#leotards with flats

[flats-fan]

[lochiiee]

i made a stupid dandys world oc LOOK AT THEM!! they r kinda ugly bc i cant draw but STILL (passive scaling under cut :3) I LOVE THEM!!! any pronouns but mainly them

[babydollmarauders]

THE START OF IT ALL — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

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

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

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

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

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

my feet are killing me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that was all my parents.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he thinks of me as a sister.

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

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

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

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

“come on in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

we exit the building, following Quinn to his car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what?”

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

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

“two.” he smirks.

“what?” my face punches in confusion.

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

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

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

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

“yeah?”

“you still coming to the game tomorrow?”

“i plan on it.” i tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

thirty minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“does this boy play that brutal game too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you okay?”

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

[dear-ao3]

you can really tell a lot about someone based on what their go to ballet outfit was

ill go first:

black leotard, black footless tights over the leotard and rolled up to mid calf, tan flat capezio ballet shoes (with hole!), dark blue adidas track pants, over sized long sleeve shirt, high bun with no hairnet, stud earrings and rings

[francixoxoxo]

𐙚𝒯𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒸ℯ𝓇 ୨ৎ

𝒞ℴ𝓇𝒾ℴ𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓊𝓈 𝒮𝓃ℴ𝓌 𝒳 ℬ𝒶𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐨, 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚

𝒴𝒶’𝓁𝓁 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀ℯ 𝒾𝓉 𝓌ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻ℯℯ𝓉！！

Ballet was your passion. It was like when you entered that room, glossy hardwood under-toe and expansive mirrors across the wall— you forgot your body’s limits.

At the end of the day, the lactic acid would kick in and you’d feel like a true cripple. Your toes were cracked, your spine brittle, your legs stiff from being pulled so taught.

Coriolanus was so, so endearingly supportive of you. Your grace was unmatched in every endeavor you took, yet ballet was your calling. He was at every performance, your enamored husband, yet careful to respect your wishes of letting your success be solely from your work. You were adamant that you didn’t want him pulling strings for you.

If he couldn’t use his political power as President to get you ahead, he’d dote on every single other aspect of your dancing.

A leotard in every color you pleased. The best hairstylists and gentlest products to keep your hair silky and healthy, unlike what most ballerinas had to deal with. Hell, a whole dance studio in the presidential mansion all to yourself for the few days you didn’t have rehearsal with your dance company.

Coriolanus noticed in particular that your feet took the largest toll. Bruised and battered between heels for events as the First Lady of Panem and pointe shoes for performances as a Prima Ballerina… it broke his heart. He saw to it that your slippers were custom-made to fit your feet, the finest quality and comfortable as possible.

And yet, though the pain was exponentially better, your passion continued to discomfort you. You’d insisted how much you loved ballet, insisted that you didn’t mind some pain in the face of your career.

That didn’t mean that Coryo didn’t feel awful.

One night, Coryo slipped into the dance studio. You were somehow more awake than him in the late hours of the night. He’d finished up his address for the next cabinet meeting, and for the first time in the past few months felt truly ready for bed.

You? Not so much. You were in your ballet slippers, in a cream-colored leotard and pink skirt. Working your pretty little ass off. You were practicing an important routine for the next show, which you had an important role in. When you heard the door open, your heels immediately hit the floor and your head whipped to see Coriolanus.

You let out a soft sigh. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Your husband cooed, his sapphire eyes shamelessly drinking you in. He waved a hand to you as he crossed the room to sit on the bench against the wall. “Keep going, my love, don’t let me stop you.”

You smiled a bit shyly, turning around so your back was to him. You met his eyes in the mirror as you began from where you left off in the dance, a dainty arabesque.

Coryo just leaned against the wall, his legs spreading lazily as he sat and watched you dance. You were absolutely captivating in every movement. Graceful and iridescently beautiful.

That was, until you couldn’t bear to dance on the pointe of your slippers and stumbled a bit. You groaned in frustration, slipping to your knees in a smooth and somehow still elegant motion.

“What happened?” Coriolanus sat up now, brows drawing in concern as you began to undo the ribbons of your pointe shoe. You shook your head, rigid with frustration.

“I think it’s time for bed.” You admit, slipping your right flat off and undoing the thick bandage wrapped from your heel to your toes.

You grimaced at the sight of your foot. Some of your toes were purple with bruises, cruel and mocking blisters on your knuckles. There were indivudual bandages around certain more damaged toes, a bandaid under the ball of your foot. The bones of your foot were strained against your skin. Even you could admit that you looked beaten.

Before you realized it, Coryo was scooping you up with his arms under your back and knees. You gasped a little, though it delved into a little giggle. He couldn’t pretend that your battered feet didn’t bother him, he couldn’t manage a smile. Your husband gently sat you down on the bench he had been on, reaching for your ballet duffel bag. He dug around a bit.

“Poor baby.” Coriolanus cooed, pressing a kiss to your knee as he shifted to kneel at your feet. In his hand he clutched a roll of soft pink bandages and a tube of Neosporin you kept in your bag. “It looks like it hurts.”

You hummed, admiring the sight of Coryo on his knees in front of you. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and baring his forearms, his dress shirt’s top few buttons unbuttoned. His hair was ungelled, to your delight. “It’s not that bad.”

But you flinched as Coryo pressed gently on a bruise with his thumb. He’d hardly applied any pressure, and you were reacting like that. “This? This isn’t that bad?” Coriolanus huffed, he held your foot in one hand and gestured to it by lifting it just a bit. He raised his brows, blue eyes wide in disbelief. He shook his head disapprovingly, looking down and applying some Neosporin to the opened blisters on your toes.

“My love, you’re pushing yourself too far.” Coryo murmured, his breath warm on your shin as he reached for the bandages. He took loving care in wrapping your foot, once, twice, as much padding as he needed to ease his mind.

You shake your head. “Don’t be dramatic, Coryo. This is normal.” You watched your husband’s jaw tick. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to your ankle, his eyelashes tickling your calf.

“Normal, fine. But I’m not dramatic when I say that it hurts to see.” Coriolanus turned to lean his head against your knee, unraveling the ribbons of your other slipper with an agonizingly gentle touch. His fingers were featherlight, as if you’d crumble under his fingers. “You don’t deserve this. Such a good, beautiful woman as you shouldn’t have a scratch.”

You smiled faintly down at him as he slipped your pointe shoe off. He was unbelievably doting, despite what people might say about his coldness. Coryo was completely different behind closed doors. He melted with you. He adored you.

“You’re too good to me.” You murmured softly, Coriolanus scoffed and shook his head as he carefully unwrapped the fabric covering your toes. He could see the deep crimson staining the cloth already, his brow was already pulled taut.

You grimaced at the damage to your feet. Damn. You hadn’t realized it was bleeding until now, looking down at the rubbed-off skin and blisters cracking your toes. Now that the wounds were exposed to the air, they suddenly stung and ached. Coryo was staring down at your foot for a long few moments before rifling through your duffel bag for some baby wipes. He was sure this had happened before, he was sure you would be hesitant to tell him.

“My poor darling..” Coriolanus cooed, successfully finding a wipe and cleaning the blood from your skin. You whimpered at the touch on the raw skin, but when your husband looked up at you as if to ask if he should stop, you gently pushed your fingers through his blonde curls.

“I’m fine.” You assured him, watching as he squeezed some Neosporin onto the opened skin. Coryo was painfully gentle in wrapping up your foot, he cooed sweet words and apologies to you, though it wasn’t his fault.

Coryo was certain you didn’t deserve any of this pain that came with your passion. You were too good for any kind of pain, period. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your foot, his lips trailing up to your ankle, the length of your shin, your knee. That last kiss, he let his azure eyes flutter shut, humming lowly against your skin. You couldn’t help smiling down at him, gently scratching and rubbing his scalp. If only he could see himself now, kneeling in front of you, kissing up your legs and practically worshipping you.

“I love you.” Coriolanus murmured, propping his chin on your knee and looking up at you with soft eyes. Well, he was looking up at you like you were a goddess, like you were something to pray to. His eyes twinkled, his expression sincere.

Your smile only widened. You folded at the waist to press a kiss to the crown of Coryo’s hair, whispering, “I love you too.” That brought a fond smile to his lips, a little snort from his nose.

He tossed those devilish slippers into your bag after a long, lingering few moments of staring up at you. “Let’s get you to bed.” Coryo hummed, zipping up the duffel and swinging it over his shoulder as he stood. You moved to stand, opening your mouth to ask for the sandals in your bag, but before you could speak he was scooping you back up into his arms like a princess. You couldn’t help the giggle bubbling from your lips, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Coriolanus pressed his lips to your temple as he pushed the door open with his back, carrying you down the hall. He didn’t really care if a servant or an Avox saw you two; he wasn’t doing anything that a loving husband wouldn’t, anyway.

Your pain truly hurt him. Coryo felt an ache in his heart every time you’d complain of stiff joints or blistered feet. He made sure to have ballet slippers created specifically for you, so that you wouldn’t feel such pain again.

You didn’t have to ask; Coriolanus was a husband who jumped to your every need before the words rolled off your tongue.

[i-dont-know-how-this-site-works]

I've truly hit rock bottom.

The major complaint with all our delusional takes regarding Tech's survival is that we are taking them out of our asses, but in this case, it is quite literally outta someone's ass.

Look, I don't wanna dunk on my main man, but Tech's got no booty. He is as flat as an airport landing strip in the Netherlands. I don't know what voodoo dark magic Nala Se did to strip Tech of the standard issue clone tushy, because our next possible candidate for Clone CX-2 is Cody, and dude is packin'.

Exhibit 1:

Certified 0° booty.

Exhibit 2:

That's a category 10 booty right here ^.

Now, fortunately for us the creatives put Clone CX-2 in a leotard from the waist down, so we got an unobstructed view of the clone's behind and I gotta say, it's some pretty convincing evidence right here that CX-2 is Tech.

Also, I made this account three years ago and have never changed the profile picture before, but today I did cause delusion is swallowing me whole.

[cherryredstars]

Hobie is very possessive and protective (especially hiding his relationship with her from other spidies to make sure she stays protected) around Ballerina!Reader (who is his biggest supporter since she was the only person that understands the meaning of his songs) especially since she has a tendency to go age regression when she's super stressed or very insecure about herself and it certainly didn't help about Gwen's (visiting Hobie's dimension) passive aggressiveness towards her every time she sees reader to the point Hobie is being petty towards Gwen and being extra affectionate towards reader and praising and murmuring sweet nothings to her to get his point across Gwen that Reader and him are dating?

Pairing : Hobie Brown x fem!reader

Warnings: Gwen is a bitch, SFW, Fluff

A/N: Been a while since I wrote Hobie, so sorry if this doesn’t match how I usually depict him.

Unedited

You’re confused when you tune back in.

You weren’t surprised- or happy- to find Gwen still lounging in Hobie’s flat when you had returned from practice. You were once sympathetic to her situation, glad your lovely boyfriend was kind enough to let her crash at his place, but that quickly disappeared with her treatment. At the worst times, she made you feel like the guest who overstayed her welcome. Whispered remarks when you crossed paths or scrutinizing looks thrown your way when she thought you weren’t looking.

Hobie, of course, doesn’t stand it at all. Coming to your rescue if he happens to catch her in the act. But he’s busy most times, and you feel bad adding to his long list of worries and injustices he needs to correct. But, tonight is one of the rare nights that Hobie decides he’s been too consistent in his schedule and needs a sporadic day just relaxing at home.

He had instantly pulled you into his lap, roughed pads of his fingers playing with the loose fabric of your skirt that hangs around your leotard. You had thought Gwen was being nice for once as she began talking about her own experiences with dance, only to quickly realize it was a hidden competition. You had zoned out some time through her long ramble of achievements and experiences, focusing on the wall behind her and daydreaming about something sweet to feast on after dinner.

You only realized you zoned out when Hobie’s familiar accent swirls in your ears. You turn to look at him, realizing he’s stopped playing with your skirt. He squeezes your thigh lightly, bringing you back to attention.

“Hm?” You hum quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Bet y’a better dancer.” Hobie repeats into your ears, warm breath actually taking shape into processed words.

Your cheeks flare and you smile bashfully, leaning further into him and turning back to Gwen. She eyes you suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

“What are you smiling and whispering about?”

You quickly drop your grin, acting like a child with their hand half way in the cookie jar. “Oh… no I wasn’t-”

“Told ‘er she’s a better dancer than you.” Hobie says, interrupting you.

You turn to Hobie, mouth slightly agape at his blunt words. He’s usually one to speak his mind, but every now and then it catches you off guard. You turn to Gwen quickly, trying to amend for your boyfriend’s words when she snorts.

She leans back in her chair, tucking the long pieces of her hair behind her ear and out of her face. She rolls her eyes, clearly unamused and quickly discarding Hobie’s statement.

“Whatever.” She drawls, huffing. “Oh, I wanted to tell you I’m gonna probably dip before you get back tomorrow. Gonna crash on Peter’s couch or something.”

You can’t help the small bubbles of excitement brewing in your chest at her statement, instead faking a sudden tiredness as you hide your face in Hobie’s neck to conceal your smile.”

“Cool.” Hobie replies uninterested, rubbing his hand up and down your back, the cool metal of his rings rolling against your elastic uniform. “Tell May-Day I say 'ello.”

Gwen hums in agreement, and Hobie effortlessly lifts you up as he stands. Your arms tighten around his midsection as his hands support you.

“Gonna crash for the night.” Hobie says dismissively, already walking away to his room.

You smile wider against his skin, sighing happily. He can feel the relief that Gwen will be gone soon relaxing your body, and he chuckles as he kisses the top of your head.

“Me too, love. Me too.”

[curiosity-killed]

Hhhhrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhh

It’s not funny and I am going to be upset if this package has been stolen but on another level it is sort of absurdist comedy if my things stolen from my apartment building are:

A large, cheap glass jar for a terrarium

My bike

Plastic drainage trays (recovered)

A pair of pointe shoes and tights

[p1nkp1latespr1ncess]

How to dress like a pink pilates princess <3

1. PINK PINK PINK (bonus points if it's pastel or baby pink !!)

2. Incorporate lace accents wherever you can, from lace on a loose, sleepy camisole to the lace on a delicate headband used to accentuate your healthy hair!

3. Yoga pants, whether they are classic, straight-leg, skin hugging spandex or loose and comfortable flared alternatives!

4. Ballet uniforms (accented tutus, ruched leotards, thick legwarmers in the winter, dainty ballet flats, wrap tops tied with a bow - the list is endless !!)

5. Wear simple gold or silver jewellery, even rose-gold, just make sure it suits your skin tone to emphasise your natural beauty!

[just-jordie-things]

hello hello!!!!! hope ur having a good day <33

I wanted tk know if i could ask some hcs about jjk charcters (preferably inumaki and yuuta but any you want/feel like will do too!!) with a dancer s/o?? or someone who just really likes dancing and dances often. Perhaps asks them to dance with them??

Feel free to ignore it if it's not to your taste!! tyvm 🥰🥰

this is so cute but also i'm not a dancer so bear with me for some of this ok? :) dance related brainrots comin right up!!!

gojo satoru hates slow dancing. he's got nothing against bopping around to a song that's been stuck in the head, or when the rest of the club is feeling it... but ballroom dancing? slow dancing? no way. for one, it's so cheesy he could die of embarrassment. for two- he doesn't have the time to slow down that much. but for some reason, when you're playing that pretty slow song you like while doing the dishes, you catch him passing by and holding out your hand, his feet are carrying him over to you without question. but you're smiling as you wrap your other hand around his neck and pull him close. his hand finds purchase on your hip just as naturally as he'd walked over to you, and before he knows it, you're slowly rocking around in a lazy circles in your kitchen. it's all against his will, of course. it's some spell you've put on him that brings him to pull you closer and spin you like you're his princess- which you are- and cradle your head lovingly against his chest. ___

okkotsu yuuta has never tried his hand at dancing before. but then he finds you one day in one of the training rooms and you're not wearing your usual workout attire, no, today you'd decided on a slimming black leotard and pale pink tights and as his eyes travel and see a pair of ballet flats on your feet he can't help but laugh a bit. you? ruthless, nunchuck weilding, you, do ballet? you scoff at his laughter, and tell him that it actually helps to keep you limber, and balanced- all in all a better sorcerer. after some back and forth on other methods to keep you flexible, you decide to put him to the test. as it turns out, yuuta can't back down from a dare, and just like that you're guiding him through the different positions. it doesn't take long for him to realize that ballet while elegant is not easy. you work him hard for the next few hours, but at least he gets to dance with you up close and personal while you teach him ballet. and hey, maybe he'll stick with the method. ___

inumaki toge loved watching you dance. you danced all the time, and everywhere. you're doing chores? you've got headphones on and you're bopping all over the place. cooking? you're shaking our hips and mixing up a delicious smelling pot with an extra flair to your stirring. he's watched you dance around while pushing a cart at the supermarket. he assumes there must always be a beat stuck in that pretty head of yours, something to make you want to boogie. it's cute! but it's even cuter when you make him dance with you. sometimes you ask him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes and beckoning him over with your swinging hips. but even better is when you just grab him and make him join you. by his hand, by his belt loop, by the back of his neck, sometimes you just don't have the patience to wait for an answer, you need a dance partner now! no biggie, toge's never turned down a chance to swing you around in his arm or twirl and dip you dramatically... even if you are dancing to oldies in the laundromat. ___

kamo choso had never really danced before... at all. so when you find yourselves at a small event with other sorcerers, and people start to fill the open space to dance to the soft live music, you seize an oppurtunity. you can tell he's uncertain and a bit lost when he's watching people couple up to dance together, so you take his drink out of his hand, placing it aside with yours, before you take his hand again. "choso, do you want to dance?" it's so sweet he wouldn't dare refuse your offer- not when the idea of holding you close and having you hold him too makes his heart stutter in his chest. you're already starting to pull him with you to the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor when he mumbles "i don't- i've never really done this before" and you have to bite your cheek to stifle your laughter at the innocent statement. you don't have to say the words i'll show you how, he gets the gist when you place his hands at your hips. you're not doing much, just swaying side to side, moving in slow circles, and you both stay pretty far from the other dancers... but he loves it. he loves everything about it, from holding you, and getting to see how much you light up from the simple action. he hopes this event goes late into the evening, so he has every excuse to keep doing this with you.

[yes-divine-ruler]

(18+!) Also can’t stop thinking about… Jimmy being drunk and a munch for you, the contortionist reader

“Do that thing again,” Jimmy’s hands are grappling at the back of your thighs, keeping himself up right. Your legs fold and bend backwards, your head tucked securely between your knees. Jimmy mumbles something incoherent, his hands caressing the expanse of your thighs. You mewl under him, the sensation of his rough palms against your soft, subtle skin clouding your mind one stroke at a time. “How do you do that?” Jimmy asks softly, his face lowering down towards the apex of your thighs, his warm breath fanning your pulsing heat. “Practice? I guess,” you laugh at him as he stumbles, and you almost unfold yourself to help him before he stops you. “No. Stay like that, fuck, my god,” Jimmy can feel the pain of his hard cock ramming against the zipper of his jeans through his boxers. “Why?” You ask skeptically, the response you receive much more than what you expected. Jimmy tugs at the part of your leotard that clips between your legs, so hard that one delicate button scatters across the floor of the trailer. You gasp for air, “what? Jimmy! Stop!” watching in shock as Jimmy rips your panties down the middle. Finally, exposing your dripping cunt to his hungry, drunken eyes. He dives in almost immediately, slurping at your arousal as it drips down towards your clit. Flat on your back and locked in by your own legs, all you can do is watch in awe as he nudges his nose up against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue dips, swirling to explore your pulsing walls. “J-Jimmy! Oh my god!” You yelp with a mix of surprise and pleasure as Jimmy stretches you open with his fingers, splitting you down the middle the same way he did with your panties. His tongue teases your clit, sometimes sucking it into his mouth, sometimes only tickling it with the tip of his tongue. Jimmy’s fingers sink inside you ‘til the last knuckle. He curls his fingers upwards, pressing the soft spot that swells to his touch. “Thereeee it is, i gotchu baby,” Jimmy slurs against your cunt as you quiver beneath him, feeling so full, stretched out and stimulated. He has you right on the brink as his pace slows. He spends a moment basking in the moment, twirling a piece of hair by your face, wet with perspiration. “I’m almost there Jimmy, please!” You whine, your jaw so clenched that you begin to grind your teeth in anticipation. Jimmy sighs, deeply, now seeing two of you but adamant to get the job done. His fingertips dig at your sweet spot again, and his tongue lazily circles your clit. Just like that you come undone, dripping with arousal as you squeeze tight around his digits, your clit pulsing under his tongue. Jimmy moans against your pussy, retracting his fingers and forcing them between your parted lips. You suck on them diligently, the taste of yourself absorbed by your taste buds. “Gotta get my cock between those pretty lips,” Jimmy utters, stumbling back again and unzipping his pants, “both sets of ‘em.”

[arcandoria]

BadlandeR Store Debut + Worn Leotard (FV)

Debut of my new Atelier Store, featuring a custom brand for nomad and racing gear themed clothes.

Also releases its first addition: worn out leotards!

Dynamic Refits: EBB, EBBRB, RB, Angel, Lush, Pinky's Flat Chest (w/ Flat Chest Detector), Solo 2.0 (default breast)

Mesh Refits: Vanilla Small, Vanilla Big, EBBN (adds Push)

GS Enabled

Thanks to all the models who tested and took pictures! 🤎

Note: this is my last public release for a while as I'll be going on modding hiatus for Dragon Age Veilguard. See you later chooms!

[heartsandstars46]

Finding out

Reader sees the Spider-Man suit for the first time and is convinced she knows what’s really going on here. 🕵️‍♀️

Tasm!Peter x fem reader (prequel to dating)

Fluff, humor

Word count: under 1k

Ever since the “Be Nice to Spiders Night,” you and Peter had been pretty inseparable. While the word “date” hadn’t been used, and you hadn’t kissed or anything, you guys usually went out for lunch together on days he was at the Daily Bugle, and you were texting what felt like all the time. And, sometimes, if you were watching TV together, you would end up sort of cuddling. Though you didn’t have full confirmation he wasn’t seeing anyone else, he was certainly seeing a lot of you, and the “co-workers and kind of friends” days seemed to be fading into something more.

But you didn’t know when—if?—things would really change.

That’s life. There are the capital-S Special days, like weddings, that you know in advance will mark a clear before and after, but so often, you don’t know that a current is pushing you into the “after” until, well, after the after. After everything is different. 

And you certainly didn’t know that a capital-S Special day would come from accidentally kicking over his backpack. You two had been in your kitchen, laughing over a show you’d started watching together, when you felt something give way under your foot. Sure enough, you’d sent his belongings spilling out onto the floor.

“Oh geez, I’m sorry,” you said, kneeling to clean up the mess you’d made.

“Uh, no worries!” He practically ran around the table to join you. “It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it!”

Well, he certainly seemed worried about it. Sure, the contents of his backpack were, ah, interesting, but did not appear to include anything truly damning, like weapons or condom wrappers. There was his camera, of course, and a notebook, and a book about genomics, but also, weird, souped-up watches and an old, seemingly broken, calculator? Not to mention what looked to be a blue and red full-body leotard, like something the guys in the luge would wear? What in the world? Oh wait, the leotard had some sort of emblem on it. A… spider? Oh. Ohhhh, okay, things were starting to make sense now.

When Peter realized you were studying this item of clothing, he practically shielded it from you with his body and shoved it into his backpack. His face was bright red, as he tried frantically to zip up his bag. You hated that he was so mortified over such a minor thing.

“Hey,” you said, softly, covering his frantic hands with your own. “Hey, Peter, it’s okay. It’s okay. I get it.”

Surprise, and maybe even hope, flickered in his eyes, but only for a second. “You do?” The question didn’t rise at the end but came out flat, wary, mistrusting.

“Well, sure. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” You giggled nervously. “I’ve even done it before.”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Oookay, and what is that exactly?”

You stared at him, as if to telepathically communicate that you were on the same page, that he had nothing to worry about. That he was safe with you. But when he wouldn’t cop to it, you had to be the one to put everything out in the open.

“Well… cosplay.”

“Cosplay,” he echoed.

“Yeah, I mean, why else would you have a costume in your bag?” You said with a laugh. “I get it, it’s fun to be someone else sometimes—especially someone very different from yourself. Look, I don’t know what movie or book that character is from, but you can teach me. Maybe we could cosplay together sometime.” You smiled shyly at him and were startled by the look on his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Cosplay, totally. I just forgot I have to be home soon.” He jumped up and slung his bag over one shoulder. “I’ll call you later?”

“Peter? Wait, what?”

And just like that, he turned and left! You felt like you’d been very understanding, so what the heck? Was he mad? You certainly hadn’t meant to knock over his bag, and you really hadn’t meant to sound judgy, but maybe you’d come off that way?

You were still standing in the kitchen entryway, stunned and confused, when you heard the door to your apartment creak open. Peter came striding back in, jittery but determined. His face was pale, and he couldn’t look you in the eye at first. He nervously started and stopped a few times before finally managing to say:

“It’s not cosplay, okay? Honestly, I wish that’s all it was, and that we could dress up and have a grand old time at conventions together, but it’s so much bigger than that, and when I tell you what it actually is, there’s no going back. You’ll never look at me the same way again. That is, if you even want be around me at all.”

Your stomach dropped. Oh god, just when you thought you’d finally met a nice, normal guy. What kind of weird, perverted shit was he into? Had you actually dodged a bullet by not officially dating him?

Part 2 to follow! 🩷🩷

[reagi-df]

For @tmntaucompetition I was very productive today... not for my comic though XD

Looking up he eyes everyone around him. He’s giddy to know that there is more than one universes out there, he wants to talk to other Donatello’s and pick their brains for knowledge.

Excitement runs through him when he eyes the Donatello’s scattered about, they all look so different from one another it's breathtaking. 

His eye catches something and he turns to look. Over in the far side is what looks like a Donatello, dressed in a leotard and tutu laced with feathers. He look elegant and graceful,  -I knew I could rock wearing tights,- he nobs in approval, he seemingly glide across the floor, the feathers of his outfit look soft to the touch while small feathered wings hover at his exposed back; he twists and turn looking for something as a frown is etched into their face, hand tight around a wooden bo staff. Donnie's feet carry him over and the closer he gets the more different but slightly similar this turtle looks. 

This Donnie has markings that he doesn't but are roughly the same height, maybe taller due to him standing on his tip toes and from the looks of it around the same age. But before he could get any closer, there was a commotion behind him and he casts a glance over his shoulder, only to see more people having joined in the fight.

“Sigh, they're so unsophisticated” he groans. And when he turns back the Donnie-swan had disappeared. Huffing a breath Donnie looks around only to look in the other direction as he walks, pointedly looking away from a Leo making his way into the staff room.

He saw nothing. Not his Leo, not his problem. 

“Oh sweet Galileo '' he gets stars in his eyes when sees a flat screen tv that sits on a pole with wheels. They’re  surrounded by a group of other counterparts that are way taller than Donnie, and he stops another version of himself.  When the screen turns around his own face is splashed across it. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” he drools, so caught up in his amaration that he just nearly misses the small figure moving towards them.

Realisation dawns on his face a second later. “Oh no” with that Donnie rushes off, cursing Leon for losing tot CLeo. 

Screams filled the room when CLeo latches onto the top of the screen. And Donnie can’t help but be impressed by the jump CLeo made.

Swanatello @tangledinink Omega @kathaynesart I feel bad for tagging I hope I didnt make omega ooc I really enjoyed doing theses, haven't drawn on paper for a while and its was nice to go back to it again

Cleo has a lot of a few issues with Donnie's at the moment, no one is safe from this terror

Cleo becoming a tot came before this

[mbirnsings-71]

again! another piece for the @batfam-big-bang this year!!

This is for @cornflowerbluewrites's very wonderfully written fic that you can now read here! Like woo if you're a Dick Grayson fan I highly recommend you guys read it, because it'll somehow hurt and heal you with everything that happens in it!!

Also check out @essiestarr's drawing for this fic here!! because it's also very stunning and I think you all need to see it!!

I'm very happy to have been able to draw for this fic, so I really do hope you guys enjoy it! Plus the team was very friendly and nice to work with so make sure to check them out!!!

Image ID underneath the keep reading because again, it got very long, but it's thorough at the very least!

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Talia Al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, and a young Dick Grayson gathered around Mary Grayson, flat on her back, in the middle of Haly's Circus. Both Dick and Mary are wearing the Flying Grayson costumes of red leotards with yellow in the middle, green braces on their arms, and Mary is wearing green flats. Mary is trying to look at her son with tears in her eyes, Dick and Talia are knelt next to Mary, with Dick holding his mother's hand while crying, and Bruce is standing behind Dick with a hand on the young boy's back. Bruce is wearing a plain buttoned up dark grey suit with a black tie, grey socks, and black shoes. His face has an upset expression on it as he watches the scene. Talia is wearing a open shoulder mock neck white dress that fades to green at the end of it, the sleeves stop at her elbows, a light green sash is tied around her waist, and there is a triangle cut in it at her chest. She also has gold jewelry on such as gold bracelets, a gold beaded necklace, and gold stud earrings. She is looking at this scene somberly. The background of the piece is the inside of a circus tent with abandoned wooden stands in the background for people to sit on. There are also red and white triangle banners overhead hung on metal poles, but are behind a red and white divider that separates the stands from the actual circus performances. the floor of the performance area is a gravel texture. At the bottom of the drawing is a black gradient upwards with text of Dick and Mary speaking, the words being said are "Mom, please." and "I love you, my little Robin, I, I love, you."]

[diana-thyme]

Greek Gods 101: Terpsichore

Terpsichore is a Mousai of choral song and dancing. Excluding the universal offerings, some common offerings include:

Dance Shoes (Ballet Flats, Clogs, Etc.)

Depictions of Dancers

Choral Sheet Music

CDs or Vinyls of Choral Song

Dancing Clothing (Leotards, Gowns, Etc.)

CDs or Vinyls of Songs to Dance To

Video Tapes or Photos of People Dancing or Singing

For devotional acts, some activities that can be done for her include:

Attending a Choir Performance

Joining a Choir

Singing

Dancing

Taking Dance Lessons

Teaching Dance or Choir

Watching Dancing or Singing Shows

Learning About Famous Historical Dances

She is not celebrated in any Athenian holidays.