#master dancer

[spirit-fingers22]

Real ones know it's Donatello's colors

[longelk]

SIR JAMES

[turtleblogatlast]

There’s something so intensely funny to me about Donnie loving to dance…but being the absolute worst at it

Like just looking at their scores for the dancing game, Mikey clears everyone, Raph holds his own, and Leo tried just hard enough to beat Donnie, and I find this all so dang funny

This isn’t to say he’s bad at it, we know they all have at least some skill in that area, I just like the idea of characters enjoying something but not being super incredible at it just because they like it! It’s a humanizing trait that I don’t see often

[kitkat-sans]

Thinking about Starscream rn and having Dancing queen by abba playing in the background

[reallifemoses800]

school sketches of Morty getting lost in the sauce (minecraft) (kinda self insert) & cowboy Mort + cowboy dancer Mort, and a itty bitty pissmaster morty... sorry I have nothing better yet 😔

[dance-world]

Angelo D'aiello - photo by Master Photographers

[alfhitchblonde]

Eddie Munson, Grammy Award Winner and front man for Corroded Coffin, gets roped into doing a Dancing with the Stars-esque show by his manager Chrissy (lost a bet (Chrissy is a dirty cheater)) and ends up getting pair with fan favorite choreographer and dance partner Steve Harrington. Fans love him because of his wit, daring dances, and the fact he looks good with any partner.

At first Eddie hates the idea. Thinks that Steve looks to be a pretty boy asshole. He is but he’s also so sweet and patient and picks songs that speak to Eddie.

Plus he has this gaggle of children who keep appearing at rehearsal and they are little nerds like Eddie.

Shenanigans ensue and there is some stellar dancing and ✨tension✨

And they like fall in love.

[not-poignant]

Hello Pia, you recently shared a post about an idea "too good" to write. Could you maybe elaborate a little on that point? What does that mean to someone who appears to be quite skilled in creating stories and characters?

Sure!

I think everyone, at every stage in a skill they're honing, have goals they're trying to reach and skills they know they still need to work on. Even the folks who - from other people's perspective - seem like they (mostly) have it all together.

When I was working as an artist for example, I used inks and pencils at a professional level. I did natural history illustration at a professional level. I was very good at what I did and have sold the vast majority of everything I've ever illustrated!

But I'm still not skilled at drawing people (I'm getting better). I'm not skilled at oil paints or acrylics. And while some of my skills would transfer over pretty well (having a good eye, having a great sense of colour, having a decent sense of composition), it still remains that I have a lot to learn because being skilled in one thing is not being skilled at another.

And when you work like that and understand the craft like that, it gives you a different perspective. Folks who have zero ability in art might look at an artist's illustrations and simply assume they can easily transfer that to any medium or subject or technique, and folks who have more ability than the artist might look at their art and be like 'oh they're very good at animals and pencils but I've noticed they're weak on dynamic posturing and perspective.'

So where I'm at in writing is like this. I have a fair idea of my strengths, but I also have a fair idea of my weaknesses. There's certain very large scale ideas that I suspect I'm not yet ready for, because of either the scope of the plotting, or the depth of the worldbuilding. (I find worldbuilding easy. I find remembering all the details I created very hard).

There's also the fact that some of it is almost certainly fear. Like, fear of trying something new, fear of it going wrong, fear of making mistakes to get better. That absolutely is part of the journey, and the only way to overcome that is to get started and begin making the mistakes.

But no matter what level you're at, there's always a level you know you can't reach without more training and practice. The good news is a person doesn't always have to "grow" their skills relentlessly, just practicing what they love keeps what they do honed anyway. Like, I could stop here and keep writing the kinds of stories I write and do that for another ten years.

But I do want to keep growing, and keep learning new ways of telling stories, so...yeah, I do have story ideas that I know I'm not good enough to write (well) yet.

[mariocki]

Roger Delgado makes a brief appearance as an unnamed but helpful Argentine diplomat, in Overseas Press Club - Exclusive!: Two Against the Kremlin (1.13, ABPC, 1957)

[sluttery-withoutshame]

I don’t know how Eric ended up in a ballet studio.

But I would like more of it please.

[orangesnail]

SAW A KING GAARA X KNIGHT ROCK LEE AU AND I ALMOST THREW UP, OTHER PEOPLE OUT THERE ARE THINKING ABOUT THE SAME THINGS AS ME

[dyslexic-mess]

'Oh that won't fly in uni! Ya can't do that in uni-'

One of my lecturers is routinely late to class because she was getting coffee and won't start class until she's atleast half way through said coffee.

One of my lecturers WILL yap about the DC universe for atleast 10 mins if you bring it up. He once closed the PowerPoint to bring up an image from an old comic to make a point about the change in speech bubble style over the years.

One of my lecturers oncee sent us on an unscheduled 30 min brake bec his wife had come by to see him and he didn't wanna turn her away.

One of my lecturers CANCLED A CLASS because she was hungover and just sent us the powerpoint slides

Um yeah. Not only will this fly in uni, the teachers are also human there

[artisticzaati]

A sketch based on a prompt my bf has given.

Ballerina Irida x Breakdancer Adaman.

[icyfox17]

Eeeeeeyyyyyyy! That’s what hobbies are for! Sorry you had a shit day Icy. But hobbies make everything better. Find things you love to do when life sucks.

-🌲

HUGS!!

Yeah fr, I really didn't wanna go but I was like "this is quite literally why I signed up for dance lessons, to get me out of the house when I'm feeling depressed" and my stepmom really encouraged me so I went and Hoowee thank god it helped so much hahahah

Hobbies ftw 🫶🫶

[keeperofoverlookhotel]

[lycianlynx]

✧ dancing to alarm bells

cw // unreality, brief abstract gore

dancer mastery drabble.

(scalding heat. elsewhere, the town fills with the smell of smoke. their home was hardly even worth setting ablaze; there was not enough to make an example of.)

shadow. he is no dancer. but backstage, he can pretend — cling to make-believe like a child at play. feet flow into motion, one before the other, then afore, beside, aside again, then leap, land, circling and tracing and moving and spinning. 

in shadow, where none can see, can witness. there is only themself, only the sky, the stars, the cratered twin moons that sit in their skull, seen only in crescents to the earth. the comforting hands of night are cool on their skin, soothing the dragonfire, its touch as chill as father's doubtlessly became.

(he was still warm when they returned, they are sure of it.)

sunrise. light falls through the cracks. they shy away, wary of the misshapen shadows it will throw, fragments of limbs and uncertain silhouettes. warmth comes through; kindles the embers, promises — what? safety, comfort, light? lies. there’s nothing left for them, here or beyond. he wants to stay, in the cold and in the dark. he wants to move, move on, move along.

the sunrise bids them move; says that that too is a lie, that something needs to happen. the crowd rustles in the distance, impatient; a ruin poised to fall upon momentum and failure, but better than one sat through, nigh welcomed. feet softly tread a precarious line, a dangling precipice — but even if it leads to an everlasting plummet, it must surely be better than whatever will descend upon them if they stop.

(they have more than themself to worry about. he would only grow colder if they stay.)

spotlight. in through his eyes, illuminating him, ringing through him like a bolt of lightning. it sears him until his heels drag in the sweltering heat. sun and sun and sun, light and sight and witnesses. the spotlight renders them blind yet all-seeing, gazes prickling against their skin, every fraction of and in between; he sees himself consumed, desiccated, wasting, ashen, torn open. the gore of their failure, their hesitance, their fear splays across the stage as a red carpet. the floorboards weep. their eyes, too, sting, though whether it is from tears or having none left to spill, they cannot tell. 

the spotlight follows them, unrelenting. so be brave — they are tired of crying. step, step, arc, sweep, twirl. leap and spin and move and don’t stop, lest everyone see him fall.

their feet catch, and they fall.

(memory stirs:

stepping on father’s feet as a child, a child yae high

running wildly across the floor, slipping in socks, hollering as raigh swipes at him

skipping in hopscotch with everyone, laughing when lugh misses a step between the drawn boxes

stumbling after his first attempt at thievery, prying open a box to swipe a handful of potatoes

weaving between blades and spells like the wind whistling between as they fight for a home to return to

as the ice looms. from death’s wintry corpse he crawls)

they get up. the crowd murmurs. a cheer rings out alongside a jeer.

(— and in memory’s name he lives, lives in defiance.)

they choke back hot tears and continue to dance.

(they won’t be lied to. they have precious things left to hold.

they will not yield. they will not yield.)