#the folk of the fic

[potofsoup]

Oh look, it seems like there's a Republican-led movement to purge voter rolls in the lead-up to the election! It's almost as if your vote matters and they don't want you to vote! Anyway, I whipped up a quick map (based on this) that shows when the voter registration deadline is in each state. There are a few deadlines coming up in the next week or so.

If you live in a state that regularly purges voter rolls for infrequent voters (the orange ones in the first map), or if you moved recently, it's good to check if you're still registered to vote.

Vote.org makes it super easy to check your registration: https://www.vote.org/am-i-registered-to-vote/

Just put in your address and DOB and they'll tell you whether you're registered. (And they give you a quick link to register online if it turns out that you're not! Only the 9 states in white on my map don't have online registration, and for those they provide instructions on how to do it via mail or in person.) If you want an extra verification, find your state's election website and double-check there.

So yeah, give yourself peace of mind -- do a quick check. :)

[monstersholygrail]

Two words: Faerie lawyer

Omg it could be like that meme with the monster deals.

You had gotten into some seriously issues and you had no idea what to do. Not only was human law enforcement up your ass, but the magical law enforcement was fucking you over on their glitter-covered cocks and leaving you to clean up the mess. No aftercare in damn sight.

But the real issue was that no lawyer, human or otherwise, wanted to take your case! They were all too scared. Not of you but what the hell you got yourself into. It wasn’t your fault. You were always weak for a charismatic douchebag who promised he loved you but then framed you for a series of crimes he committed. What can you say, you have bad taste.

It wasn’t until you were guided out of your temporary cell and into a questioning room to see a lawyer with his back to you that you finally had hope threatening to sprout within you. Until the idiot turned around and you instantly pick up on his Fae ears. The moment you sit down he starts to spout out some wonderful words of grandeur, promising he can get you off and set you free. Your brows rise at his word choice.

“And what will it cost me?” You finally ask once he’s done giving his whole sales pitch (mini-canons and sparklers included). A wicked gleam passes over his features and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. What kind of shiver? You know yourself well enough to figure it out.

“Oh, nothing much. I merely want to have your firstborn child. In exchange, I will help get you off.”

His words send another shiver throughout your entire body. Meeting his intense stare you narrow your eyes, trying to figure out how you can manipulate this to your advantage. You’re in a battle of wits with a Fae and you did not consider that possibility when you wondered the other day how long you could stay awake before insanity started to set in awaiting your trial.

“Deal,” you finally say. The Faerie’s eyes sparkle with mischief. Though it falters as you mirror the expression. “So when do we get to it?”

“HMMM? Pardon me?”

“You said you wanted to have my firstborn. Well, I’m ready to begin when you are.”

The Faerie Lawyer’s cheeks flood with color. His face turning warm under your suggestive and mischievous smirk. He squirms in his suit, the blasted outfit suddenly feeling too tight and too warm to keep on for a moment longer. His eyes blaze with lust and he looks just about ready to take you on the metal table standing between you two. The one you’re conveniently chained to.

He did not consider this possibility earlier when he decided to take advantage of being selected as your court-appointed attorney. But hey, he’s not complaining now.

[choccy-milky]

💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

[stump-not-found]

The family gets separated by some stupid metaphors, the kids have some normal and healthy conversations, and both Pines brothers handle the situation very, very well.

Everything's going just peachy, so long as you ignore all the problems.

[summerhouseoutlet1]

Modern au scenario where Grian has relatively higher alcohol tolerance and out drinks everyone most of the time.

One day Boatem is having fun at a party and Scar decided to prank Grian by mixing just one more shot in his drink, just to see what happens.

Grian downs the shot before almost spitting the drink out, coughing sputter and furiously complaining about how concentrated the drink seems to be. Scar feels guilty and along with the party assures Grian that nothing is wrong.

Two minutes later, Grian face plants on the floor and has to be carted off to the hospital for alcohol poisoning.

Scar looks absolutely demolished that he cause all this and Impulse notices, and asks him what happened. He confesses his crime, almost breaking down in guilt (under the influence of alcohol) and Boatem folks just freezes up and simultaneously asks, “you too??”

Turns out everyone in Boatem had the exact same idea, and Grian downed 5 shots of tequila in a go that night.

[ghostbsuter]

Honestly, when bart came back to the past for his mission, he didn't expect to see one of his friends he left behind.

So excuse him for standing still and gaping like an idiot at the clearly looking teenager on his phone.

"Danny?!"

At the call, the stranger– his bestie— looked up.

"Bart!"

It is his friend.

The same black haired, too blue eyed teen with baby fat clinging to his cheeks, the same way his hair appears white and eyes green when unfocused and not paying attention.

Holy shit.

"How are you in the 21st century?!?!"

The boy merely blinks, looks down on his phone, and then looks up again.

"I should be asking you that! How are you here??"

"Timetravel duh! What's your excuse?!"

"I'm immortal???"

(It's similar to the spiderman meme, truly.)

(Bart is slightly glad none of his teammates or mentor or family members are here.)

—

It became somewhat of a game for them.

Everytime the speedster appeared in a different year, hell even universe for the kicks, the first thing he does is search for Danny.

(The teen is there, each time.)

And every time he succeeded, Danny helps him with the problem, or slightly nudges him to the path really.

(Each time bart worries less for the time stream and disturbances, his friend seems to be outside of it to truly bring harm.)

(And if he meets Clockwork along the way, that's a secret between them. And the part where he gets hired for the similar stuff danny gets sent to the past.)

(For them it's a casual Wednesday. So what if they just saved an entire planet? Its nothing big!)

—

Bart should have thought more over the decision to help the literal being of time itself.

Considering he is currently seated on a chair, Barry, Wally and dozen of other heroes (including his team standing behind him in an effort to show their support.) With demands of an explanation.

Damn it danny, why did you let those in the 13th century paint a portrait of them!!!

And the apparent ancient Egyptian art of them too?? In a museum??

What the hell danny!!! Way to throw him under the bus!!

[sorawritesstuff]

y/n: hey why are you sitting out here all by yourself?

jason: did you hear them complaining about me inside? who wants to be around such assholes?

y/n: ...i think they were annoyed because you made bruce cry at his own gala.

jason: i made one joke about my death—

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

“Are you holding my feet hostage?” “That depends,” Shanks said, giving Buggy an unreadable look. “Are you leaving without saying goodbye?” Oh, this guy. On his own ship, surrounded on all sides by his most trusted officers, and still managing to look like some kind of miserable wet cat, terrified of being abandoned.

and so shanks and buggy return to their status quo: buggy shouting, shanks amused. i really cannot overstate how much i adore @midydoof’s art, y’all. the dreamy watercolors, the facial expressions… every piece, every time, a delight. i hope you are all as appreciative as i am.

for any new readers: this is part eight of eight (yes, we’ve reached the end!) of the long, post-marineford part of this shanks/buggy series! this part is about forty-six hundred words and brings us to the end of our story, with shanks and buggy going their separate ways—for now.

[grimm-writings]

HI IT'S EAVESDROP ANON YOU GAVE ME AN IDEA what if izutsumi and reader faced the succubi together, and izu sees that one of reader's succubi looks like chilchuck !! maybe she promises to keep it a secret, but also talks to reader about it? bonus points if izu and reader have a sort of unspoken mother/daughter relationship :')

to the grave

…ft! chilchuck x fem! reader, izutsumi & reader

…tags! headcanon format, slight suggestive points, motherly reader

…wc! 623

…notes! give it up for One Whole Request Complete omfg. sorry for how short it is eavesdrop anon it’s been a rough few weeks for me 🫶 this is absolutely not my best work, but i did what i could!

“Come on… I know you always thought about how I’d look underneath you.”

Hearing the words come from his mouth renders you still.  It’s his face, his voice, yet completely wrong.

You had thought he had somehow recovered and came back to help you, but of course it isn’t as easy as it appeared.

You’re lucky to have Izutsumi with you.  If it weren’t for her pushing you out of the way to claw at the succubus, you probably would have dropped all pretence and leaned down to where you had Chilchuck – or the succubus, rather – pinned to the floor to kiss.

Still, you can’t miss the look of absolute disbelief she gives you.

Silence fills the air as the succubus is reduced to nothing more than slob on the floor.  You refuse to look at what, to you, is eerily similar to Chilchuck’s visage.  Disturbingly so.  For just a second, you consider reaching out to it (him?) again.  However, Izutsumi is quick to swat you away. “Hey, we have a mob incoming,” she tells you.  You are about to retort, interrogating if she even felt remorse for hurting someone that looks like your ally, but Izutsumi’s quick to interrupt.  “We’ll discuss this later.” She leaves your side.  Preparing your weapon with a deep breath, you prepare to fight off the waves of succubi ahead.

It’s only when you and Izutsumi assemble all the bodies of your allies does she finally speak up.

She really isn’t interested in the ‘hot gossip’ like Marcille would be.  In her own rough way, Izutsumi is more just expressing worry for you.

She doesn’t overall react to the fact it’s Chilchuck that you saw.  It was just sort of an “Oh!” before she remembered that this succubus will steal your life force.

“So, you just wanted to protect me?” At your conclusion, Izutsumi growls.  She faces away from you as she drags over a succubus to drain into Senshi’s pot. “When you put it like that,” she grumbles, “it makes it sound all virtuous and sappy.” You laugh, reaching over to pat Izutsumi’s head.  “I appreciate it very much, thank you Izutsumi.” Maybe it’s the fact she just had to confront this ‘mother’ the succubi took the form of, but the cat girl feels at ease when you show affection to her.  She sighs, giving up on the argument quicker than she normally would.

That is to say… she wouldn’t not tease you.

She’d hand you some of the milk, poured into a bowl.  “Here, for Chilchuck.”

Your face contorts in confusion.  “Why me?”

“So you can get all close and intimate and stuff.”

“Izutsumi.”

She wants to support you both!  She just… doesn’t really care.

The party has woken up, and by now Marcille has spoken up, “what were your succubi like?  Laios?  Oh, what about yours?” She turns to you, her green eyes glimmering with curiosity.  Cheeks and tip of her ears flushed, it’s hard to miss what exactly she’s on about. You sheepishly laugh anyway, your mind recalling the lowered eyelids, the words spoken to you by the succubus.  “I don’t know if I…” “Hey, don’t pressure her to say things like that.” Chilchuck’s voice cuts through the air, and makes you jump.  He’s at your side, shooing Marcille away.  “That stuff’s usually private for a reason.  If she wants to say, she will.” It doesn’t go unnoticed how Chilchuck doesn’t say a word when Marcille instead asks Laios for details on his succubus, though. Though you should be glad Izutsumi isn’t awake to see this.  If she was, she’d be rolling her eyes and bemoaning how nauseating the pining was to herself.  So, maybe taking things to the grave is for the better.

[ofbatsandballads]

pretty little birds

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: suggestive content, reader works at the Iceberg Lounge as a server/dancer/informant for Oz, slight objectification from Oz, reader described as having long hair but no other physical descriptions, slight implication of potential SA (nothing happens, just concern over it)

a/n: been thinking of Jason with a girl who works at the Iceberg Lounge ever since I watched The Batman and saw Selina’s gorgeous self working there. something about her and Bruce’s dynamic was very alluring and I realized how much better it would work with Jason so this was born. might make this a series, might not; who knows? not me! also if you want a nice visual aid for the club, I fully based it off the Gotham Knights version of the lounge.

divider credit: strangergraphics

Jason wasn’t a fan of the Iceberg Lounge. He’d been there plenty of times for missions, for reconnaissance, to beat the shit out of Oswald—it didn’t mean he liked it there. The club was ostentatious, loud and vulgar like everything that went on within it. He always scoffed when he saw it during patrol. An actual iceberg exterior; how corny could Cobblepot get?

He did have to admit that it was nicer inside. The marble floors, balconies, and columns lended an elegance to the place that it didn’t deserve. The neon blues and pinks of the lighting served to disorient, to intoxicate alongside the drinks that were served across the bar and the drugs that were passed behind it. The massive penguin ice sculpture in the center was tacky though. Jason could think of a million better design choices than that.

All this to say that he wasn’t thrilled to be sent to the club per Bruce’s orders of seeing if Oz was still as legit as he claimed. He wasn’t. They all knew it but B needed proof. Jason’s sure by proof Bruce meant that he wanted him to go undercover, but one of the advantages of being Red Hood is that he can go where the other Bats can’t. That distinction is how he finds himself stalking the club from his vantage point in the shadows.

It’s busy tonight. The main floor is crowded with people. Bodies push and pull to the rhythm of the music that blares from the speakers. As tightly crammed as the floor is, the servers still manage to weave through with a practiced grace. They’re all in various states of undress; short skirts, crop tops, some in straight up underwear. Jason recognizes the servers for what Cobblepot intends them to be: a distraction. They’re all young and beautiful—pretty girls and boys that are meant to draw your eye so you don’t see the money and the drugs that pass between their hands.

Jason zeroes in on the two working the floor for any indication of something illegal. Oswald’s been smarter since his last stint in Blackgate. He lets the filth of the city do their deals in his club while he himself is never caught up in it. The argument of “well I didn’t do it” usually wouldn’t hold up legally, but this is Gotham. His eyes track the man first. He’s weaving in and out, laughing with what must be the regulars. He’s charming them, plying them with more and more alcohol to stay longer, to spend more money. He’s not doing anything more than that, though, to Jason’s utmost disappointment. He turns his attention to the girl instead.

The difference between the two of you is so obvious it’s almost amusing. While the guy weaved fluidly through the throng of people like something unseen, the crowd itself seems to part for you. Recognition, some degree of respect, power—that’s what you’ve got over the drunken group of people. He immediately knows that his best bet will be with you. Everything about you echoes the pull you must have in the club. The way you walk, how you smile at the regulars, the drifting of your hands across shoulders and backs and jawlines. It’s even clear in the way you’re dressed. You look like something out of a cabaret show. Pink silk lingerie lined with black lace flowers, black fringe beads that form the idea of a skirt rather than an actual one, and those same beads hanging in alluring arcs across your arms, neck, and chest. You’re dressed up like Penguin’s favorite dream.

You’re also not doing anything illegal. Sure, he’s watched you take money from people, but all you bring back are drinks. He watches for over half an hour, eyes always trailing back to you. Nothing. It’s remarkable how much absolutely nothing he’s seen. His patience is wearing thin. It’s one in the morning and there are better things he could be doing, people he could be helping. But he can’t leave without something for Bruce. He tries to ignore the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks of why he still cares about disappointing him. His eyebrow twitches and he decides suddenly and definitively: fuck it.

So he kicks in Penguin’s office doors.

“Ah, Red Hood. If it ain’t Gotham’s least favorite vigilante,” Oswald mutters past the cigar in his mouth. “Shut the doors behind you, would ya?”

Jason kicks them shut. No one needs to see the bloody mess that Oswald’s going to be in about fifteen minutes.

“Ah ah ah. Before you get any ideas, I would advise you to consider how bad it would be for you to be caught assaulting a reformed citizen of this great city,” Oswald gloats, stubby finger pointing at the camera in the corner.

Fuck. Now Jason has to talk. He hates talking to Cobblepot. It gets you approximately nowhere fast.

“Reformed? We both know you’re full of shit, Oz,” Red Hood taunts.

“I’m on the straight and narrow. Scout’s honor,” Penguin laughs, coughing through the harsh inhale he took of his cigar.

Nowhere. Fast.

“You’re bringing in too much money for that to be true. Your parties aren’t that good, Cobblepot.”

“Eh, you haven’t seen my toys. Most of ‘em come for the pretty little things I keep around.”

“So you’re pimping them out? You see that I can work with,” Hood retorts.

It would make sense, Oz getting his servers into sex work. It’s not the worst thing he could do if they were all willing. And if they weren’t? Well, that gives Jason a nice excuse to finally put a bullet through The Penguin.

“You don’t listen too well, do you? I’m a changed man. People can look at my dolls, but they can’t touch. Everyone loves eye candy,” Oswald says.

The doors open just as Jason considers pulling a gun on Oswald, cameras recording him or not.

“And there’s my favorite. What do ya need, doll?”

Jason watches you saunter in. You move with an almost feline gracefulness. His eyes clock the sway of your hips and the way you toss your hair over your shoulder. Then he watches the way Cobblepot’s pupils dilate as his eyes lock on you. You plant your hands on the desk, bend over as you smile saccharine at the old man sitting behind it. Oh, you’re good. Very good.

“Nothing much. Just that DA wanting his usual,” you say.

Oswald’s eyes rake lecherously over your body. He looks at you like he wants to put you in one of the glass cases that decorate his office. It makes Jason’s stomach turn. Then he pulls a key out from a locked drawer and drops it into your open palm. Now that piques his interest.

“Thanks, Oz,” you say sweetly.

As you straighten up and spin around to leave, Penguin grabs your wrist and yanks you back. He leaves one kiss on the inside of your wrist and that pretty facade cracks. It’s only for a second, so quick that Oswald doesn’t see it. Jason does. Disgust. Pure disgust flashes across your face before it’s replaced by an alluring smile. Your eyes spark with something Jason can’t quite read.

“Mind if I get some too, Ozzie? You know how much I like it,” you ask as you play with the beads that dangle on your chest.

“Sure, doll. Take whatever you want,” Oswald acquiesces.

Your face lights up and you look almost victorious. Then you spin around and head towards the doors. To this point you haven’t acknowledged him, the known vigilante, at all. But just before you leave, you pause right next to him. Jason tries not to flinch as your hand runs up his arm.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your night here. Next time, feel free to ask for anything you want. Wouldn’t want Oz’s guests to get bored,” you purr.

Your eyes lock with the white lenses of his domino mask and Jason feels the air leave his lungs. You’d seen him. You knew he was there the whole fucking time. And you hadn’t told anyone. If you had, Cobblepot would’ve sent security in guns blazing.

“Have a good night, honey,” you tell him as you waltz out the door.

“See, Hood? Eye candy,” Oz hacks.

Jason follows you. What else was he supposed to do? Oswald gave him nothing. But you? You gave him what felt suspiciously like a lead. Ask for anything you want, you’d said. What else could you think he wanted but proof of Oswald’s lingering corruption? So he follows you. He’s careful this time. Quiet, precise steps that give no indication he’s near. It’s times like these he’s grateful for all the stealth training Bruce made him do as a kid.

He trails behind as you head downstairs. You weave through the maze of corridors until you come to a mahogany door, elaborately carved with floral emblems. It’s got an old brass lock on it that you slot the key into. Jason waits one beat, two, three—then goes through the door where you disappeared.

He finds you inside, crouching in front of an open safe. A rainbow of jewels glitter within. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds—there had to be enough jewelry in there to cover the cost of a couple of Bruce’s tricked out sports cars. You pull a more modest sapphire necklace from the safe and place it into one of the grab bags that guests can take home at the end of the night. So that’s what the DA wanted. You grab a far more ostentatious diamond bracelet and slip it into your bra.

“Think it’s a good idea to steal from your boss?”

You jump. Jason doesn’t want to admit how satisfied he is by that. He was a little worried that he’d lost his touch. You twirl around, eyes locked on the vigilante leaning against the closed door.

“Hmm…when I’ve got him wrapped around my finger? Why not?” you smirk.

You’re brave. He’ll give you that.

“Must really be putting on a show for him if you’re not worried,” he presses.

Your smile drops and your eye twitches in annoyance. He’s hit a nerve. Good.

“A show. That’s all it is. If he’s stupid enough to think it’ll be more than that, that’s his problem,” you bite, tone dripping venom instead of honey.

“Not scared he’ll realize the trick? Or what he’ll do when he does?” Red Hood asks as he fiddles with a knife he keeps in his belt.

He asks with sincerity. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You could end up dead. Or worse. Jason’s no stranger to people taking what they want by force, and Oz clearly wants you.

“Oswald’s a coward,” you reply harshly. “He only fucks with people weaker than him. So no, I’m not scared of toying with him. He won’t do a goddamn thing to me.”

Jason cocks his head, sizing you up. A pretty girl in lingerie working in a club thinks she’s stronger than a crime lord. Well, you’re probably not wrong.

“You’re not weak?” he asks mockingly.

But it’s still fun to test your resolve. To your credit and Jason’s surprise, you just grin. A breathy laugh falls from your red lips and Jason can’t help the way his eyes flicker down to look at the curve of them.

“I got this without so much as a fight, didn’t I?” you gloat, grabbing the diamond bracelet and swinging it around your middle finger.

“He let you.”

“Precisely. What exactly are you missing here? He let me. Because he’s a fool. And to let me take this bracelet specifically? Well, he’s just about the village idiot,” you laugh.

Jason sees the bait. His stubbornness almost makes him want to not ask just to spite you. But it’s just too intriguing.

“What’s so special about that bracelet?”

You smile wryly. Jason’s reflexes are the only reason he catches the bracelet as you toss it to him from across the room.

“Oh, I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself, baby,” you purr. “Now get the fuck out.”

Jason does as he’s told. He returns to the cave with no intel beyond a locked room with a safe full of jewels and a diamond bracelet. Imagine his shock when Bruce analyzes the serial markings of the bracelet and finds that it was part of a collection that got robbed from a boutique in the Diamond District. It had been months and they hadn’t found a single piece of jewelry from the robbery. There were no leads on who did it or how. And now one of the most expensive pieces is sitting on the Batcomputer. Jason can guess where the rest are.

“Who gave you this?” Bruce asks skeptically.

Always doubt with the old man.

“A friend. Maybe,” Jason ponders.

Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Jason grins at how exhausted all his kids make him. It’s a point of pride among them: who can stress out B the most?

“You should figure that out,” Bruce scolds.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

Jason’s suddenly got a very vested interest in the Iceberg Lounge, and he’s going to satiate that curiosity if it kills him again.

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader | 18+ | ~40k words | updates on Wednesdays main masterlist | ao3

summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

full fic tags/warnings (spoilers!): modern AU, ballet AU, fluff, angst, flirting, dancing, lots of ballet terms (I’ll define things/link videos/etc. -- see below), misunderstandings, character study, romance, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful), lots of tension, later: smut, kissing, grinding, fingering, p-in-v sex, creampie, each chapter will have its own tags, Din lifts reader (see note below about reader)

a/n: welcome to the Din ballet fic!! I started writing this in April and it’s finally finished! I’ll post a new chapter every Wednesday, there are 14 total. There’s some smut coming but it’ll be a while, folks. See my notes below about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!! This fic is so much better because of you. 🧡 And thank you to @almostfoxglove for reading over it and confirming I didn't forget all my ballet, lol. 🩰

note about reader: in this fic you’re a ballet dancer, first soloist at Nevarro Ballet Theater company. I haven’t mentioned the reader’s body size or shape (or hair) basically at all, even to the point of avoiding clothing (except for costumes), but I understand the image that goes along with ballet – I danced for almost 20 years. Din does lift you many times. Please feel free to picture whatever you want, but I know that this might seem more limited. You also have a best friend named Adrian who is in the company with you. I never specified age, but to make first soloist most would be in at least their early 20s. Din is 27.

Chapter list and notes about ballet under the cut! Comment or reblog to join the tag list. 🥰🩰

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

** Bonus: Amazing art of Din by @kenobiwanx!! **

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - coming Wed 1/15

...

some notes about ballet: I will share links to videos and such as much as possible, but here are some definitions to get us started – principal, (first) soloist, corps de ballet, variation, and class vs. rehearsal:

Principal - this is the highest level a dancer (of any gender) can reach in a company. Dancers are ‘promoted’ through the ranks. Principals usually have exceptional technique and artistry and can perform solos, pas de deux (partnering), headlining and/or the most challenging roles, etc. (e.g., the white (Odette) and black (Odile) swans in Swan Lake, both usually performed by one principal). Sometimes dancers are hired directly in as principals (like Din, in this fic). Smaller companies might have 5-6 principals, while larger ones could have as many as 20. Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 14 principals, including Din.

First Soloist - not every company has this rank, but it’s in between principal and soloist. Nevarro has 4 but they are counted among the soloists (12-14ish total). Soloists are often understudies for larger parts, and first soloists would do the same. In this fic reader is a first soloist, just promoted at the start of the season.

Soloist - this is sort of a middle level, for dancers who are doing very well and have proven themselves capable of taking on bigger roles. Many ballets have multiple roles, including supporting roles in the narrative, for soloists and principals to showcase many dancers’ talents. A smaller company might have 5-6 soloists, and a larger company might have as many as 20. (Larger companies also do more shows.) Nevarro is somewhere between medium and large and has around 12-14 soloists, including first soloists.

Corps de ballet - this is the lowest/starting level in a company. It’s where most would start from and has the largest number of dancers – these are the dancers who come out on stage in large groups or form the background unnamed roles in narrative scenes (like a party). Reader started in the corps and was promoted to soloist and then first soloist.

Variation - a solo dance, usually a piece from a larger ballet (e.g., the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker). We say ‘variation’ because there are many ballets that have been choreographed differently by multiple people in the ballet world (e.g., there are famous versions of the Nutcracker by Petipa, Gorsky, Balanchine, Nureyev, Baryshnikov… and more). So there can be multiple variations of a solo from a single ballet, and more can be created or altered, etc. But in general the term just means solo.

Class vs. rehearsal - most companies distinguish between ‘class’ and ‘rehearsal’. Class is for the whole company and focused on improving technique. It’s quick and often repetitive and everyone sort of knows what to do. Most people would have ‘their’ spot at the barre and fall into a typical order for going across the floor. After class, most would go into multiple hours of rehearsal, PT, strength training, etc., depending on whether it was a performance day or not. Most companies are rehearsing for more than one performance at a time, so they might have a longer rehearsal for the show coming up this or next weekend, and a shorter one for another performance a bit farther away. But in the days leading up to a show, that show’s rehearsals would probably take over. This can vary by company. On show days, most would have fewer rehearsals with a 1-2 hour break before the call time to get ready.

Season - companies have 'seasons' which just refers to their plan for shows/schedule for the upcoming year. They might refer to like a fall season and a spring season, or the might have a full year schedule with different parts (fall/winter/spring), or they might have only a spring season that runs into early summer. It depends on the company and the size! In this fic Nevarro has a fall season and a spring season, but they tend to think about it as a full year for contracts/etc. They would have 3-4 big shows planned (think Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Giselle, Onegin, etc.) in each part of the season (so, 3-4 in fall and 3-4 in spring). And then they'd fill in the gaps in the schedule with "mixed programs", which are programs with multiple smaller ballets or pieces that feature a lot of dancers. So a mixed program might have a 20 minute Balanchine ballet, a pas de deux, a full corps piece from a larger ballet, and a piece for like 8 dancers. or something. Mixed programs are often when choreographers-in-residence and on staff get to debut their own work.

[starflungwaddledee]

from: @starflungwaddledee to: @post-it-notes7

message from santa: "happy holidays post-it-notes! 🎄🥳 i know you very politely only wished for a few modest things- characters high fiving, or struggling in christmas attire- but i hope you'll still enjoy this given that i kinda went the opposite direction entirely! i'm an enormous fan of your work and most times you post anything i wind up browsing your art tag from tip-to-tail in enraptured delight. as such, i thought it was only fair i give back something a little more significant in gratitude for all the joy your work has given me. i knew i wanted to do a comic, so i was thrilled you already had a whole storyverse for me to work from!! this scene seemed the most obvious choice (chapter 8 of "wishful thinking" on ao3) given that i enjoy a dramatic fight scene 😂 i tried to stick as beat-by-beat to the writing as i could and worked in as many details as possible; i hope it'll be fun to see it envisioned this way! merry christmas! ~starflung 🎀🔔 "

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 50!

another lovely round of fics for you all <3 full disclosure i did not double check this with my masterlist of recs so while i doubt it, it's possible that i've recced some of these before... i guess that could just be a sign that they're extra good lol.

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

75 best knitting puns that will have you hooked | iphigenias/@oatflatwhite | 4.1k | GA

Buck—Buck is knitting. Eddie blinks, rubs his eyes. Yeah, Buck is knitting: thick fingers a little clumsy as Bobby shows him how to purl stitch with a soft-looking ball of pink ombre wool.  softest most domestic little fic <3

all the lights are coming on | sharpbutsoft/@sharpbutsoft | 1.2k | GA

What good is having a key to your best friend’s house if you can’t use it to spread a little holiday magic? spreading the holiday magic <3<3 this was everything i needed and wanted and i love it so very much

any other bodily sense | kiwiibiird/@buckevanley | 10.2k | GA

Post-s2 sickfic. Buck is stuck with a broke leg and a bad cold. Maddie and Eddie help him out. forehead kisses and maddie and buddie and hurt/comfort... literally what else could a girl (me) need? the answer is nothing because this fic is everything!!

born with a weak heart | foxwatson/@eddiediazes | 7.5k | T

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it. is it truly a michelle rec list if there's no touch-starved fic on there? i don't think it is lol. i've reread this several times now and it's just the absolute loveliest <3

don't break | odysseus_calls | 2.4k | T

5 times the 118 is tired of Buck and Eddie acting like a couple, and the time they find out they've been dating the whole time. i LOVE hijinks and shenanigans <3 this captures them so perfectly!!

hooker | mansikka | 3.9k | T

When Eddie's life turns to hell, he turns to hooking. Crochet hooking. i've been attempting to crochet again (made a little cat today!) and it's only half because i want to be cool and crafty and half because people make it sound so cool and crafty in fics. anyway point is this was brilliant and so eddie and i loved it v v much!!

i sleep so i can see you ('cause i hate to wait so long) | turquoiseviolet/@turquoisevioiet | 25.7k | T

eddie’s not sleeping and buck’s worried. after all, he’s supposed to be the one who fixes everything, isn’t he? platonic cuddling! homoerotic friendship! getting together! if buddie fic had a bingo card, this would tick all of the boxes <3 so good!!

loves a game, wanna play? | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 57.5k | M

In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together. okay so admittedly all my big plans to read my marked for later list this week failed miserably, cause this is the only fic from there that i actually read... on the other hand, what a brilliant one it is!! it's so funny and so good and i loved the social media elements in there. also, maya and maria <3

sub drop city, population: eddie diaz | peaktotheocean/@peaktotheocean | 4k | T

It takes Eddie longer than he cares to admit to realize that Buck has been giving him aftercare on the sly. i'm such a sucker for aftercare and this has SUCH a lovely buddie dynamic <3

swinging there, in the corner of our haven | anti_romantic_cherub | 1.6k | GA

Eddie bought Buck a hammock, and now he's reaping the rewards (Buck napping in his backyard). buck napping in eddie's backyard <3 such a lovely image and this is executed so so well, i love it!!

the city is a jungle and i'm a beast | putanauhere/@putanauhere | 42.8k | M

Eddie has enough on his plate this summer – a newly empty nest, a terrible new captain, and a new mustache – without adding a new werewolf to the mix. the most fascinating werewolf au <3 i love the buddie dynamic here and how they approach the werewolfism with such different attitudes. so good!!

toss up | saucerfulofsins/@saucerfulofsins | 3.5k | E

Eddie is caught browsing bad gay porn, and Buck takes it upon himself to show Eddie the good stuff. most glorious brilliant fic concept to ever fic <3 this is fantastic!!

trivial pursuit of love | niemi | 6.2k | T

Buck attends Tommy’s trivia night with Eddie, his newfound feelings for his best friend bottled up and ready to burst. As it turns out, he’s not the only one with a secret. buddie at trivia night!! i loved this fic so much, it was a real highlight on a rainy morning bus ride <3

weaving in our loose ends | PretentiousSwanQueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 8.6k | T

Eddie is a knitter with the Loose Ends Project and he's assigned to finish the project of a loved one of Buck's. the gasp i let out when i realised what buck's project is... gorgeous fic!!

white sheets, you and me start to lay close | effervescentwolf/@effervescentwolf | 1.5k | T

He thinks of his empty bed at home, and his chest feels tight. It’s just that—it’s okay if it’s Buck. He can let Buck catch him. give me all the bed-sharing fics, please and thank you <3 this is one of the best uses of the trope i've seen in a long time, it's so lovely <3

[every-moment-a-different-sound]

Painland week day 2: myths/legends

Though We're Strangers 'Til Now by @dont-offend-the-bees

"You mean to… slay the minotaur?" "Told you it wasn't my best idea," said Charles.

[stump-not-found]

Stan and Ford have a conversation, Mabel and Dipper get a bit absurd, and something gold is given meaning.

If you don't look, you won't see it fading.

[24-05txt]

In regards to the whole soul mate thing, Soap's been through all the phases.

He'd started curious, then confused, then mournful, then resentful. For now he's settled somewhere in the vicinity of apathy—maybe spite.

He doesn't have a soul-mark. Never has, never will, and that's... fine. He's far from the only one lacking that kind of connection, and that's enough for him to feel understood. Not alone. He's got plenty of good friends besides—with and without soulmates of their own—and he's happy that way. Really, he is; it took him a fair amount of work to get to a place where he could say that and it not be wishful thinking. He's got friends, family, dalliances, motion and company and light in his life despite the lack of a mark that tells him where his place is.

And then he meets Ghost.

The Lieutenant is huge in the sense that his presence alone takes up what space his height and muscle can't. He's quiet, too, at least before Soap makes the effort to worm his way under all that tacgear. (The man is intriguing, what can he say? Who else walks around with a honest-to-fuck skull mask day in and out.)

Ghost seems to tolerate him at first, then inexplicably starts to prickle and grouch whenever Soap comes within six feet of him. He could make up a few reasons for why that is, but instead contents himself with pretending he doesn't notice—pushing the implied boundary until Ghost mans up and tells him off.

He never does, though. And it's not long at all until Soap's found that the boundary has given way and Ghost is—well he's actually pretty pleasant to be around. He's funny, and patient, and gives way too much of a shit to be in a career that pretty much ensures the death of everyone he works with. (He likes to pretend he doesn't, but there's no other reason he would have been waiting up in that church for Soap—in fact he shouldn't have still been there at all, since he'd already scoped an escape route. The bastard's soft, is what he's saying.)

And that's when things start to backslide just a little.

They're sitting in the mess—only three of them, the Captain unable to grace them with his presence—and Gaz is talking about his sister's husband's new boyfriend being the result of a late-discovery soulmatch.

"Could you imagine," he says, pausing to chew his mouthful before he continues. "Going thirty years knowing there's someone out there for you, and not seeing them until after you're already married?"

"Could be platonic," Soap pointed out, not bothering with the same courtesy of chewing his food. Ghost kicks him under the table for it, but he honestly can't be asked to care for only three words worth.

"Could be, but still—could you imagine?"

"Nope." Soap pops the 'P' and grins. Ghost doesn't kick him this time since he hasn't taken another bite yet. "I'm a wee bit hopeless in that department."

"Ah, brother." Gaz reaches out and they clasp hands for a moment, then he nudges his shoulder. "You and me both. Never much got the fuss about it, but that does seem like some sort of cosmic irony yeah?"

"Issat irony?" Soap asks. "Don't think that's right."

Obviously, that incites a short argument that ends when Gaz pulls out his phone to look up the actual dictionary definition of 'irony', and Soap grasps to change the topic to literally anything else to avoid Gaz gloating on the off chance that he's right.

"Lt, what about you?"

Ghost blinks at him as if he hasn't been staring at the both of them through the whole conversation.

"I know what irony is, Johnny."

"No—" he can't help the scowl, and talks over Gaz's sudden jeering as he shoves his phone under his nose. Soap lifts his chin to avoid it. "You got a soul mark?"

"Read it and weep, Soap!" Gaz cheers, only slightly subdued in respect for every else in the room.

"I do." Ghost says at the same time, dipping his head in a tiny little nod, and Soap's world ends just a little bit, right there in the mess hall. Curls up, withers, and dies without so much as a squeal.

He's not able to ask if Ghost knows who it is, or if he's met them, or if they're still alive, or if it's romantic or platonic; he's not sure if it even matters, because Johhny knows right then that he will never be as close to Ghost as they are.

And it hurts.

It hurts in a way he wasn't entirely expecting.

He must hold it together well enough through the rest of dinner, and then through walking with Gaz back to their rooms, but once he's got the door locked behind him he feels the smile fall off his face. He sits down on the edge of his bed.

Ghost has a soulmate.

Ghost has a soulmate and Soap is pissed about it. Because that soulmate isn't him—it can't be, since he doesn't have a mark of his own.

It's just—it's unfair. They work so well together, on the field and off. He knows for a fact no one else can read Ghost as well as he can, no one else talks to him like he does, he doesn't hang around anyone else like he seems to hang around Soap. If anyone should be Ghost's soulmate, it should be him.

But he's not. Which means there's someone else out there that can watch his six better, understand him more, have more satisfying conversations—and it seems fucking impossible, because he doesn't even know how it could get better given the time they've known eachother... and yet.

And yet Ghost has a mark, and Soap doesn't.

It takes him days to get over it—at least enough to act himself when he's in company. Ghost tries to get him to talk about it three separate times before he can manage to get his shit together. He won't *lie* to Simon, nor is he about to admit to what's eating at him, and it leaves him snappish. Leaves the vitriol closer to the surface than it ever has been around Ghost and he hates to see how he reacts to it; he doesn't cower, doesn't flinch, doesn't avoid him, just stares—in a different way than before. John's temper will flare and Ghost will freeze a little, tilt his head, furrow his brow, and fucking stare at him until the moment passes. It might be better if he raised his voice in return, let it escalate into a proper fight—or even if he shut Soap down hard and told him to cool off. Instead Ghost looks at him like he's gone and become a stranger; like he's confused where he doesn't expect to be, and that hurts almost as much as finding out his place isn't next to Simon—or at least, he doesn't have any rightful claim to it.