#i haven’t taken ballet in YEARS

[bluesidez]

Little chat before I close my eyes:

My next request is dbf!Miguel (hi snails doodles!) and I got really nervous about it mostly because I have daddy issues and was internalizing it BUT! I saw @mybvalentine 's dbf!Mig series and now I am both inspired and healed.

[lostgirlmuseum]

The Swan and the Soldier

^made w/ pinterest

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky x f!dancer!reader

Summary: Bucky is signed up to act in the Nutcracker against his will. But it isn’t all bad. At least not after he meets the cute costume designer. 

Words: 5.6k (oops)

Warnings: Mention of an injury + brief description of pain, poor writing at times, lemme know if I missed anything

A/N: I really hope this isn't complete dog shit

(Dividers by me😎)

“You want me to what?”

Bucky dropped his sandwich back onto his plate.

“I was gonna do it but I’m too busy to make every rehearsal.”

Bucky had been staying in Louisiana for the past month, finally taking a break from going from fight to fight. Sam encouraged him to stay with him at Sarah’s place, which Bucky did for a while, but after a couple of weeks, he decided to rent his own place. He was still near to Sam, and was at his house nearly every day, seeing as he was only a fifteen-minute drive away. Bucky just felt like less of a burden this way. 

“And I’m not busy?” Bucky countered, staring at Sam from across the kitchen table, where they were taking a quick lunch break before getting back to the boat.

“Well—” 

“Shut up.”

“It would mean so much to AJ. It’s his first dance recital and I think he would be a lot less nervous if someone he knew was on stage with him.”

“I’m not a ballerina, Sam.”

“You don’t have to be!” He quickly uttered, putting down his own sandwich. “They just need a couple of parent volunteers to step in and play the adults at the beginning of the show.”

“I haven’t liked dancing since the 40’s. And I don’t know how I feel about being on stage. Would I have to wear a costume?”

“It’s the Nutcracker.” Sam raised an eyebrow and gave Bucky a judgmental once over. “I don’t think it fits the show to have you dressed like an angsty motorcyclist.”

“Sam, I don’t think I can—”

“Uncle Bucky!” A cheerful voice entered the room as AJ came bounding up to the table.

“Hey, kid,” Bucky smiled, giving the boy a quick fist bump. 

“Uncle Sam told me you would be a part of my recital!”

“He said what now?”

“What?” AJ asked, oblivious.

“Nothing, I—AJ, could you give Uncle Sam and me a second?”

AJ nodded and skipped back outside into the sun. Bucky glared over at Sam.

“So maybe I jumped the gun a bit…”

“Samuel.”

“You can say no,”

“You know I can’t say no now!” Bucky flung his hands out, exasperated. 

“You can! You’ll just disappoint him. But if that’s what you want to do—” Sam trailed off, taking a bite out of his turkey and provolone. 

“This is manipulation.”

“Is it working?” Sam mumbled and swallowed.

Bucky shook his head and stared at his plate. “You owe me.”

“Big time! Promise.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Bucky mumbled, planting his face in his palms.

“Rehearsals are Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Sam got up from the table and grabbed his now empty plate, “you’re making the kid really happy.”

“Yeah, yeah. To be clear, I am doing this for him. Not you. I don’t give a shit about you.” He pointed.

“Love you too, Buddy.” 

Bucky found himself that very Thursday at the ballet studio, in a small group of parents, as a petite young woman—well, she looked about 60, but compared to Bucky, she was young—introduced herself, a southern accent clear in her cheery tone.

“Welcome parents and volunteers! Most of you already know me, but I’m Ms. Cindy, the head of this program and this year’s Nutcracker! I’d like to start by thanking all of you for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here and support us and your children. It’s you who keep this dance studio up and running, and I’m so grateful for that. Throughout today, you’ll each get called to get your measurements taken so we can be sure that the costumes are ready before the performance. And as for roles, we’ll figure that out at the end of class. I have to go teach the little ones, but feel free to take a seat and watch the choreography your students have been learning all season!”

Bucky followed the others, who seemed to already be acquainted with each other, into a small observing room attached to the studio where AJ was practicing. Bucky stuck himself in the back corner and watched AJ through the one-sided mirror for only a couple of minutes when his name was suddenly called.

“James Barnes?” 

Bucky looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway. He ignored the glances that turned his way as he followed the woman out the door.

Did they know who he was? Did they know what he had done? Or maybe they had no idea. Maybe they were judging him for not engaging with them in polite conversation, maybe they thought he was weird for hiding silently in the corner. 

Bucky pushed the thoughts out of his head as the (attractive, he might add,) woman opened the door for him into a new room. It wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t a closet either, and Bucky immediately noted the lines of clothing racks stuffed with colorful dresses that lined the walls.

“I just need to get your measurements quickly for your costume. I can take them now, or if you’re more comfortable, I can send you a list of measurements I need and you can get those numbers to me on Thursday if you’d prefer.” 

Bucky thought for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure how to take his own measurements, and he sure as hell did not want Sam of all people helping him. On the other hand, having a stranger so close to him sounds embarrassing and stressful. But he saw the kindness in her eyes, and oddly enough, he felt he could trust her.

“Now is fine."

“Sounds good.” She gave the sweetest smile he had ever seen and told him where to stand. He took off his jacket with ease, feeling somewhat comfortable knowing he had a long-sleeved shirt under to hide his metal arm. He kept his leather gloves on, and she said nothing.

She demonstrated to him how to hold his arm, and he obeyed, holding his right arm out and bent at the elbow. She chatted as she brought the tape measure along his arm. “Which kid is yours?”

“Oh, none of them.” 

He noticed the subtle tilt of her head.

“I mean, I’m not a dad, but I’m AJ’s uncle. Well, a friend of his uncle but,”

Luckily, she stopped his ramble before he could truly embarrass himself.

“Oh, you’re Bucky?” She dropped the tape to her side and smiled. “I’ve met Sam a couple times, but I’ve heard all about you and him from Sarah.”

“Oh? All good things I hope?” 

He asked in a lighthearted tone, but in reality, he was terrified of the things she’d heard about him.

“Only good things.” She grinned and grabbed the pencil behind her ear to scribble a number on a chart.

“That’s a relief.” His eyes scanned the room, trying to think up conversation to fill the silence. “So are you a parent volunteer?”

“Not a parent, no. I used to be a part of this program growing up. It’s done so much for me, and I wanted to stay connected, so I help out here and there when I can. I mostly fit the costumes.”

“That’s cool.” 

Cool. Cool. Cool response Bucky. Ask her a question, dammit.

“Do you still dance?”

“Not anymore. Can you put both arms out to the side please?” She asked, and Bucky lifted his arms so she could measure his chest. She continued to make conversation as she wrapped the tape around him. “AJ is a great student. He has a lot of potential, he just needs to find his confidence. And he’s a great kid. You’re a lucky uncle.”

“I am,” Bucky responded, trying desperately to not freak out at how close she was to him, and how she was only going lower, as she moved to his waist.

She took a break to write down a couple more numbers and returned to him.

“Now I need a hip measurement, so I have to measure around your butt. Is that okay?”

Bucky gave a convincing nod. “Do what you gotta do.”

‘Do what you gotta do’? What the hell am I saying?

He avoided looking at her and held his breath as she brought the tape around his hips.

“Just a couple more measurements and you’ll be out of here,” she assured, dropping the tape from his hips. “You can put your arms down now.”

Bucky let his arms rest at his sides.

She quickly went about measuring his legs and finished a couple of minutes later.

“You’re all good to go, Mr. Barnes, thank you!” 

“You can call me Bucky,” he tried to hide his bashful smile and started to exit out the door, but stopped and turned at the last moment. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, I’m Y/N.” 

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” 

He liked the way it felt on his tongue. With that, he said goodbye and returned to the observing room.

Thirty minutes later class was nearly over. All that was left on the agenda for the day was to form the groups.

“So it seems we have an odd number…Lois, is this everyone?” Ms. Cindy asked, looking over to her assistant.

“Everyone that signed up, yes.” Lois, a shorter girl with an auburn bob, tapped on a clipboard.

“Let’s just see how this goes. Mr. and Mrs. Tudor will be group one, Mr. and Mrs. Malone will be group two, Mrs. and Mrs. Cardoza will be group three, and that leaves Mr. Barnes…”

“We could have him be a single parent to his group?” Lois offered, looking up from her list.

“We could, but then who would he dance with at the party scene?”

Bucky swore he saw a literal lightbulb light up above Ms. Cindy’s head as her gaze fixated somewhere in the back of the room where you were simply passing by.

“Oh, Y/N? Dear?” She called in a uniquely falsetto voice.

“Yes, Ms. Cindy?” Y/N answered, pausing.

“I realize you’re already doing our costumes, but would you be interested in volunteering as one of the parents? We are short a person.”

“Oh, um…”

“You can think about it Dear. It’s no trouble if you feel that it’ll take up too much time, we appreciate you for your dedication to the costumes.” Ms. Cindy was careful to add.

Despite her initial hesitance, Y/N spoke up.

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Ms. Cindy blinked, surprised by the answer.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “yes. I’ve already got measurements, all I need to do is submit an order. And I can’t tailor anything anyways until the shipment comes in.”

“A round of applause for our beautiful and dedicated Y/N, everyone!” Ms. Cindy cheered and began clapping her hands in a circle. The parents all joined in, and Bucky gave a quiet few claps. “That means Mr. Barnes and Y/N will play the fourth couple. Splendid!”

Lois tapped Ms. Cindy on the shoulder and pointed to her watch. Time was almost up. Ms. Cindy was fast to get back to business.

“Now let’s quickly assign each group their children, and then we can end rehearsal.”

“Buck, I’ve got some good news.” Sam’s voice flowed through Bucky’s phone.

It was Tuesday morning, and Bucky had been up and dressed since seven in the morning, eager to pick AJ up, even though class wasn’t until 5 p.m. He was currently lying on the couch, watching the clock tick by.

“What, you finally learned to use the potty like a big boy?” Bucky mocked.

“It was one time. ONE. TIME. You know I don’t fuck with clowns!”

“I don’t like clowns either, but you don’t see me shitting myself at the Halloween Festival.” Bucky quietly chuckled.

“First of all, I didn’t ‘shit’ myself. I peed. A little. And second of all, I had a lot of hot chocolate beforehand, and my bladder was at max capacity, and—why the hell am I explaining this to you?”

“Because you know I’m never going to let you live it down.”

“Moving on,” Sam sighed, “I was calling to tell you that you don’t need to be in the performance with AJ anymore.”

Bucky shot up from his lying position. “What do you mean?”

“My schedule freed up a bunch so I can take AJ and be in the show now.”

“Oh.”

Bucky slumped back onto the cushions, dejection dripping from his voice. Sam clearly picked up on it.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I thought this was good news for you. I know I forced it onto you and all, and your thing isn’t really being on stage in front of a bunch of people.”

Bucky picked at the edges of his fingers, carefully considering his next words.

“I mean it’s not my thing, but—I don’t know, I feel like I’ve committed. And I get to spend some time with AJ, y’know? And, truth be told, it’s not all bad.”

There was a pause on the line before Sam’s voice rang through.

“That’s awfully sweet Buck. And very out of character for you.”

“Shut the fuck up, I can be nice.”

“Yes, of course. Bucky Barnes, the world’s famous sweetheart, how could I forget?”

“I’m hanging up now,” Bucky warned.

“Bye, metal man.”

“Fuck off bird brain.” Bucky was about to hang up, but quickly added in a serious tone, “I’ll be there this afternoon to pick AJ up.”

“You’re a good man.”

“Whatever.”

“Welcome back everybody!” Ms. Cindy’s high voice rang. “We are going to practice the beginning of the show where the families enter the party. We’ll take it group by group, so let’s start with group one, the Tudors. Your family is super excited for this party, so we’ll have you enter stage right and I need the children to be skipping and bubbly.”

Ms. Cindy instructed the groups one by one. Eventually, she got to Bucky’s group, which he shared with you and four kids, including AJ.

“And our final group, group four, is the family that does not want to attend. The parents should be trying to get the kids to smile, and at least act like they are happy to be there.”

Bucky let you take the lead and simply followed what you did. He walked beside you, stopped when you stopped, turned when you turned.

“Good, now make it look like you are trying to get the kids to smile.”

Bucky copied the way you pointed to your cheery smile and did his best to ignore the embarrassment bubbling in his chest. 

The comically grumpy—and much better actors than him—kids sighed and plastered on cheery expressions. 

“Good, and you can continue walking.” Ms. Cindy ordered.

Group four finished the short trek across the stage successfully. For such a simple task, Bucky had felt surprisingly nervous. 

Ms. Cindy quickly gave her praise and ordered everyone to start over. As Bucky and his group were going back to the line, she offered some advice.

“Y/N and Mr. Barnes, could you try holding hands? You don’t look as ‘coupley’ as everyone else.”

Bucky gulped. Of course you don’t look as ‘coupley’ as everyone else, all the other couples are actually couples, and married for God’s sake!

You, on the other hand, simply said “Okay.”

“Group one, go,” Ms. Cindy called, and the Tudors began to cross the makeshift stage.

The line moved forward, and Bucky with it. He began to sweat a little. 

Hold your hand? With my left hand? My metal hand?

She simply glanced at him and gave him a small smile.

“And group two,” Ms. Cindy called.

Everyone stepped forward.

The good news is that Bucky was wearing his gloves, but surely she’d notice his hand felt different and think he was weird. Although, did she already know about his arm situation? She did mention that she’d heard about him and Sam from Sarah. Maybe she already knew, and wouldn’t care?

“Group three!”

Bucky looked back at the kids trailing behind him and spotted AJ beaming right back at him. Suddenly, Bucky felt ridiculous. 

Bucky, you’re being an idiot. Be a man and hold her hand. It’s not that deep. You’re doing this for AJ.

“And four,”

He grabbed her hand and started to walk with her. The first thing he noticed was how small her hand felt in his. It gave him an unfamiliar tingly feeling in his chest. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but it was better than anxiety.

He tried his best to puff out his chest and mimic her confidence as they walked. Bucky stopped halfway through, like they were supposed to, and turned to face the kids like last time. He pretended to point to his smile and finished the walk across the stage.

“Excellent! Let’s move on.”

Bucky managed to make it through the entire class without sweating his clothes off from nerves. 

“You ready to go, AJ?” 

AJ yelped, “Wait! I want you to meet one of my friends!” He dramatically waved over to a little girl with a sunflower barrette in her hair who came skipping over. “This is Ava.”

“Hi, Ava.” Bucky gave an awkward smile.

The little girl looked up at him unphased. 

“Hi, Mr. Bucky. So are you really a superhero?”

Straight to the point, huh? “Oh—um,”

“He is!” AJ butted in, “He’s friends with my Uncle Sam, they save the world all the time!”

Ava crossed her arms across her chest and jutted a leg out.

“So can you fly?” She squinted.

“Nope, I can’t fly.” Bucky began to rub the back of his neck.

“Can’t your Uncle Sam fly?” She asked, looking at AJ with skepticism.

“Yep!”

“So if you can’t fly, what can you do?”

Before Bucky could even begin to stutter, Y/N appeared.

“Hey, Ava! I think your mom is looking for you.” She said, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Okay, I gotta go. Bye AJ,” Ava quickly spouted and ran off towards the doors.

“Bye!” AJ shouted.

Bucky noticed Y/N holding his blue cap out to him.

“I think you forgot your hat.” She spoke softly. 

“Didn’t even realize, thanks.”

“It’s no problem, Bucky.”

Bucky was about to give a lopsided grin when AJ interjected,

“Only friends and family call him that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! James, then.” She brought her hand to her cheek.

“No, no, Bucky is fine,” Bucky quickly corrected, “you can call me Bucky.”

“You’re sure? I don’t mean to overstep,”

“You aren’t, I like it when you call me Bucky.” 

He instantly felt his cheeks get warm at his confession. Before she could respond, he quickly changed the subject.

“Oh, by the way, I wanted to let you know that I can’t be here at the next rehearsal. AJ will be here, but I completely forgot that I’ve got an appointment that day.” A monthly check-in with Dr. Raynor that he forgot to move. “I don’t know if you want me to meet somewhere instead, or I can just come early on Tuesday and you can catch me up to speed or…I mean whatever you think is best.”

“If you want, we can meet on Friday at my place. I can send you the address if you’d like?”

“Yeah, yes, sure, let me get my phone—” he fumbled while grabbing it out of his pocket, “what’s your number?”

“Hey, come on in!” Y/N appeared behind the crisp white door of a cute house, not unlike the Wilson’s, and gestured inside before grimacing. “Sorry, I should’ve asked before, are you cool with dogs?”

Bucky nodded.

She gave a sigh of relief and fully opened the door. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the graying corgi staring back at him.

“This is Frank,” Y/N said, bending down to bring the panting dog into her arms.

“Hi, Frank.” Bucky greeted, giving the dog gentle pets with his right hand. “Your house is lovely,” he added after catching a glance around.

“Oh, thanks!” She smiled, walking into the living room area to set the dog down on the couch. “This is actually my parent’s house, I’m just house and dog sitting for the week while they’re out of town. Usually, I live in my apartment.”

“Is this where you grew up?” Bucky asked, eyes searching the place. He noted the multitude of picture frames lining the wall and the slightly worn couch.

“The first eighteen years of my life. I told myself I’d be out of Louisiana by the time I went to college, but clearly that didn’t happen.” 

“Where did you want to go?”

“New York, San Francisco, I don’t know, maybe even Australia or France.” she laughed at the absurdity and sighed. “C’est la vie,” 

Bucky stuck his thumbs in his pockets and stared down at his feet, unsure of what to do next.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Iced Tea? I can make some coffee. Are you hungry?”

“Just water is fine,”

“Sure, one second.”

Bucky took the opportunity to explore the room. His curiosity was set on the shelf beside the fireplace, and the multitude of shiny awards it adorned. 

Several faux gold figures of ballerinas and a plaque filled the space, as well as what looked to be a photo album. Bucky thought better than to touch it, however, he did notice the significant lack of dust on it compared to the trophies. 

“I see the obnoxious shrine of my dancing days has caught your attention.”

Bucky spun around, cheeks a little pink at the notion of being caught wandering. He was looking for the right thing to say as you took a seat on the couch and placed the water on the coasters.

“Looks like you’re an amazing dancer.” He nodded, hoping that it was the appropriate thing to say.

She ducked her head at the compliment. “I was okay.” She pointed to just beyond his shoulder at the photo album. “You can look at it if you want,” she offered, clearly sensing his curiosity.

Bucky grabbed the binder from its spot on the shelf and took a seat next to her. He slowly opened the book to the first page. 

There you were, 4 years old in a bright pink tutu, beaming at the camera. The page was covered in cute stickers and artistic swirls. 

“My mom has a knack for crafty things,” she said, vaguely gesturing to the book.

Bucky hummed and began to gingerly flip through the pages. It was odd but endearing seeing you change through each photo and page, but one thing that stayed constant was your eyes. In every photo they had the same sparkle, the same light. It looked so right on you, but he didn’t recognize it in you now.

Bucky stopped on the page dedicated to age 17 and marveled at the costume you were wearing. He couldn’t look away from the intricate feathers and sequins.

“That was for our Spring production of Swan Lake.”

Bucky turned to see a subtle smile on her lips. She was looking at the book, but it seemed as if she was seeing right through it.

“You were the swan?”

“Odette, yeah.”

Bucky turned the page once more, except this time there was no photo—just the outline of where one would be on a mostly blank page, minus the glittering bold number “18”.

“Anyway, the choreography,” she quickly chimed, her attitude dramatically changing, “I’ve got the video right here, we can watch it first.”

She snatched the album up and placed it back on the shelf before handing him her phone. Bucky watched the thirty-second clip of two of the volunteers—possibly the Tudors if he remembered correctly—as they danced a shockingly simple routine.

“That’s it?” He cocked an eyebrow. 

“That’s it.” She assured. “Ready to try it?”

“I might be a little rusty, it’s been a while since I’ve danced.”

She turned on the music and started counting under her breath.

They started by facing each other, their right palms in front of them, and placed against each other. They both took a step in, a step out and circled around the other to which they were now in the opposite places. She curtsied, he bowed, and then they repeated the step in, step out, switch. Now they stood next to each other, and she held her arm out over his. They took three steps forward, and the music grew into a faster tempo.

“Easy enough?” Y/N asked, grabbing her phone to stop the music.

It was suspiciously simple, Bucky thought, but then again, the adults were just a small addition to the show. It’s really about the kids.

“We can make this more interesting.” He remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s try it again.” Bucky gestured to her phone.

She obliged and restarted the music.

They went through the routine again, all the way to the end at which the music began to speed up. As Y/N went to pause the music again, Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her in. She gave a surprised gasp, but Bucky wasn’t regretful once he saw the smile on her face. He pulled himself back and began to spin her around and basked in her soft laughs. After pulling her back in again, and dancing around each other, he dipped her. She wrapped her right leg around him in response and he hoped she didn’t notice his smirk transform into a blush. 

“Alright Mr. ‘I might be a little rusty’, someone has moves!” 

Bucky helped her up once she removed her leg. 

“I used to be better,” he mumbled.

“None of that,” she softly chided, bringing his chin up, “where did that confidence just go?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll keep practicing, then you’ll see,” he simpered.

Time went on and not a day went by that Bucky didn’t think of you. After weeks of practice, it was finally dress rehearsal. Bucky was surprisingly calm even though they were no longer practicing in a studio, but in the local high school’s theater, in full costume. You held his hand through it—literally, for some parts—and Bucky was grateful for it.

It was Friday night, the final rehearsal before the show the next day, and Bucky was just about to drive off when he realized how cold his hand felt against the steering wheel. He cursed himself and ran back inside, luckily finding his leather gloves sitting on a chair in the wings of the stage. Right as he was about to scamper off, he noticed a figure at the very front of center stage. He recognized her immediately, and without a second thought, he approached from the darkness of the sides and into the light of the stage. She had already changed out of her ballgown and was back in black leggings.

“Hey.” He uttered, slowly taking a seat next to her at the end of the stage. He let his legs dangle over the edge.

“Hey,” she gasped, bringing a hand to her heart. “Sorry, I thought everyone had left.”

“I forgot my gloves.” 

“Seems like you have a habit of forgetting things,” she teased.

“Only when it comes to clothing, apparently.”

“Is AJ not waiting for you?”

“No, he left with a friend. He’s got a sleepover with Marshall tonight.”

“Gotcha.”

A thoughtful quiet settled over them, but Bucky couldn’t ignore the somberness in her eyes, gazing over the expanse of empty velvet seats.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you stop dancing?”

She was quiet for a minute. Bucky started to think she wasn’t going to answer, but eventually, she whispered,

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

She began mindlessly rubbing her knee.

“I tore my ACL my senior year. It was our annual production of The Nutcracker and I was cast as the Sugar Plum Fairy. There was a rumor that some influential talent scouts were going to be attending. So when my knee started hurting I ignored it. I didn’t tell anyone. I worked my ass off and pushed myself harder when I really should have been resting, but I was stupid.” She gave Bucky a short glance. “Opening night came, and so did my solo. Everything was going fine until I heard a pop. Next thing I know my leg is on fucking fire and I’m hitting the ground.

“I embarrassed myself and our entire company. My knee took longer to heal than it should have because of more poor choices I made. What should have been nine months of healing turned into years. By the time it was safe enough to start dancing again, it was too late. I was too far behind my peers. Even still I sometimes have issues with it.”

Bucky simply nodded, taking in her words.

“I tell myself I’m over it because it was so long ago. But deep down I know I’m not. I’ve asked my parents to take down all of my stupid awards, at least store them away somewhere, because it’s just some sick reminder of what I lost. Actually, the whole reason I started volunteering in the first place is because my mom told me I should. Said it could be good for me. She never said so, but I really think she was hoping that by being surrounded by ballet again, I would feel motivated to begin training again. But it’s a pipe dream.”

She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

“All I ever was was a dancer. And a good one. It was the only thing I was good at, besides sewing, but I only learned that after I injured myself. The whole town knew me as the dancer. I guess the problem with having my entire identity wrapped around one thing is that when that thing goes away…well, who are you? Who am I, if not the girl who’s going to be on the stage one day? My entire identity was ripped from me.

“I’ve just been wading through life. Time keeps moving and crashing around me, but I haven’t changed. I still don’t know who I am, besides the girl who could’ve been great. And now I’m just—stuck.”

Her eyes went wide for a second before squeezing them shut as if she had forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“God, I’m so sorry, you didn’t need to know all of that—”

“No, I—” Bucky stopped her and hesitated to rest his hand on hers. “I can empathize. I hate that you had to go through that. That you’re still going through it. I can understand not knowing who you are anymore.

“A long time ago, I used to be someone else. I used to be charming, independent… happy. But after I was drafted my identity was no longer my own. I was a fighter. I belonged to the army. And then I belonged to Hydra. And even after, I belonged to the Avengers, the world, whoever needed me to fight, I was their soldier. But I’m tired.” At those words, Bucky slumped. “I don’t want to fight anymore. But I have no fucking clue who I am if not a soldier. I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

“I can’t tell you who you are,” she whispered after a moment, “but I can tell you that whoever you are, I like you.” 

Bucky blushed.

“I like you too. It’s kind of embarrassing actually,”

“What is?”

“I didn’t really want to volunteer for this. Sam forced me. And while I love being here for AJ, I’d much rather hang out with him outside the theater where I’m not expected to be looked at on stage. But then I met this pretty costume designer…and suddenly it wasn’t so bad.”

“Pretty?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” He specified.

“What a coincidence. I also met the most handsome and charming man recently.”

“Charming?”

“He doesn’t realize how charming he is. I guess that’s part of his charm.”

“He sounds great.” He turned to face her more directly. “Just to be clear, you are talking about me, yes?”

“Yes, you oaf.” She laughed.

Bucky pursed his lips.

“Would you be willing to let this oaf take you out on a date sometime?”

“More than willing.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighed, falling back onto the stage. “I figured it was 50/50.”

She gave him a silly grin and shook her head in amusement.

“You underestimate yourself, Bucky Barnes.”

The final performance was perfect. Well, as perfect as it could be with a production of the Nutcracker with dancers ages ranging from 6 to 106. Most importantly, AJ had fun and did a fantastic job. After the show and final bows, Sarah, Sam, and Cass came rushing onto the stage to congratulate AJ (and Bucky of course. Sam made sure to tell him that he was very proud of how brave he was, and Bucky rolled his eyes. He secretly appreciated it, though.) Cass handed one bouquet to his little brother and the other to his uncle, who funny enough lit up in a similar way as his nephew at the gift. But Y/N lit up the most when Sarah handed a third bouquet to her.

“For keeping Bucky in line, and giving a beautiful performance,” Sarah clarified.

“You’re so sweet,” she beamed, pulling Sarah in for a quick hug. “I have the perfect vase for this.”

“Can we go get ice cream now?” AJ jumped. 

“Let’s get you out of your costume first,” Sam said and gave a quick wink to Bucky before herding his sister and Nephews backstage. “We’ll see you by the car Buck.”

Bucky nodded and turned his full attention to Y/N. He felt weirdly high after the performance. “Wanna join us for ice cream?” He asked, placing his hands on her waist.

“Gladly.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

I like dancing with you.

A/N: If you've made it this far, tysm for reading!!! I really hope this doesn't suck complete ass, idk what happened 😰 Im going to go hide in a hole now and question everything

If you'd like to read more, here's my Masterlist

Happy holidays!

[wroteclassicaly]

How about a little blurb about going to your first pride parade with Nancy. Maybe it’s the first for both of you.

Ahhhh, Gia! Thank you for this, love! I love it so much!

❤️❤️

Warnings: Language, references to smut, fluff, bisexual!Nancy Wheeler, anxiety, mentions past trauma, PTSD, panic attack, and mentions chronic dissociation.

Note: Making this a little more modern since the first parade stuff didn’t occur until the 90’s. Nancy and the Reader are very close to their 30’s, as this occurs in the later 90’s. I also made Chrissy a learned sort of mechanic (I think that would be so cool, her channeling her energy into bonding with Eddie and restoring old cars with his help). I hope this is okay? I haven’t been to a parade, especially when they first started having them, so I didn’t want to get anything wrong, and I made it a little vague/open ended. ❤️

Pairings: Robin Buckley x Chrissy Cunningham & Nancy Wheeler x Reader

~*~

You really couldn’t fathom that your five year anniversary would be a pride parade with two of your best-friends and your girl, spent at your first ever Indianapolis pride parade. Robin and Chrissy had been to the last two, but you were always afraid of the crowds, and Nance had been patient with you. After all, it’s what you gave her when she was figuring out having feelings for her closest friend, a girl at that - you. It was years of dancing around, flirting, denying, and then BAM, there she was, there you were, kissing in the backseat of her ex-boyfriend, another one of your best-friend’s - Steve Harrington’s BMW.

“I just like you. Whatever I feel, I’m really not wanting it to stop,” she’d said, her maroon lipstick smudged across her mouth, staining your lips, your gloss leaving a shine behind on her.

“I’ve liked you a long ass time, Nance. More than I’ve realized, I think.”

And the rest became history. Most of your friends, your exes, they’d known already, they’d excepted. Your families were a little harder. Karen had taken it the easiest, your mom warmed up. As for your dads? Verdict is still out.

You cling tightly to her dainty hand, your index playing with the small infinity band you’d gifted her that sits on her middle finger, showing your nerves. After departing Chrissy’s classic yellow mustang (one she had Eddie help her put work into), she and Robin had went to get some waters for everyone, leaving you and Nancy by a park bench. You were trying to focus on the decorations, the music, everyone just showing love and being themselves, but the crowd had sat your panic ablaze, embarrassing you. Thank fuck for your girlfriend, always jumping into action to save everyone since 1983. When she pulls you side under some shade near the bench, she begins to rub your shoulders, soothing you, leaning in to rest her forehead.

You don’t pull away and she takes this as her chance to talk. Everyone has their long lasting traumas from Vecna, this just happens to be part of yours. The rapid dissociation. She pulls her silver coke bottle, black rimmed 70’s style sunglasses atop her messy, honey blonde ponytail, her soft floral perfume engulfing you before she speaks.

“Give me five colors you see.” Leaving no room for your panic to argue.

You open your eyes and are met with her rust orange lined lips, giving off that color, pointing to the green of the tree top above, tracing your finger to a red food cart over her shoulder, and then Nancy is pointing at your outfit - simple ballet flats that match her own, blue jean shorts, and the pink bouquet pattern that’s held by the sketching of a nude woman, stiched across your flowing tank top.

“Final color choice?”

Your eyes immediately zone in on the crop top beneath her baggy jean overalls. All black canvas, with bright neon colored letters, and a quote that reads, Eat Your Girl Out Or I Will. You follow that shirt all the way to the necklaces dangling in between the valley of her breasts, her beautifully defined facial features, across that jaw you’ve layered with numerous kisses more times than you can count, to finally meet her signature smirk. You lift your settled hand to play with one of her dainty hoops, leaning chest to chest in the embrace. Your heart is slowed and she breathes a sigh of relief, knowing you’re back.

Tilting her head with an eyebrow raise, you nod. She cradles your face in her hands and you meet her for a kiss, one that’s full of love and a promise that’s been building since you became close, being shaped and molded into what it’s supposed to be.

“Aren’t they cute, Chris?” You hear Robin’s voice first, Chrissy’s soft teasing agreement following.

Nancy, still holding onto you, fixes them with a stern little grin. Both girls, however, pick up on the slight distress still fading from your features.

“I’m okay,” you break in first, wrapping your fingers around Nancy’s wrists and giving them a gentle squeeze until her own have come down to meet in a lacing.

That’s when you both notice that Robin and Chrissy have brought more than the water. Flags and beads galore.

“Jesus, Robs. How much did you spend?”

“Ah!” She wags a lilac colored nail in your direction. “No straight man shall ride on the coattails of this conversation, girlfriend and best-friends of mine! By the way, who wants to put some of this spray paint in my hair?”

Nancy gives you a look, one that helps you remember that reality is way better than any post-traumatic nightmares that will ever come your way.

“You ready to go check this thing out? Have some fun, baby?”

You nod, disappearing into the crowd, free and happy.

[balanchine-ballet-master]

The Story of the Original "Tea" Dancer

There was a delightful story in the Times on February 4th about George Lee, on whom Balanchine created the Tea variation in The Nutcracker. Here it is.

From Ballet to Blackjack, a Dance Pioneer’s Amazing Odyssey

George Lee was the original Tea in “George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker.” A documentary filmmaker found him and a lost part of ballet history in Las Vegas.

By Siobhan Burke Feb. 4, 2024

Among the blaring lights and all-hours amusements of downtown Las Vegas, in a sea of slot machines at the Four Queens Hotel and Casino, George Lee sits quietly at a blackjack table, dealing cards eight hours a day, five days a week, a job he’s been doing for more than 40 years.

Lee, 88, was likely in his usual spot when the filmmaker Jennifer Lin was sifting through old photos at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts in 2022, wondering what had become of a dancer with a notable place in ballet history. Pictured in a publicity shot for the original production of “George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker,” in the role known as Tea, was a young Asian dancer identified as George Li.

For Lin, a veteran newspaper reporter turned documentarian, the picture raised intriguing questions. In 1954, when the photo was taken, it was rare to see dancers of color on the stage of New York City Ballet, the company Balanchine co-founded. Who was this young man, this breaker of racial barriers, this pioneer? Was he still alive? And if so, what was he up to? “I became absolutely obsessed with trying to find out what happened to George Li,” Lin said in a video interview.

In just over a year, that obsession has blossomed into a short film, “Ten Times Better,” that chronicles the unexpected story of Lee’s life: from his childhood in 1940s Shanghai, where his performing career began; to a refugee camp in the Philippines, where he fled with his mother, a Polish ballet dancer, in 1949; to New York City and the School of American Ballet, where Balanchine cast him in “The Nutcracker” to “Flower Drum Song” on Broadway, his first of many musical theater gigs; and ultimately, to Las Vegas, where he left dance for blackjack dealing in 1980. (He changed the spelling of his last name in 1959, when he became a United States citizen.)

The film will have its premiere on Feb. 10 as part of the Dance on Camera Festival at Film at Lincoln Center. Lee, who last visited New York in 1993, will be in town for the occasion, an opportunity for long-overdue recognition.

“So many years I haven’t done ballet,” Lee said over coffee at the Four Queens on a recent Sunday, after his shift. “And then suddenly Jennifer comes and tries to bring everything up. To me, it was like a shock.”

George Lee today. He has been a blackjack dealer in Las Vegas for more than 40 years. Photo: Saeed Rahbaran for The New York Times

But Lin’s interest has been welcome. “Jennifer is so perfect, she knows exactly everything,” he said. “She knows my background more than I do.”

Lin was not the only one who had been searching for Lee. In 2017, while organizing an exhibition on “The Nutcracker,” Arlene Yu, who worked for the New York Public Library at the time and is now Lincoln Center’s head archivist, was puzzled by the relatively few traces of him in the library’s vast dance collection.

“I think I’d tracked him down to 1961, but after that, it was really hard to find anything,” she said. “Whereas if you look at some of his peers in ‘The Nutcracker’ in 1954, they went on to careers where there was a lot more documentation.”

Lin’s fascination with Lee emerged through her work on another film, about Phil Chan and Georgina Pazcoguin, the founders of Final Bow for Yellowface, an initiative focused on ending offensive depictions of Asians in ballet. The role of Tea, a divertissement historically rife with such stereotypes—in Balanchine’s canonical version of “The Nutcracker” and others—has been a flashpoint in those efforts. Chan, too, had been struck by the 1954 images of “The Nutcracker,” which he came across during a library fellowship in 2020.

“I’m like, wait, there’s actually a Chinese guy,” he said — as opposed to a non-Chinese dancer with the saffron makeup or heavily painted eyes or even the artificial buck teeth worn in some old productions. “Who is this guy? And why do I not know about him?”

The "Tea" variation in The Nutcracker at City Ballet in 2015. The dancers are Ralph Ippolito, Claire Von Enck, and Baily Jones. Photo: Andrea Mohin for The New York Times

Lee, in his heyday, was a dancer to know. At just 12, he was already winning public praise. In a preview of a recital of the King-Yanover School in Shanghai, the North China Daily News called him an “extremely promising young Chinese boy, whose technique is of a very high standard.” A reviewer wrote that he “already may be said to be the best Chinese interpreter of Western ballet.” (Lee saved these newspaper clippings and shared them with Lin when they eventually met.)

Born in Hong Kong in 1935, Lee moved to Shanghai with his mother in 1941, when Shanghai was under Japanese occupation. During World War II, his father, a Chinese acrobat, was in Kunming in western China; he died in an accident on his way to visit Lee in 1945.

Lee’s mother, Stanislawa Lee, who had danced with the Warsaw Opera, was his first ballet teacher; as a child, he would follow along with her daily barre exercises. Shanghai had a significant Russian population, and with that a robust ballet scene. To earn money, Stanislawa arranged for her son to perform in nightclubs—“like a polka dance, or Russian dance, or sailor dance,” Lee said. The clubs would pay them in rice.

Little George Li in his Shanghai days. Photo: George Lee private collection via the NY Times

Fearing the Chinese Communist Party’s takeover in 1949, the two evacuated to the Philippines. An expected four months as refugees turned into two years. In 1951, an American friend of Lee’s father sponsored them to come to New York, where he introduced Lee to the School of American Ballet, City Ballet’s affiliated school.

As Lee narrates these twists and turns in the film, one memory anchors his recollections. Before they immigrated, his mother issued a warning. “You are going to America, it’s all white people, and you better be 10 times better,” he recalls her saying. “Remember that: 10 times better!”

The footage of Lee in his 20s suggests he took that advice to heart. In television appearances — with the company of the ballet star André Eglevsky, and in a number from “Flower Drum Song” on the Ed Sullivan Show — his power and precision dazzle.

“He was good; he was really good,” Chan said. “Clean fifth, high jump, polished turns, stick the landing—the training is all there. He’s already 10 times better than everybody else.”

In a 1979 interview heard in the film, the former City Ballet soloist Richard Thomas, who took over the role of Tea, raves about Lee’s peerless acrobatic jumps: “He was wonderful! Balanchine choreographed a variation for him that none of us have ever been able to equal.”

As Lee remembers it, Balanchine spent 15 minutes with him in the studio. “He said, ‘What can you do good? Show me what you can do good,’ so I show him something,” Lee said. “I did things like splits and double turns, down and up, turn again like a ball, and that’s it. He picked up some things and put them together.”

George Li as a student at the School of American Ballet. Photo: George Lee private collection via the NY Times

He recalled that during a “Nutcracker” dress rehearsal, the City Ballet makeup artist put him in full yellowface, and Balanchine insisted he take off the makeup. “He is Asian enough! Why do you make him more?” he remembers Balanchine saying. Lee was costumed in the Fu Manchu mustache, queue ponytail and rice paddy hat often associated with the role, now widely critiqued as racist caricatures. But he said he didn’t take offense. “Dancing is dancing,” he said.

Lee performed in “The Nutcracker” as a student; he was never invited to join City Ballet. But he clearly excelled in his classes and onstage. For that, he credits his strong foundation of Russian training in China — and his mother’s exacting standards. He can still see her standing in the studio doorway at the School of American Ballet, observing closely.

“She was watching the class and then would go home and tell me, ‘You did this wrong or that wrong, you got to do it this way,’” he said. “So I really worked hard, and I was good.” (His favorite teacher at the school was the demanding Anatole Oboukhoff: “He always wanted more, and that’s why I liked him very much.”)

To make a living Lee turned to musical theater, performing in shows like “Baker Street” on Broadway and the cabaret “Carol Channing with her 10 Stout-Hearted Men,” which opened in London. He pieced together jobs for more than 20 years, often unsure of what would come next.

Lee in flight in a production of “Flower Drum Song” in Las Vegas in the early 1960s. Photo: George Lee personal collection via the NY Times

He was dancing in a Vegas revue, “Alcazar de Paris,” now in his 40s, when a blackjack dealer friend suggested he go to dealer school. “I can’t dance all my life,” he remembers thinking. He decided to give dealing a try and soon landed a job at the Four Queens. Aside from four years at another casino, he has worked there ever since.

In December 2022, he got a voice mail message from Lin. With her reporting skills and some crucial assists from Yu, she had determined that he lived in Las Vegas. Of the five phone numbers she found for George Lees, four led nowhere; his was the last she tried.

When they finally connected, she put her other project on hold to focus on his story; she and her small creative team had a final cut by November. “George is 88, and I wanted him to be able to enjoy this moment, where people recognize him for his dancing,” she said.

As he prepares to return to New York, Lee said he felt gratified, most of all, for his mother.

“I’m proud for her that I didn’t let her down,” he said. “It makes me feel better to look up at her and say: ‘Look, mother, now you see what’s happening, what you did for me. You gave me all the good foundation, everything. Through you, I’m here now.’”

George Lee today. Photo: Saeed Rahbaran for The New York Times

[lady-merian]

Jumping on a tag from @fictionadventurer (very good tea it was too) and sort of from @siena-sevenwits. (I was in bed but I should have been asleep. I just couldn’t get back to sleep, though not from lack of trying).

Coffee or tea? It kind of depends on my mood, I guess. I tend towards coffee though I’ve gotten more into teas again this past year. Caffeine does not affect me so it’s just whichever taste I’m after. Lately I’ve been putting maple extract in my iced coffee with almond milk and that’s what I’ve just finished.

Early bird or night owl? Night owl easily. I pretty much never see the sunrise voluntarily.

Chocolate or vanilla? When it comes to cake and ice cream, vanilla. But I dearly, dearly love chocolate as candy. <<I like your answer and shall adopt it.

Spring or Fall? Fall by a narrow margin.

Silver or gold? Silver had been my favorite for a while, but I have recently realized I think gold compliments my coloring better. I now like them almost equally, though I haven’t gone out and acquired more gold toned jewelry.

Pop or alternative - these labels mean nothing to me. What I like rarely falls neatly into genres. Or if it does I’m unaware of it, I just like it because it’s good.

Freckles or dimples - freckles mainly because my sisters are freckled and so is at least one of my OCs. Dimples are cute though.

Snakes or sharks - considering I was half relieved and half disappointed not to have seen the snake that was spotted in our yard recently, I’m really not sure.

Mountains or fields - I want to see mountains again, Mountains, Gandalf!

Thunder or lightning - I could do with a nice rumble of thunder right now, but lightning is so cool. Better than fireworks. I think I prefer hearing thunder and missing the lightning because I’m indoors to seeing lightning and not hearing any thunder though.

Egyptian mythology or Greek mythology - listen, if I had to choose a mythology it would be neither of these.

Ivory or scarlet - for years I was under a misapprehension that scarlet was a somewhat deeper, darker red instead of a very bright red. I still like my idea of scarlet better than the real thing. But the name is pretty.

Flute or lyre - flute, I think.

 Opal or diamond - opals are more interesting to me

Butterflies or honeybees - it has taken me a long time to stop being afraid of bees but I have always loved butterflies.

Macarons or eclairs - :( someday I’d like to get a dairy-free macaron.

Typewritten or handwritten: I opt to type what I can, but I love the look of good handwriting.

 Secret garden or secret library - library!

 Rooftop or balcony - Balcony all the way.

Spicy or mild - this might seem weird to some people but it depends largely on the flavor that goes with the spice. With Mexican food I want it fairly mild, but I can handle a lot more spice with Italian food. There are probably more variances with other cultures but I’ve never tried, say, Indian food to see how I would do with that.

Opera or ballet - I would choose ballet if only for @the-old-fashioned-girl’s Beren and Luthien ballet designs as well as @scarvenartist’s entire shapeshifter aesthetic, but really I’ve always thought it beautiful. The closest I come to opera is knowing how much of an operatic influence the LotR soundtracks have.

London or Paris - London for sure.

vincent van gogh or claude monet - I like both, but there are those Van Gogh quotes that stuck with me and I reblog every time I see them, so I‘ll say Van Gogh.

Denim or leather - I wear more denim but I largely prefer leather (excepting my jeans and my chambray shirts)

Potions or spells - Potions certainly.

Ocean or desert - I wanna see the Ocean!

Mermaids or sirens - Mermaids.

 Masquerade ball or cocktail party: I would leap at the chance to go to a masquerade ball.

Tagging: Anyone who had chocolate within the last week.

[ballet-symphonie]

Vaganova Ballet Academy Asks

So there is official information of Koshkareva signing a solo contract with Bolshoi and Nikolay Tsiskaridze's close friend (devilonpointshoes on Telegram) and ballet enthusiasts on ballet forums stating that Koshkareva, Valiullina, and Kuprina going to Bolshoi. How do you feel about all the star students going to Bolshoi instead of Mariinsky like many expected? It isn't unexpected that Valiullina is going to Bolshoi given that she suits that company but with Koshkareva and Kuprina being Mariinsky's trainees for a year, and their dance style suiting Mariinsky more, I really do not understand why they chose Bolshoi (perhaps they were given soloist role straight away)? Anyways I'm also confused if Koshkareva is going to Bolshoi like Kuprina, why is her name not taken down from the trainee name list on the Mariinsky website... Honestly idk how to feel about this and ngl Im pretty disappointed that Koshkareva and Kuprina are not going to Mariinsky :(

The Bolshoi is the fast track. These girls have been promoted as stars and BT has likely made them big promises to keep treating them that way. With how the Bolshoi gives out roles at the speed of light to young prominent grads, plus the benefits that generally come with dancing in Moscow (read: money), the offers are likely very tempting. The corps life is tough, no one wants to do it if they don't have to lmao.

I thought with this reinvented MT and more publicized MT trainee situation that MT management would have managed to keep at least one of Koshkareva and Kuprina but I guess not. I am actually more surprised Valiullina is tagging along as I thought her body type might hold her back. While I agree with many that her dancing fits the broad movement and expressive style of the Bolshoi, that’s unfortunately not exactly what goes on stage all the time nowadays at BT, maybe its about 50/50 now depending which principals are cast.

Hi Ale! Any news on Daria Kulikova? How is she doing at the Academy? I think the 2023 class is a powerful one, and my opinion isn't based on who is better. But there's something about Kulikova??? I don't know... but I like her dancing and I'm rooting for her, there's just something special, artistic I see in her.

The 2023 class has just been everywhere and she hasn’t been one of the most hyped ones for obvious reasons. I don’t think I’ve seen where she’s going but I also haven’t been crawling through the TG channels looking for information about her you know? 

With the ‘big 3’ of this class heading to BT, there’s likely some MT spots available, which is theoretically what she would want after changing schools so late in the games.  

Do you think there will ever be a Kovaleva graduate to top Vishneva off? I honestly don't and it's not because there weren't other talented girls to graduate, but it's just that none of the ones who came after, could even compare to Vishneva, let alone surpass her. Koshkareva for example, is really talented, but it's already being called the 'next Vishneva', so... I will say though, after Vishneva, only Smirnova and Khoreva came a little close and probably Koshkareva will too.

I don’t think she will ever top Vishneva, she’s a once in a 100 years type of a dancer. I also don’t know how much longer she will continue to work. Her talent as a pedagogue is immense, she’s proven that she can train exceptional dancers with different body types, backgrounds and ambitions. Her training and her graduates, quite literally is defining the past, present and future of Russian ballet.  

how do the “classes” at vaganova work?? like if it’s class of kovaleva, does that mean that she’s taught them all 8 years at vaganova orrr 

No, if a ballerina is listed as ‘class of Kovaleva’ that means that she taught their graduate year. Generally, the teachers will change every 1-3 years as some teachers are especially skilled at working with different age groups. 

[theladyofbloodshed]

Neris Christmas Hallmark Movie AU

Part Four of Four

Merry Christmas. I hope you've enjoyed this tooth-decay inducing story of two grinches.

A shake jolted her out of sleep. Nesta blinked a few times, trying to will her eyes to adjust to the darkness surrounding them in the small bedroom. Half of the room had unicorns papered to the wall, the other half had dinosaurs. All of the plush toys had ended up piled at the bottom of her bed.

‘Wake up, Nesta. You must have been a good girl because Father Christmas has visited!’

Was Eris always this awake in the mornings? She had debated finding out, but now, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to spend more mornings with him.

‘What are you shouting about?’

A piece of paper torn out from a notebook had been folded beside her pillow. Eris leaned over her bed to draw back the curtain enough to let a sliver of light into the room. Nesta still had to blink to try and focus her eyes in the hard light.

‘What’s this?’ She asked softly.

Amongst a few terrible drawings of Christmas trees and bunches of holly, Eris had written “admit two” in a sloping script.

‘We’re going to the Nutcracker on the twenty-eighth. I bought the tickets last night.’

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

His red hair was messy from sleep. On his top, the Grinch was staring at her too with his massive, yellow eyes. Eris shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas.’

‘No,’ Nesta complained with a dramatic flop back onto the pillows. ‘You’re infected too.’

‘I saw the tears last night. You’ve got the Christmas bug.’

‘No, I’m just a fan of fine cinema,’ she protested weakly.

‘Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.’

Nesta burrowed deeper into the blanket. ‘Don’t set me off again. I never cry.’ 

It had been a beautiful film. One that left her pondering life as she lay in the narrow bed listening to Eris toss and turn beside her.

She tucked the note beneath her pillow for safekeeping, touched that he’d followed through with his suggestion to sit through a ballet with her. ‘I didn’t get you anything.’

Eris sucked in a breath. ‘Haven’t you learned? It’s not about presents. Not really. It's the memories we create.’ He took a sweeping bow. ‘Your presence is a present.’

‘Urgh, Eris. Stop. I’ll throw up. Are you always like this in the mornings?’

‘Maybe you’ll find out.’

Those few words made her pulse judder to a stop. A sudden flush of heat washed over her at the implication of his words.

‘Get out so I can get dressed,’ she muttered, avoiding looking at him.

‘It’s actually a legal requirement that on Christmas Day you can’t wear anything other than pyjamas.’

‘I am in hell,’ Nesta said to herself.

‘Don’t you want to be matching with me? Besties?’

‘Eris,’ she practically shrieked. ‘Enough, Cindy Lou Who.’  

On this one special day, Elain had allowed her children to abandon their cereal. Breakfast seemed to be whatever they could lay their hands on – yesterday’s biscuits, chocolate, candy, or mince pies. Nesta settled beside her sister on the couch, coffee clutched in their hands as the children squealed at the sight of snowy footprints leading to the fire place and half-chewed carrots. All of the adults had taken a turn before bed on chowing down on the carrots to encourage the belief while Lucien drizzle flour on the floor in the shape a of a shoe print.

There were messy bed-heads and bleary eyes all around – but so much joy too. The children brandished their gifts with utter delight in complete amazement that Santa Claus had landed right on the money with every present.

‘Now, I need to apologise,’ Lucien began as he handed her a present from beneath the tree. ‘We actually bought you this when we invited you over for the first year in this house – and that was seven years ago – so we can’t even remember what’s in it.’

‘Ha, ha,’ Nesta said with a roll of her eyes.

‘I know you hate your electronic diary,’ explained Elain as Nesta peeled away the paper.

It was a beautiful diary with heaps of stationary and a gorgeous fountain pen. Thought had gone into it – but that really was all Nesta’s personality had become. She’d become a robot who lived to work.  Even herself, she could not say what her hobbies were. Examining statistics? Making grown men shrink in their seats when they tried to interrupt her?

‘It’s lovely, thank you. Will you let me know all of the kids’ recitals or important dates – or when you want a babysitter?’

Elain gave her a doubtful look.

‘I mean it. I want to be more present.’

Nesta gave her sister a squeeze then sank back against the couch, watching the rest of the morning unfold.

When it came time to prepare the lunch, Lucien and Elain were glad for babysitters to keep the children entertained so they could bar themselves into the kitchen.

The four of them were trapped in the living room putting batteries into new toys or freeing Barbies from their packaging. Each toy held their attention for roughly four and a half minutes until they moved onto the next thing. Even Eris seemed happy to be swept along by it while the smells of the turkey roasting wafted through the house. Lucy was clipping sections of his hair back then dragging a brush through them, ignorant of the clips tearing at Eris’ roots.

‘You look beautiful,’ Nesta called over the Lego set that Jos was instructing her how to build while he shovelled in marshmallows.

Eris gave a nod. ‘I feel positively radiant.’

There was a call from the children’s grandma during the morning where Eris had to instruct her how to flip the camera around so they could see her face rather than the wall opposite. Nesta always forgot how pretty Lucien’s mother was. Not the grandma from films with grey, permed hair, but young with the same red hair as her sons and a lovely, smiling face. Lucy and Jos showed her all of their presents then delighted at her promise to be there in a few days to visit. There were pictures of her up in the house too, so Nesta knew her promises weren’t empty. Even if Lucien was estranged from his father, his mother still held onto their relationship.

There were not enough chairs at the table for them so Lucien brought in camping chairs from the shed. As unexpected guests, she and Eris insisted on sitting on them but the children thought they were positively brilliant and clamoured to sit on them instead. It meant they were far lower than the rest of them so drizzled gravy down their tops and laps. Elain just looked at the growing pile of washing from the last couple of days then gave a lazy shrug. Kids were kids.

The highlight was definitely when Lucien tried to flambé the Christmas pudding, charred the entire thing and set the smoke alarm off. Nesta laughed so hard that she snorted.

‘I’m so glad I married you,’ smiled Elain as she tugged him down to kiss.

When they were all stuffed to bursting, Eris volunteered that he and Nesta would tackle the mountain of dirty dishes that had piled up. Others might have waved it away, claiming they were guests, but their siblings scurried off to the living room to digest their food slumped on the cushions.

‘I have to admit, you have good ideas sometimes,’ Nesta said as she rinsed off a plate.

‘Which one?’

She slipped her fingers into her pyjamas to demonstrate their flexibility. ‘Elastic waistbands. Game changer.’

‘When this is done, I’m having a nap like a snake who needs to not move to digest its food.’ Eris leaned over her to put the dried glasses away, his chest brushing against her shoulder with the motion. ‘So, do you think you’ll be here next year?’

‘I suppose Christmas isn’t that bad. Not really. I could do without the two-month procession prior, but,’ she sighed through her nose, ‘I’ve enjoyed it.’

The man gave a sharp gasp, eyes going wide. ‘You did? A Christmas miracle.’

He held her gaze a little too long. Long enough for Nesta to hastily turn back to the sink with her pulse echoing in her ear drums. There had been something hungry in it. Something that was catching.

It had been a long, long time since she’d let a man stay the night in her bed. The rare times it had happened, she’d slipped out at dawn, showered, dressed, and put her make up on before he’d even had a chance to roll over. That casual intimacy was too much. It led to a suggestion of other. Of being complacent around each other, being casual and cosy, warts and all. Never in her wildest dreams would she be in matching Grinch pyjamas, hair a mess, no make up on, with a man who she was sleeping in adjacent beds with. And yet Nesta didn’t mind. Her and Eris were in the same boat here - two losers with no other plans on Christmas. He still had fluffy, flamingo clips in his hair – as if he hadn’t realised that they remained – which clashed with the vibrancy of the red. He hadn’t pried into her employment or suggested ways for her to be more efficient. Eris had made this holiday enjoyable – even if he had bruised her on the ice with his disastrous rescue attempt.

With only the radio filling the silence, they went on ploughing their way through the dishes, until Eris spoke.

‘I’d like to see you next Christmas.’

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the thought. ‘You’ll see me for the ballet.’

‘Maybe I want to wear matching pyjamas with you next year too.’

She gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Maybe you’ll have a girlfriend next Christmas.’

Aware of his looming presence beside her, Nesta raised her eyes to his face. Stubble was growing through on his sharp features which somehow softened them. In his business attire, Eris was handsome in a pristine, refined sense. This was better – sleepy-eyed and soft with a tuft of hair sticking up on one side.

‘Maybe,’ he replied, not tearing his eyes from her.

When his eyes dropped to her lips, Nesta blurted, ‘Do you want to dance?’

‘In the kitchen?’

She tried to chase away her blush with a scoffing sound. ‘Where else? It’s Christmas after all.’

One hand settled on her waist. Eris gave a slow shake of his head then pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. ‘How could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.’

‘Stop rhyming,’ she warned, pressing a finger to his lips. ‘I mean it, Eris.’

‘Maybe Christmas doesn’t come-’

Nesta fought to press her hand against his mouth as he tried to lurch his head upwards and out of her grip.

‘-from a store. Maybe Christmas-’

‘I am going to kill you,’ declared Nesta as she still tried in vain to muffle his words.  

Eris seized her, both arms wrapping around her to keep her jailed against him. ‘-perhaps means a little bit more.’

If somebody waved a red flag in front of her then Nesta might have charged out of his arms like a bull. His heart thudded against her body.

‘I didn’t realise you were actually Dr Seuss,’ she said.

Her voice had fallen to a hush due to the closeness of their bodies. She risked a glance up at him. ‘Stop smiling.’

The embrace went tighter. It was not tight enough to crunch her bones, but enough that she could notice the shift in his behaviour from playful to serious - as if that hug meant as much to him as it did to her.

Her arms slipped around his body and her cheek rested against him, face tucked against his neck as they danced slowly in the kitchen.

She had to be insane for this. If Elain or Lucien walked in… Worse, if one of the children did…

It’s Christmas, she thought firmly. Everything can be excused away with Christmas.

Eris stroked her skin back and forth as they moved in time to the music. It was less of a dance, more just two people swaying whilst holding onto each other. His body was warm against her – and she could have stayed nuzzled against him for an age.

‘Isn’t this a break up song?’ He said, grinding to a stop.

‘A Christmas break up,’ Nesta said, scrunching up her nose.

‘Good enough,’ replied Eris before resuming their slow dance.

The song shifted to one they’d need to Charleston to in order to keep pace with it, but they hadn’t broken apart from each other.

‘I wish there was mistletoe here,’ he murmured against her golden hair.

A smile tugged at her lips. ‘You don’t need mistletoe as an excuse to kiss me.’

‘I don’t?’

Her no came out as a whisper as Nesta tilted her head up towards Eris just as he leaned down to kiss her. His lips were soft, pressing against her just enough for her to lean into him, quietly demanding a little more. The warmth from his fingers brushed against her neck as he deepened the kiss.

‘Ooops,’ came Lucien’s voice as he swung into the kitchen then promptly lurched back out of the room.

They leapt away from each other as if they’d been electrocuted.

‘We were just… We were…’ Nesta fumbled.

‘I know exactly what you were doing – I have two kids.’ Lucien strode through the middle of them to brew a fresh pot of coffee so Nesta took that as her moment to scurry into the lounge though her cheeks felt as if they were glowing as red as Rudolph’s nose.

Eris didn’t linger with his brother either, preferring to race after her and sit at the opposite end of the couch with more formality than he had the entire time they’d visited.

She focused harder than ever on the television screen, pretending Lucy’s show was the most riveting thing she had ever witnessed rather than acknowledge Eris’ presence near her.

A tray of coffee was brought in and settled on the table wherever there was space for it. Lucien fumbled in his wallet then handed over twenty dollars to his wife. ‘You win.’

For a moment, Elain puzzled at the money in her hand then her jaw dropped open. Her brown eyes shot to Nesta and Eris. ‘I told you!’

‘Told you what?’ Jos asked.

‘Adult things, baby.’

‘You made a bet?’ Eris asked, a hand going across his heart.

‘Finally,’ Elain exclaimed.

‘We’ve been trying to set you up for seven years.’

Nesta felt her brows pull together. ‘You made a bet seven years ago that we’d kiss?’

‘No,’ Lucien said with a dismissive wave. ‘We made a bet that you would kiss this weekend. But it’s been seven years in the making. Each barbeque and dinner party and birthday, we’ve tried to push you two together but either one of you doesn’t show up or neither of you does. The stars have finally aligned.’

‘You’re perfect for each other.’

Lucien counted out the reasons on his fingers. ‘Both live in the same city, both career driven, both workaholics who act like Scrooge-’

‘Ouch,’ Eris protested.

‘Both big softies at your core,’ he finished. 'It starts with a kiss then it will snowball.'

Jos groaned loudly from the rug on the floor. ‘Why are you talking about kissing?’

Thank goodness for her nephew’s intervention. ‘Jos, have you shown your parents the harmonica auntie Feyre got for you?’

‘She got him a what?’

Even hours later, Nesta was still sure that her cheeks were red enough to lead a sleigh. Well, at least they matched Eris’ hair. She fluffed up the pillow before settling in beneath the quilt. Tomorrow, she would drive back to the city. Most people weren’t back into the office for another day or two – so maybe she’d leave the emails until then too.

In the bed next to her, Eris had been reading until he’d paused to ask, ‘Do you still want to go to the ballet with me?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

He rolled onto his side to look at her. ‘I don’t know. You seemed pretty embarrassed about the kiss. We can wave it away with this Christmas nonsense, if that’s what you want.’

‘It wasn’t the kiss. It was the fact your brother walked in on us. I felt like a scandalised teenager being caught in public.’

Eris leaned over to sweep her hair from her face. ‘The next time I kiss you, it will be done in private. I promise.’

‘Idiot.’

A slow smile spread across his face as he burrowed beneath the duvet, book stowed away in No Man’s Land. ‘Merry Christmas, Nesta.’

‘Merry Christmas, Eris.’

'Here's to many more.'

[albertsbootayyy]

I just wanted to share why I have so much love for Newsies.

I have always been a dancer. Maybe not a ballet dancer or a tapdancer most of the time, but I loved dancing. I have done hiphop most of my early teens.

As a kid I went to tons of musicals for my birthdays as a present from the best friend of my mother. We have this company called studio 100 (it’s kind of like the disney of the benelux) and They made these kids musicals. Since I always had a rough childhood it was a way of escaping reality a little bit for one night.

But here’s the thing. That all stopped around the age of 15. I stopped dancing because my home situation got worse. My grades were dropping. I was too old to not be taken to musicals anymore (or so they thought). And in those four years of not doing anything with my passsions, only passively watching instagram posts, I kinda got off track. I was so lost. I didn’t know what I was doing with my life. For four years I have been saying “I wanna be this, I wanna do that”, but nothing felt right. And I don’t know why I never thought of musicals, but they just kinda got forgotten about.

Eventually I got to see Hamilton on Disneyplus and it made me kind of remember musicals, enough to get me interested in them again, but not quite enough to do something with that interest. It was more like musicals would become a thing I would like to watch once or twice but not really give much thought.

But then one day I was having a sleepover with a friend of mine, and she had a beamer. And after a moment she said “shall we watch a musical like hamilton? I haven’t seen one of those in a while.” And I agreed to it. So we searched on disneyplus for musicals, and I saw Newsies standing there. And I could see it was kind of the style of this Dutch musical that I have had as a hyperfixation a few years ago because I just loved that old fashioned vibe it had. The thing was I expected it to be a bit like that musical, and that musical didn’t have a lot of dancing in it. So we put it on because it seemed interesting.

And when I tell you, to watch the live recording on a big white screen, not knowing what is going to hit you, it was a lot to take in. I got so blown away by carrying the banner. And with every song it just got better and better and better.

I was stunned by the dancing. I didn’t realize until then how much I missed dancing. How I had forgotten how much I love it.

And then King of New York came on. And I never expected to like tap dancing. I never really gave it much thought But I just fell in love.

And it just got me so emotional. Because for four whole years I had been searching for passions and things I wanted to do. I didn’t really know what to do with my life. I was just feeling completely hopeless. I was trying to convince myself that other things were my passions but nothing really stuck and I just didn’t know what to do.

But Newsies got me falling in love with dancing again. It was as if I had lost a very special stuffed animal from my childhood, and found it again.

And so this year I have been going to class again. Although it is very tricky to find something permanent because my schedule from college keeps changing, at least I have been going.

And I will never ever forget that Newsies did that for me.

And not to mention the feeling I got when I went to the theatre again after 10 years to see a musical.

I will be forever thankful for Newsies and the fact that it has brought me back by my passion.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

A long time ago now, there was a fair amount of kerfuffle on twitter about “Do you have to read in order to be able to write?” I saw a lot of takes that there were other ways to learn craft.

And there are. But I’m still going to argue that you almost have to be exposed to the medium you’re creating in to be good at it (if you don’t want to be good at it, that’s cool, too, have fun!). You have to expose yourself to it, observe it, engage in it. That specific medium. Not others.

There are lots of ways to learn the craft of storytelling. Anime, manga, comic books, webcomics, graphic novels, comic strips, movies, live action TV, cartoons, short films, poetry, screenplays, stage plays (both on the page and on the stage), opera, ballet, music, newsreels, creative nonfiction, podcasts, video games, tabletop gaming, role plays, let’s plays…the list is basically endless, and they all teach various elements of storytelling.

And a lot of them overlap! You can definitely get inspiration for your novel from anime and movies and podcasts. There are still character ideas and worldbuilding concepts and structure you can gather from them.

But if you’re trying to write prose fiction, you need to learn how to express those ideas in prose fiction. And the only way to do that is by…reading and studying prose fiction.

There used to be a Thing in a lot of fanfiction that characters would “sweat-drop.” This was pretty obviously taken from anime and manga, where the little raindrop marker on a character’s head indicates…oh, I would say the closest word is probably usually chagrin. And that works in anime and manga!

It…kind of doesn’t work in prose fiction. It looks weird, only means something to a very limited subset of people, and it’s just kinda awkward. There’s other ways in prose to indicate that emotion, but it’s not described in manga the way it will be in prose, because manga isn’t prose.

If you’re watching a movie and the leitmotif starts playing in a minor key, you start anticipating something tragic will happen. It brings out mournfulness and anticipation and fear, oftentimes. But in a novel, if a character says, “It was as if minor chords started playing,” …grief isn’t really the feeling a reader gets. In prose, that same concept reads as cheeky and genre-aware and leaning on the fourth wall. It’s amusing, and even if it tells readers to anticipate a certain thing, they aren’t going to be in the same mood as they will be from hearing it. It just doesn’t translate that way.

There are other ways in prose fiction to built mournfulness and fear. And you won’t learn what they are if you don’t read it.

I had some classmates, back when I was taking a screenwriting class, who you could tell were prose fiction writers and not great at adapting to the new format, probably because they were so new to it and hadn’t ever even really read it. So we would get stage directions that would read like, “Tonkan script covers the pillar in the center of the room. The Tonkan people haven’t been seen in a thousand years and their language was lost long ago. They’re mainly known for their weaponry left behind in their ruins…”

And that’s…great, for prose fiction (it’s not because I came up with it in a minute and don’t care about it). But in screenwriting? None of that means anything and it’s a useless dump of info in the screenwriting. In screenwriting, that usually looks more like, “Tonkan script, a lost language made of sharp angles and edges, mostly squares and rectangles, covers the pillar in the center of the room. A camera pans over it. SEAN’s eyes widen at the sight.” Because that actually indicates what’s going to be on screen in the movie. That includes the relevant details to the format. The former? Not so much.

And finding time for reading can be really hard. I get that. I don’t read as much as I’d like to, either.

But it’s critical, to learn a craft, to actually engage with that craft. It has its own unique methods and techniques and secrets that you have to know to produce it well.

Maybe it’s frustrating. But creating well is hard sometimes! It’s a still that takes a lot of time and effort! It should be appreciated.

[dragonfly0808]

Hello.

First of all, I'd like you to know that I'm a fan of your story.

However, I don't want to sound mean at all, and maybe it's just my own interpretation, but I get the impression that you've somehow taken certain traits from Layla/Aisha and put them in Flora? As I said above, I don't mean any harm, it's just my point of view, it's just that as a Winx Club fan, I find it a bit sad. For example, Aisha/Layla is a dancer, which you've kept, but you've mainly given the role of dancer to Flora. Although she's a ballet dancer only and you kept Aisha/Layla dance talents quite diverse, in one season we very clearly see her dancing ballet if my memory serves me right.

The same goes for combat and training. I may be wrong but, in the fourth season, when the Winx are doing their Winxology course, Aisha/Layla is the only one not doing magic and Tecna says "Layla is showing us that magic isn't everything. Training and healthy lifestyles are the secret to facing any challenge", so I think it's really sad that you're removing that aspect of her. Of course, I'm aware that this is your rewrite of Winx Club and that you don't always follow the elements of the show, but Layla/Aisha, from the moment she arrived, had shown that she was a resourceful girl and that she wouldn’t take sh*t from people. I'm going to say it again, but this message isn't meant to be mean, far from it. I tend to be defensive towards Layla/Aisha as I've seen plenty of people disregarding her or simply ignore her or dislike her for arriving after the first season (yes, just for that). Obviously I know you're not one of those people. I was just wondering why you decided not to let her have those aspects of her.

Also, sorry about the name changes, I grew up with Layla so I'm used to it but knowing that her real name is Aisha, it feels a bit weird not calling her that.

Sorry for the long message too… 😅

Anyway…. Happy Pride Month!!! 🏳️‍🌈

Hi!

So, tbh, the dance thing is just smth that I decided to give both of them. Maybe I’ve given Flora a few more scenes actually dancing but due to Aisha’s plotlines there hasn’t been a lot of time to show her dancing, but that should change in s4 since it will be a lot calmer.

S2 was to introduce Aisha and establish all of her dynamics with all of the girls and the guys so that was my priority for her character in s2, not really showing the details of her personality, just the overall traits of loyalty, overcoming trauma and becoming confident in herself and her place in the group

S3 is just packed to the brim with plot, there is shit constantly going down, dynamics shifting and just so much going on I haven’t gotten the chance to include a lot of more quiet moments and when I have quiet moments, I tend to focus on friendships and relationships to have some breathing room, due to that I haven’t gotten the chance to show the interests and those kinds of things of… really any character, or if I do get to show those interests, they are very much in passing unfortunately. (Also a lot of Aisha’s quiet moments in S3 have been to deepen her bonds with Flora and Brandon and for her blooming relationship with Nabu)

So between those 2, I haven’t really gotten the chance to give Aisha more quiet moments to show off her passions.

That’s what s4 will be for. Not just for Aisha but for all of them. There will still be quite a bit of plot happening in s4 but it won’t be nearly as crazy as s3 has been. Also it’s going to be a very big part of s4 to have the gang starting to figure out what they want to do with their lives (since they will be on their second-to-last year at Alfea/Red Fountain) so we will get to delve more into all of their interests and passions and life crisis in s4. Which includes Aisha!

As for the fighting thing, I never really saw Aisha as a physical fighter if that makes sense. To me she is a dancer and the reason I made Flora a fighter was mostly to have a little activity that was solely hers and Riven’s. It has to do more with their friendship (Riven teaching her to set her boundries and Flora teaching him to be more vulnerable) than with Flora herself if that makes sense.

I hope that all made sense!

Happy Pride Month to you too!

[snekusnake]

Araignee: Beginnings

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Original Character

Genre: Fluff, Sad?

Synopsis: Miguel finds Amelie’s universe, in which there fates are swapped.

A/N: This is a prequel to my other work, Araignee. They can be read stand alone but they do connect.

The light on the screen blinked rapidly, alerting Miguel’s tired eyes to the sensor. Discovering new dimensions was always particularly interesting, there seemed to be a version of the universe that was weird, wacky or overall just amazing.

He tapped on the new light that flashed in the web of the multi-verse, watching it expand and grow in front of him.

Would this be another Peter Parker?

Perhaps another Miles Morales? He surely hoped not.

To Miguel’s surprise it was a woman standing in a hallway, struggling to hold a stack of boxes. The hallway look extremely familiar, the pale cream walls reminding him of happier days, along with the brown door that made the color scheme look even more boring.

The letters 555 pinned to the door made his heart stop.

College.

College was going to be fun.

At least, that’s what Amelie really hoped. She’d seen a lot of movies after all, college was a time to explore, make new friends and maybe even fall in love.

If she ever managed to open this god damn door with this rusty old key.

The feeling of a tilt made her gasp, watching as two of the boxes slipped from their mini tower. Amelie shut her eyes, bracing for the impact but there wasn’t any.

“You can always put your boxes down,”

The deep voice had her eyes fluttering opening, looking at the person in front of herself. He was a tall male, broad, with tan skin and warm brown eyes. He wore a simple white shirt and denim jeans, brown hair unbrushed yet still falling into place perfectly.

“Excusez-moi!” Amelie laughed softly, “I do not need a lesson on common sense,”

“How about a lesson in opening doors?” He asked, “It helps if you jiggle the key, the locks haven’t been replaced in years,”

“Do you mind?”

He gently took the last box from her, holding it with the others. Despite his gentle, almost nerdy look, he seemed to be quite strong.

Amelie jiggled the key as it turned, the brown door opening and revealing her new dorm room. Despite the musty smell, she let out an excited squeal and her feet tapped on the floor.

“I’ve never seen anyone excited about a boring college dorm,” He commented.

“It’s a new beginning!” Amelie laughed softly and gently took the boxes, quickly putting them on the inside of the door, “And thank you, I don’t think I would have opened the door if you hadn’t of told me,”

“Best to help a neighbour, my mom always said anyway,” He shrugged, “I’m 556,”

“Oh!” She perked up, “What are you studying?”

The words that left his mouth, Amelie barely managed to understand. Something along the lines of science and biology.

“Okay!” She nodded, “I’m studying education! And dance! I do ballet,”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen ballet in my life,” He confessed.

“Well, I’ll just have the fix that,” Amelie laughed, “I’m Amelie,”

“Miguel,”

Quickly shutting the scene down, Miguel inhaled deeply as he processed what he’d just witnessed. It was like someone had taken his memories and slapped them on the screen.

Except..

This focused on Amelie.

Its main focus was on Amelie.

Amelie was the Spider Person in this universe.

“Miguel, this new universe is still processing through our systems-“

Lyla’s voice made him jump, Miguel quickly barking orders.

“Watch it extremely closely, I have to be notified if anything happens in this universe!”

Lyla’s voice stopped, the little woman appearing in the air.

“Miguel, you know your own rules,” Lyla warned.

“I know..,” He sighed and looked at the screen, “No one can ever go to this universe, it’s off limits,”

Lyla didn’t say anything.

“Especially not me,”

If his deductions were correct and Amelie was the Spider Person of this universe..

The canon event that would sent her into heroism was the death of Miguel O’Hara.

[matteoelio]

Location: The Woods Person: The Duke of Knottingham @alekgray​ It’s not like she’d been inactive before, she’d liked walks, she’d meditated, she’d done yoga, years of ballet lessons as a kid. But she thinks it’s the wolf that desires to run and a treadmill just doesn’t cut it and so it’s a daily occurrence, sometimes she goes twice. There’s more room to run in Rome than in Milan, she’d started on the trails and as Bianca had grown more familiar with the forests, she’d taken to just hiking wherever, she could always find her way back to the trails. Home had been her little loft hours from there, but so far, the woods were the one place she really felt like at peace. Airpods blaring Lana Del Ray, she moves through the trees feeling far lighter than she should, all things considering. But she’s not entirely out there for her own benefit, she’s looking for- Him. Another lycan up ahead, she’s in Rome for answers, she’s there for the wolves. He’s tall, has a curly mop of hair, seems to just be minding his own business in the woods and that’s enough for her. Taking an earbud out, she jogs forward enough to fall into step with him and plasters on a smile that’s genuinely shy as she tries to catch her breath. “Sorry to bother you, have you been this way before? I haven’t been this far out ‘til today.” Not entirely a lie, every day she was going out further and further.

[violetthekiller]

How long have you been tap dancing? I love that form of dance, it’s my favorite to watch. I am crossing all my fingers and toes that Tom gives us something from his rehearsals.

About 12 years! A long old time 😅

I haven’t taken a class since last June and I miss it a lot. I took all my ISTD exams up to Grade 6 (the highest standard grade) before coming to uni which i’m very proud of myself for doing 😎 I used to do ballet, modern and jazz as well. Dance was my entire life for literally 16 years!

You’ve probably already seen this if you love watching tap but the London revival of 42nd Street was one of the most impressive things Ive ever seen in the theatre!

[dt365-2024]

4/9/2024 7:10PM

I woke up this morning with my chest feeling heavy. I didn’t sleep till 4am. I woke up at 9am. Late to bring Mason to school. In my head, I thought well that’s the first failure I’ve done as a single mom. Could I do this? Eric woke me up with a call asking if I brought Mason to school and I said I will but he would be late but he would need to be here by 10am to drop off Mikayla’s ballet shoes from his car. I thought about how Eric must be reveling in how hard it’ll be for me being a single mom and how he’s just waiting until I come back to him. He could have taken Mason to school. He could have taken Mikayla to ballet this morning but he didn’t even offer. I made his take Mason to school anyways because Mikayla was running late for ballet. I felt heavy when I was there. Was it the lack of sleep? I didn’t know. I felt numb, achy. Like something stuck in my throat. I was able to watch her recital performance from the inside and I recorded it but I struggled to enjoy it. I still felt the same as I did when I was with Eric. I wondered if I had made the right choice. Tammy texted me, I didn’t respond back. I didn’t want to talk about it. I thought about talking to Lani or biggie, but I couldn’t do it. I felt so empty and heavy beyond words. I took Mikayla to McDonald’s for a happy meal then went home to eat her lunch. I took a nap before I had to get Mikayla ready for school, I woke up still feeling heavy after I dropped her off to school. I forced myself to go to Sam’s Club and get two more books in the ACOTAR series, and then forced myself to visit a cafe I’ve always wanted to go since I haven’t eaten yet. I went to Gäbi coffee house. It was cute. There were a lot of tourists there, people with accents. I found a seat and read a few chapters of ACOTAR. I’m almost at the end. I ate avocado toast and a green tea latte. I spent $25. Expensive, but I needed to treat myself. Afterwards, I felt a bit refreshed. Still a bit heavy, but better. I listened to Landslide as a I drove to the kids school to pick them up- Maelyn and Marshall spent the day with Eric btw and he took them to the park and sent me pictures of them with the ducks at the park. I thought about how if I made the right decision again. How I should be there for the kids. But I have to accept that I won’t be there the whole time anymore. And then I thought about how this was his intention-to make me feel that guilt, that jealously, all a plot for me to get back together with him. I picked the kids up and took Mikayla to Walmart to pick up what she wanted for her bday. She got a bike, helmet, toy phone, and I got the kids and her classmates some stuff too. Spent over $200. But it is her birthday after all. 5 is a big number. I should have hosted a party but I can’t afford it because Eric isn’t working. And I have to pay for his registration. It makes me angry. How I have to pay for his car, insurance, registration - and I get it. He doesn’t work. But he won’t even offer to take the kids to school or pick them up. I have to do it still. Little traits like this, I realize how selfish he is. How selfish he has always been. He brought the two kids over to drop them off. He could have watched them overnight at his parents but he didn’t. Again. Selfish. He picked up some clothes to wear tomorrow. I asked for help to move the broken TV and worn down tv stand but he didn’t help. He just left. Again. Selfish.

We talked a bit about his plans for getting a job and studying. How he’s considering himself a single dad. He’s not begging for me back. He isn’t sad. Literally took him fast to recover. I wonder sometimes if he truly loved me or if he just loved the vision of what we represented-a complete family. But the answer doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t hurt like it did two years ago.

[justtryingtovibe69]

this week i am going to take a ballet class bc otherwise i think i haven’t taken one in all of 2024. and i don’t want to go a year without taking a ballet class

[hannah-s-city-girl-adventures]

Week 3 Urban Sociology Blog

When I was taking Septa to Center City yesterday, I thought of Hutter’s “Experiential Activity 9.4: Disobey Behavioral Norms,” in which part of the experiment is to “make direct eye contact with several different strangers while you are riding on public transit.” Needless to say, I did not conduct this experiment, knowing that if someone did it to me, I would feel very uncomfortable and maybe a bit unsafe, being a younger woman in a public place. The idea of eye contact isn’t inherently bad, but because there is a norm set in place, such as on Septa, where everyone is doing their own thing, if broken would cause alarm and social disorder. 

I was trying to find third places on my trip to Center City, but it was difficult mainly because I haven’t been here too long. At home, a third place I think of is Montrose, where all the middle schoolers would hang out after school, and high schoolers would avoid because of all the said middle schoolers there. Montrose looks vastly different from the rest of the city: it is just one street with wide sidewalks, lots of small businesses, with Christmas lights hanging on the trees year round. I would frequent the local candy store, the Froyo shop (where many peers work), and go to the park right around the corner. Being back home from college, I will without a doubt run into at least 5 people I know in just one visit. But to keep this image of a pristine and family friendly place, several measures are taken place to keep order, such as a strict curfew of 10pm, where groups of teenagers after hours will be stopped by police and sent home, or homeless people being driven to the neighboring city to keep them out of Montrose. Disorder is stopped from the very beginning.

When I think of third places on campus, several spots come to mind. Though I live in Harrison on the 7th floor, the lobby is also a third place for me, as I get to talk with Tatiana, the security guard I’m friends with. I’m also bound to run into friends in the lobby that also live in Harrison, but don't live on my floor. WilCaf is a main third place for many students, because the workers are your own peers. The people I know who work at Wilcaf very much think of the space as a second home, and their coworkers are all close knit friends. Even in the sitting area, you’ll find people talking with each other, or studying, which I would imagine would occur at independent coffee shops, not necessarily at a Starbucks. Third places disappearing, as Hutter mentions in Chapter 9 of his book, makes sense, as it is increasingly more difficult to have regulars at corporate branches of coffee shops, even more so at drive through ones.

Before reading about codes of urban behavior in Palen’s textbook, or learning about Jane Jacobs’ “Sidewalk Ballet,” I didn’t think much of this second–nature behavior of norms while even walking (such as sticking to the right side). I wouldn’t call this culture shock, but something I’ve noticed more and more coming to a more walkable city, from LA. The video we watched in class about Disneyland having these walkable streets of a stereotypical urban center made me laugh because I loved Main Street whenever I was there for this very reason.