#this annoyance brought to you by youtube suggesting ENTIRELY too many videos to me of italian people going apoplectic over american pizza

[absentlyabbie]

if this is a controversial opinion know this is a hill i'm willing to kill on

i truly do not give

one (1) single fuck

about the negative opinions of italians about american pizza

[gyllenhaalstories]

a symphony without harmony, part 1

summary: reader’s ballet company decides to participate in a charity during the holidays. the event consists of recreating the nutcracker, the wonderful ballet inspired by tchaikovskiys symphonies. after months of auditions, reader is chosen for the prestigious role of clara. reader does not know the details of the events, and ignores that the male part will be taken by a celebrity, hoping to attract spotlight for the charity. one could hope for a professionally trained dancer popular in one of those competition shows, but reader is not so pleasantly surprised to find out that tom holland (who’s just that backflipping spider guy in her mind) will be her prince for (maybe more than) one night. 

warnings: terrible representation of ballet, the nutcracker and basically everything, loads of angst and tension, reader is snobby but she’s not cold hearted just give her a chance. 

word count: 1901

note: my suggestion received a lot of support and i’m so happy to bring this idea to life! this will be a 3 or 4 part series. i’m enjoying myself too much with this to keep it short and sweet! please, take in consideration the fact that i know absolutely nothing about ballet. all the references i used in this piece come from barbie movies, so that says a lot. thank you so much for reading, and i hope you like it! i’m aware this is different than what i usually write, so be aware of that!

tags: @skymoonandstardust (thank you so much for your support and i’m sorry for the wait!)

“That was wonderful, Y/N! Thank you for another brilliant performance.” The choreographer applauded you, followed by the producers of the show and the representants of the charity you would be performing for. The rehearsal room was usually empty, without you and a record player to assist. This time was special, the charity event was taking place only a couple of weeks from now and since the auditions were completed, it was time for serious practices.

You danced for the New York City Ballet, perhaps one of the most prestigious company in the entire world. You were a newbie, did not have many friends amongst the veteran dancers, but you proved them you belonged in their clique when you won the audition for Clara, from The Nutcracker. You already knew the dance per heart, you had been practicing since you received your first tutu as a Christmas present. You would hum along Tchaikovsky's music while doing your homework and you had been dreaming every night of dancing along to the symphony in front of a real crowd. 

“We are waiting for our Nutcracker to arrive, he should be there in only a few moments.” The spokesperson of the company explained to the producers and the representants. Everyone seemed nervous. It was understandable, since the mysterious dancer was supposed to be there and witness your performance too. In fact, you two were supposed to meet a long time ago, but he said he was busy. Too busy for the charity, you figured. Too busy to help you make your biggest dream come true, you sighed. 

“I hope our dancer knows that the company does not tolerate lateness.” You commented and went to the corner of the room to take a sip of water. It was only then that the door slammed open and a rather short, muscular guy made his entrance. He was followed by another young man, this one taller and slimmer. He carried a camera and was filming everything the shorter one did. You squinted at the sight. The second one would suit the role better, but if he was filming the first man who walked in, it can only mean…

“Marvelous! Our Prince Eric is here!” Your choreographer exclaimed loudly, his voice resonating against the walls. 

You pressed your lips in a thin line and flattened your skirt in annoyance. Your coach gave you a stern look, and you replied with even more severity. So that exclaimed why they kept his identity secret, they went for the pot of gold and expected you to be fine with it. “The Nutcracker is a ballet, not a YouTube video.” You breathed through your teeth when you recognized the man. 

Tom Holland himself was giving you the warmest smile. He went in for a handshake, but took his arm back when he noticed that you denied him. He looked to the other guy, as if to tell him to cut that part of whatever he was filming. “What’s up? I’m Tom. And that’s my brother, Harry. He likes making videos, so I brought him along.” His tone of voice seemed calm and poised, although he was freaking out. He had only heard the best compliments about you, his dancer partner. To be honest, he was intimidated and your attitude was not helping. 

“Y/N.” You breathed out and tightened your hair bun nonchalantly. “We only film our performances hoping to work on our flaws, we don’t film stuff for fun.” 

The noticeable disdain in your voice earned you another warning from your choreographer. “Miss, please. Would you mind doing your solo again? I bet mister Holland here would love to see it.” 

“If mister Holland wanted to see it, he had to be on time.” You crossed your arms against your chest, but still walked towards the center of the room. “There’s one plié I want to work on, so I’ll do it again and see if I can improve it.” 

Just like that, you were dancing to the symphony from the Dance of the Sugar-Plum fairy. Tom barely had time to get out of the way before you swayed around him, owning the dancefloor like no one was watching. Harry pulled on his sleeve and indicated to come and sit by the empty chairs in the front, so they could all get a better view of your flawless performance. The beautiful music filled everyone’s ears and their eyes were pleased by this light pink ballerina dancing around like a professional. 

And that was exactly what you were: a professional. You had to admit you could have given Tom a better welcome, but you could not wrap your mind around the fact that this was an important charity event, hosted in front of the prestigious elite of New York City. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and you were hoping to book a contract or two after your performance. You were disappointed when you recognized the actor, this almost impostor. It was probably just another appearance for him, not different from a silly Buzzfeed interview or a meaningless question and answer session after a photoshoot. Whilst, for you, it was quite possibly the only chance you would ever get to be in Clara’s ballet shoes for one night. 

Tom sprung up on his feet to cheer you. Him alone was louder than the bravo’s you heard earlier from everyone else. And his brother captured it all. “That was sick, dude!” Tom congratulated you, his accent gaining a sudden American tone to it. “I have lots of work to do to be on your level.” He confessed with an apologetic giggle. The representants assured him he would be able to do justice to the part, but he still looked uncertain. 

Everyone agreed it was the perfect moment to put an end to this first meeting and you soon grabbed your belongings, rushing to the door to change into your clothes, before Tom cut you off. 

“Hey, Y/L, right? That was great, what you did!” Tom was standing in front of you, looking fidgety and nervous. “I was hoping, you know, you could show me a thing or two. Only if you have time for it, and if you want to! I didn’t know… Woah, I didn’t know this was so serious!” 

“It’s the New York City Ballet, were you expecting a fiasco?” You laughed at your own comment, but finally took a moment to breathe deeply. “I guess I can make time for you. You have a lot to learn if you thought I was going to suck.” You gave him a shrug and you looked at him from head to toe. He seemed to have dressed into something comfortable enough to dance and the effort warmed your cold behavior. “I expected a dancer, forgive me for the surprise.” 

The English man chuckled at your last comment. “I dance! I mean, I used to. I did gymnastics too. My parents would always take me to watch ballets, but I was not flexible enough to pursue anything… So I went with my other passion.” For some reason, he felt like he had to prove himself to you. He had to prove you wrong, in some way. 

He left you impressed, to say the least. You did not know much about the guy, but there was something to work with. “Which is shooting webs from your wrists and develop an unhealthy obsession with spiders, I believe.”

“You’re a serious one, aren’t ya, darling?” 

“This is my moment of glory. I would be stupid not to take it seriously.” 

Tom had a million of questions to ask you. What do you love about dancing? When did you start, what was your favorite choreography, why did you pick New York, why you wore your hair in a bun even for informal rehearsals, why you were not in pain when you went on the tip of your toes, why you did a jeté so easily… The list went on and Harry documented all of it. He wanted to get to know you because it was important for him to build a friendship with all of his co-stars and that was how he saw you, as a star. The more you two discussed, over stretching and pirouettes, the less intimidated he became, but the more admiration he had for you. 

It would be a lie to say you did not enjoy his dedication to your art. He tried countless times a movement he did not get right on the first attempt and he listened to the tips you gave him about flexibility. He was willing to learn, which took you off guard. When you recognized the movie star, you were expecting to see a walking ego and the most arrogance ever contained in one small body, but he was… Nice. Maybe this whole thing was salvageable. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” Tom sighed and fell into a starfish position on the floor, after trying his best to reach his toes while leaning forward. “I used to do that everyday when I was five! And now it feels like I climbed the Everest mountain.” 

You let a chuckle escape your lips when you stood up and offered him a hand. He accepted it, not without hesitating, and you shrugged. “All you gotta do is fake it till you make it. We’re all in pain here, but we don’t let it show.” 

“So… Basically act like I’m having the time of my life?” He sounded so proud of the association between dancing and acting.

“Exactly. Keep that in mind for the big show and we might get out of there alive.” You laughed again. 

His muscles lost their tension when he heard you laugh for the second time. Your facade was falling down, and he was pleased to meet a human being underneath the stereotypical robotic ballerina. “I know another neat trick to fight the pain.” 

Both Harry and you spinned on your feet and looked at Tom’s burst of confidence. “And that is..?” 

“Hanging out at a pub, a café, or something.” 

You fought the urge to smile and shook your head. “I have more things to do. I need to stop by the costumes to get my dress adjusted and I need to buy new shoes…” 

“Come on, dear! It’s already so late and I’m surprised you’ve not given up already on the helpless cause that I am. You deserve a break.” He jumped like an excited child. “It’s my treat!” 

And with that, everything you had planned for the night, all of the extra stretches and exercises by the bar you installed in your living room vanished. “Only if you promise to be here on time for the next practice, and in proper apparel.” 

“Sounds like a deal to me!” He helped you carry your things outside of the rehearsal room. “Wait, do you mean I gotta wear thights?” 

“Oh, the full thing. Thights, shoes… And a bright pink tutu. Take it or leave it.” You smirked at him and, to your surprise, he seemed more enthusiastic than ever. 

“If I wore a thong for months while filming Spider-Man, I can live with the most obnoxious tutu you can find!” 

“You won’t be disappointed, mister Holland.” You nodded, accepting the dare. 

“Neither will you.” He promised. “I will not disappoint you.”