from a Spain youth team round of friendlies and a Barcelona B match as well. He's fifteen now, growing into his looks and his talent and just now opening his eyes to why he doesn't get the same fluttery feeling in his stomach with girls as he does with guys.

You're nineteen, still living at home and dancing professionally. There's only four years between you both but somehow you seem so much more worldly and smart than him.

You're settled and comfortable with your attraction to girls and your attraction to girls only. You're open with it. You don't mind talking about it.

Jaume doesn't know if that's because ballet is more open about that thing or just because you're mimicking what you're seen and grown up surrounded with people like Mami and Mama and Tia Ingrid and Mapi and Tia Irene and Lucía.

There's so many women on Mami's old team that are gay and have surrounded you and Jaume as you've grown up.

The women's team are much more open about that thing but Jaume's never met a man who is a footballer and gay at the same time.

It's different.

It's not normal in men's football and Jaume desperately wishes that he was the same as everyone else.

He wants to be able to look at a woman and think she's beautiful. He wants to be able to approach a girl at school or a girl in the crowd and invite her on a date. He wants to be able to kiss a girl and feel fireworks.

He doesn't want to look at a boy on the opposite team and wish he was caged in his arms, wish his were the lips on Jaume's at the end of the day.

He wants to be normal.

He wants to go into the locker room and not hear the jeering of his teammates as they make fun of some gay guy they've seen on Instagram or at school or in the street.

But then he looks at you, his older sister, talk about that girl you hook up with when she comes to Spain. He sees you talk so candidly about your lack of attraction to men. He sees you dance and dance and dance and, at the end of the day, know that you're no less a great dancer as the straight girls that dance with you.

"I'm gay."

You turn to look at your brother, taking in the way his mouth hangs open like he's shocked that he's even said it.

"That's cool, Jaume," You say.

You say it like's it's natural. Like it's normal for him to confess this to you out of nowhere. You say it like he's just told you the weather or that he's in the starting eleven at the weekend.

You say it like it's something that you've always known.

You smile at him like it doesn't change your perception of him, your little brother that climbs into your bed in his sweaty kit, your little brother that leaves his dirty boots all over the house, your little brother who uses you like his personal taxi service now that you've gotten your license.

"No," He says," I'm gay."

Your brows draw together, an amused smile on your face. "I know. You've already said that."

"No." Jaume shakes his head, a sudden pressure on his chest that he's desperate to force out. He stands, beginning to pace the small space as his hand rubs at his chest. "You don't get it. I'm gay. I like guys. I-I don't like girls. At all."

Something wet and desperate pricks in his eyes.

"I...I like guys. I...What's wrong with me? Fuck! There's something wrong. I...I'm..."

"Jaume? Jaume!"

Your hands are on his arms, gently guiding him to sit against the wall. You draw his hand away from his chest, placing it onto your own.

"I need you to match my breathing. Nice and slow. In and out."

Jaume doesn't know how long it is until the roaring in his ears disappear and the crushing weight on his chest turns from rib cracking to manageable. It doesn't disappear but he can breath again and function.

He looks into your eyes.

"You can't tell anyone."

Something in you breaks as you look into your brothers eyes.

He's always been a bit of a goofball. He's always been the extroverted one out of the both of you.

You've never seen him look so lifeless before.

You're not quite sure what to do.

"Should we get milkshakes?" You ask, ignoring the way your own stomach twists itself into knots in outrage," Would that make it easier?"

"With whipped cream?"

"Whipped cream and sauce. Whatever you want."

Your mind runs the whole week. Jaume's face is etched in your mind even as Alexia sits in front of you in the little café you're eating at.

Olga's at work but both you and Alexia have the day off. There's no matches for her to coach for the week and you had a performance yesterday so take today as your rest day before you're dancing for a crowd for four days straight again.

"What's up with you?" Alexia asks," You feeling okay?"

You contemplate just telling her.

Jaume had spilled everything to you as you sat on the beach with your milkshakes. He spoke about realising he only liked boys and the attitudes of his teammates at football and his friends at school and they way that he's had to lie and fake his attraction to girls all year because he doesn't want to be iced out of the group.

Alexia is more equipped to deal with that stuff than you. You're a dancer but Jaume is a footballer. The reception to being gay in your dance company is wildly different to the reception to being gay in a football team.

Alexia would be able to help. Alexia always helps.

But Jaume told you not to tell anyone so you're not.

"Yeah. I'm fine," You say. Just because you can't spill the beans doesn't mean you can't help push your Mami in the right direction.

But Alexia's not the best at picking up hints.

So she takes your words at face value, nodding along as she stirs her coffee.

"And you know that we're coming to watch you on Friday, right?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Mami. I know. You and Jaume and Olga and Abuela and Tia Alba. Centre of the middle row so your necks don't get crooks in them. I know."

Alexia smiles at you. "Just making sure you know. I mean-"

The ringing phones interrupts Alexia and soon you're abandoning your lunch to get to Jaume's school.

He's sitting outside of the head teacher's office with bruised knuckles and a split lip.

Alexia stalks into the office and you stay outside, gently taking Jaume's hand.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"No. It's-"

"Tell. Me. I can't help if I don't-"

"They said some stuff," Jaume says," You know, stuff about..."

"Oh."

"So I punched him and they all ganged up on me."

"Did you get some good hits in at least?"

The corners of Jaume's mouth turn upwards and he stares down at his split knuckles. "Yeah, I did."

Alexia storms out of the headmaster's office and you and your brother both go stiff.

"Jaume," She says," Get in the car."

"Mami-" You say and she holds up a hand.

"Don't defend him. He knows better than to start a fight."

"Mami..."

"No! He's suspended. You're suspended, Jaume! Was it worth it?!"

Your brother shrinks under Alexia's furious gaze.

You can relate to that. All you've ever wanted is Alexia's approval, in all your actions and you know Jaume feels the same.

Your brother is taller than you like Alexia is but, still, you step between them.

"Mami," You say," Just wait. Hear him out. It's not what you thin-"

"I'm not having this conversation here." Alexia cuts you off, taking a deep breath. "Give me some time to calm down. We'll talk at home."

The car ride is tense with Alexia ramrod straight in the driver's seat and Jaume staring blankly out the window.

Alexia goes in first and you catch Jaume's hand.

"You can tell her," You tell him," You don't have to if you don't want to but you can tell her. She won't be mad at you."

"I...I don't know if I can."

"It won't make her love you any less. It won't make her see you any differently. She loves us. She loves you."

Tears are in his eyes as he looks at you, hands shaking. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He looks at the front door, where Alexia waits for him.

He reaches his hand out for you.

You take it.

"It's going to be okay."

[goddessmilalala]

[marciabrady]

In the Latin beat rhythms one can marvel again at Hayworth's hypnotic force as a dancer. She enters through a door, drawn by the beat of male drummers, dressed in a clinging white two-piece that accentuates her body through the provocative forward thrust of her torso- a stance that is an invitation and a promise, and has become a trademark, like her hair. Where most dancers move from the hips down Hayworth moves from the knees up, her shoulders drawn back projecting her breast cage forward in the most enticing manner. To see her is to experience a sense of joy pure and simple. And all the more potent for being an invitation in the dark. -John Kobal

TONIGHT AND EVERY NIGHT (1945) dir. Victor Saville