#went back to my ballet roots for this one!!

[dontbelasagnax]

Coruscant Ballet presents Romeo and Julien--a critically acclaimed, passionate retelling of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet with some twists--returning this season by high demand. Equally joyous and poignant in its queerness, Romeo and Julien tells the story of two young men from families that would rather think their sons dead than accept their love. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett have captured our hearts with their evocative performance full to the brim with yearning and a love so deep that you'll feel it from the balcony seats. Mace Windu takes Prokofiev's score and gives the haunting despair hope. Combined with Shaak Ti's inspirationally beautiful and tender choreography that simultaneously challenges and subverts the standards of masculine and feminine roles in ballet, this is a production you don't want to miss.

@codywanweek day 3: dancer au

[prints available!]

[mental69er]

Okay but the thought of Victoria Neuman falling in love with the reader who is a retired ballerina that teaches lessons but is also Zoe's ballet teacher and favorite ballerina before they retired has been bouncing around in my brain.

content: sfw, ballerina reader, fluff piece, short

You only knew her as Zoe's mother. The put together woman in designer suits that picked up her daughter in a black car with a driver that opened the doors for them.

You didn't bother to inquire about what she did for work. Her face was plastered all over the TVs as elections drew near. A lot of your clients were wealthy or famous, bringing their children to you to learn ballet.

You had been a prodigy in it, learning dance moves before you could even form a proper sentence. Your rise to fame and acclaim had been fast, skyrocketing you into the stratosphere before it all came crashing down. Ballet was not easy on the body, especially not on such a young one that was still developing.

It was why you had to retire professionally, only teaching the occasional ballet class if there were enough clients on the roster. Still, you were quite famous and it wasn't odd that many in the upper echelons knew who you were.

What was odd though, was Victoria's interest in you.

You specifically did not stay and chat with parents, knowing they were busy, or wanting to avoid the general superficiality in which these people operated. Victoria always went out of her way to talk to you after class was over, or if she could catch you alone, before class.

Her questions were kind, polite, and yet her eyes were probbing. Undressing you, trying to dive in your mind and understand you. It wasn't the first time you'd seen hunger like this on another's face, her's was merely better guarded. When you had been younger, less broken, many men had wanted you like their own personal doll.

You had never given in. But it had been years since you'd last felt prized, like you weren't an old discarded toy.

Still, you were wary. Carefully dancing around her flirations and inquisitive nature, waiting her out until Zoe's lessons would end for the semester.

With each gradual passing week, you could see Victoria becoming more and more frustrated by her lack of progress. The woman was hell bent on getting closer to you.

"You know, I used to want to be a ballerina too."

You couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in shock. "Really?"

"I was a bit too rooted in my major in college to suddenly switch to it. But I did wonder what it would be like to move with such grace, with such passion as you did." She said, chuckling warmly to herself. "You move your body so well." The last part was said in a slightly lower tone that had your stomach flipping.

"Zoe ended up watching some of your performances and wanted to try ballet too. I couldn't deny her it the same way I denied myself. And now here we are," Victoria said.

"Here we are, " you repeated.

"You should give Zoe private lessons," she said, and you knew what she was angling for. It was all a cover to have you without the distractions of others.

"I don't do private lessons."

"You should. I pay alot," Victoria said, tone turning serious. Her brown eyes were fixated on you and she stepped in closer. You couldn't find it in you to step back. "Think about it." She took out a card from her inner pocket. You took it and she stepped away, going back to her car where Zoe was waiting for her.

You sighed. This looked to be Victoria's private number on the card. You thumbed it thoughtfully and watched as her car pulled away.

Did you dare indulge in the president elect's whims?

[mari-writes]

Akaashi Keiji has a secret. One that he’s sure people might be surprised by if they found out.

He has a deep, prevailing love for classical ballet. He’s not sure when it started. Perhaps when his parents took him to a Nutcracker performance when he was barely eight years old. To this day, he spends hours of his free time watching videos online, and reads about the history of the art form. He even convinces his mother to take him to see live performances on occasion.

There's something so romantic and expressive about dancing. The way the dancers can convey emotion through their body, with no words at all—it’s absolutely fascinating. Keiji admires them so much. He wishes he could be like that.

He doesn’t tell anyone. He’s not ashamed, just cautious. Dance should not be a gendered interest, but alas, society is strange. His friends and most of his teammates already know he’s gay. No need to push the stereotype further, right?

What he doesn’t predict is that his best friend (and secret crush), Bokuto Koutarou, is apparently also a fan.

“Akaashi!” The older boy exclaims, right over his shoulder. “Is that the Australian Ballet?”

Keiji flinches, scrambling to switch off his phone. “Bokuto-san,” he scowls, “it’s very rude to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, sorry!” Koutarou plops down next to him. Their futons are close, much too close, and Keiji can smell his mint shampoo. It’s distracting. “But seriously, is it?”

Keiji shoots a nervous look around. Most of the training camp attendees are either taking turns in the bath or wandering around campus, enjoying the warm evening. Only Komi is here, casually lounging with a magazine on the other side of the room. “Ah, um, yes,” he nods. “You’re familiar with ballet, Bokuto-san?”

The other boy nods enthusiastically. “My sister does it! My other sister and I tried it when we were younger, too!”

Surprised, Keiji stares. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah! I still do exercises I learned back then. It’s good for flexibility and to strengthen muscles. People don’t know how much of a workout ballet is! It’s really hard.”

Again Keiji nods, awkwardly shuffling on his futon so that he and Koutarou are sitting thigh-to-thigh. “Would you… like to watch the rest of this with me, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou answers with a beaming smile.

They make it a habit of watching dance videos together. Koutarou is surprisingly knowledgable about the different companies, even mentioning specific dancers and performances. It’s odd, only because he never watches or talk about it otherwise. Perhaps he’s shy about his interest, too?

It isn’t until one evening, when Koutarou is staying the night at his house, that he discovers the truth. 

Keiji is eager to show his crush the souvenir program her purchased after seeing a performance of La Sylphide two years ago. He carefully passes it to Koutarou, wondering if the other boy will be surprised, or maybe even jealous that Keiji was able to attend such a special, sold-out show.

But instead—

“Oh! My sister was in this!” 

Keiji freezes. He turns slowly to look at his friend, unsure if he heard correctly. “What?”

“Yeah, she was made principal ballerina that year!”

Keiji frowns. “Your sister… performed with the National Ballet of Japan?”

“Yeah!” Koutarou grins. “She was there for two years, until she went overseas. I miss her so much.”

“Wait a minute.” Keiji is having trouble trusting his own ears. Because it sounds like Koutarou is insinuating… but no, that can’t be it. Can it? Suddenly frantic, he flips through the program, until he find the cast profiles. He leans in to look at the lead female dancer. A familiar face in the modern ballet scene. He blinks, turning to look at Koutarou, and then back at the woman on the page. 

Intense golden eyes. A wide, toothy smile. Silvery hair, with just a hint of black at the roots. “Bokuto-san,” he croaks, “is your sister… Bokuto Kai?”

Koutarou chuckles. “Well, yeah! That’s my Kai! Isn’t she so cool?”

Keiji chokes on nothing. He sputters, enough for his friend to reach over and pat his back consolingly.

“You okay, ‘kaashi?”

Is he okay? Keiji doesn’t know. The fact that his best friend’s sister is one of the most well-known ballet dancers in Japan, the world even, is actively shifting his reality.

“So… I guess you’re a fan?” Koutarou smiles in obvious amusement.

“Y-yes,” Keiji admits, thoroughly shaken. “I am. She’s incredible.”

One year later, Keiji is standing frozen in the threshold of his now-boyfriend, Koutarou’s family home. He’s been here many times, and spent time with most of the family. But the person at the door is not anyone he’s met before.

But oh, he knows her well.

“Ah, you must be Akaashi!” Kai Bokuto is short, the crown of her head barely reaching Keiji’s shoulders, but her immaculate posture seems to expand her presence. She’s wearing a cotton hoodie and leggings, her silver hair tossed over one shoulder in a long braid. 

She’s a vision.

Keiji’s mouth drops open. He blinks. “B-Bokuto-san, um, hi! Hello there. You… um, I… well...” His words stumble out of him like dominos. He’s never felt so inarticulate in his entire life.

Kai laughs. “Please, call me Kai! I’ve heard so much about you. Come in, Keiji-kun!”

When Keiji finds his boyfriend inside, he greets him with a light punch to the shoulder. “You could have warned me she was here,” he hisses, “I just made a fool of myself.”

Koutarou snorts. “You’re such a fanboy!”

“Shut it.”

It turns out, Kai and Keiji have a lot more in common than a love for ballet. Both of them love literature, poetry and art history. Kai regales him with stories of her time in Europe—including her recent stint in Paris, thes city Keiji wants to visit more than anything.

They also happen to be quite protective of Koutarou.

“He’s very important to me,” she says, as they watch Keiji’s boyfriend hurry to help his mother in the kitchen. “He means the world to all of us, really. It doesn’t matter how tall or strong he gets—he’ll still be our baby Kou.”

Keiji grins softly. “Yeah.”

They exchange numbers that first night, and stay in touch when Kai flies back to France for her next set of performances. She regularly sends him photos, poems, news articles, and of course, updates on the Parisian ballet scene. They ask each other advice on outfits and home design.

“Ya know, I’m starting to think you like her more than me,” Koutarou pouts, one morning when they are curled up in Keiji’s tiny dorm bed. 

“Are you jealous?” Keiji raises one eyebrow.

“Hmm,” Koutarou hums, “maybe a little…”

Giggling, Keiji turns in his hold, leaning up to touch noses. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll always be my number one star.” The comment seems to light a fire in Koutarou, whose face splits into a brilliant smile as he pulls Keiji in tighter. “Promise?”

Keiji smiles back. “Always.”

//

I love the idea that Keiji gets along great with Koutarou’s sisters, and admires them (almost) as much as his boyfriend. The idea for Kai being a ballerina was inspired by the beautiful artwork of Temari! I just can’t get the idea out of my mind.

Please, if you enjoyed this, reblog and comment! It really helps me out. 🥰❤️

[ninjaneonleon]

By the Light of Day

Start

Prev

“You’re telling me that I have another soul inside me right now.” Leo stared at Donnie, deadpan. He was obviously trying to hold back his panic and didn’t know how to process any of that.

Since having Leo here and properly aware, Donnie found his understanding of the lake and everything to do with the spell seemed to come more into focus. He knew what spell was used, how it was performed and why it was used in the first place. He remembered being Odette and dancing with his mother before the water pulled him under. He remembered waiting for Ilma for years but her never coming to her him.

But that was Odette’s soul telling him those things. Not Donnie’s soul. There was a difference, even if that difference was starting to fade the longer he was here. Just like how Leo’s soul was meshing with Odile’s.

“That’s the only sort of magic that could teach you and transform you like that, Nardo,” Donnie explained gently. He had to stay calm, not get too emotional. Leo needed support and stability right now. “You went from never having tried ballet to being able to pull off thirty-two fouettés in a row.” It was an impressive feat, now doubt. “Your body is already starting to reflect the extra soul inside you. You’re fusing. Like me and Odette.”

“Wait, your souls is fusing with Odette’s? Is that why you keep getting the other memories and why you’re getting paler?” Leo asked, worry colouring his tone. Of course Donnie’s self sacrificing twin would be worried about that part, not so much about his own problem.

“Yes, but my fusing is slow. It’s been two years, Leo, and I’m still myself… mostly.” Donnie knew he was missing things, that he wasn’t totally himself anymore, but he was still close enough. Leo had lost himself entirely for a period in just three days.

“Well, how do we fix this?” Leo asked softly, taking Donnie’s hands and fiddling with his now much slimmer fingers.

“I don’t know,” Donnie confessed softly. “You’re stuck with that potion until you fulfil your end of the ‘deal’ you make with Von Rothbart. And I’m stuck here indefinitely because no one we know can undo the spell.” Only Ilma could and from what Donnie could tell, she had died years ago.

“Well… if we’re stuck here, I might as well get comfortable.” Leo stood and walked delicately over to the water’s edge. Panic flickered at the edge of Donnie’s mind but he pushed it away. Leo wouldn’t hurt him or his lake.

Dully, he also recognised how wrong it looked for Leo to be en pointe so casually. Was this what it was like for his brothers when they saw Donnie walking around like that?

Leo took a breath before he closed his eyes. Donnie heard the music that started for his twin, the soft, almost melancholy tune that almost swayed in the wind. Leo started dancing, looking so graceful and beautiful. Despite the fact he was now a crow, he was as graceful as any swan Donnie had seen.

Leo danced and danced around a single point at the edge of the water. Donnie could only watch in awe as a small sprout started growing from the ground, getting bigger and bigger until it was a young weeping willow, bent over the water with its leaves tickling the water.

Leo stumbled back, panting as he rubbed his eyes. “I… I don’t know how it did that.”

“Neither do I.” Donnie had never seen magic like that… had he? Wait, no, he had. The lake spell. Odette and Ilma had danced together before the lake took Odette in.

“Do you have a nest?” Leo asked, startling Donnie out of his thoughts. “Because this looks pretty cozy under here.”

“We don’t need to sleep.” Donnie pointed out.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be cozy.” Leo pointed out, rushing over to Donnie and tugging him to his feet. He almost dragged Donnie over to the tree. He tugged Donnie down into a dip between the roots, curling up with him with a happy sigh. “I’ve missed you.”

Donnie got the sense that it wasn’t just Leo saying that.

“I’ve missed you too.” Donnie murmured back, nuzzling against his twin. Odette’s soul almost sang with recognition as she recognised Odile was nearby.

Even as the sun rose and both Leo and Donnie transformed, they didn’t separate. Leo, as a little crow, just got comfortable on Donnie’s feathered back and nuzzled his way under his wing. Donnie held him a little closer, his neck bending gracefully over Leo’s form.

They might not need to sleep but Leo was right, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be comfortable. They’d figure this out, but for the first time in years, Donnie didn’t fear the sunrise.

—————

Part 6! This has really outgrown what I had initially planned for, but I’m actually really enjoying doing a little solo writing. It’s been a while

EDIT: part 7

Swanatello belongs to @tangledinink

Crownardo belongs to @dryad-druid

[drewsbuzzcut]

Dangerous

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic… read hook, line, and sinker before this part

warnings: mentions of an injury, small very minor angst, small mention of food

*At the pizza place*

“I know I already said that you’re a natural when it comes to modeling, but I just can’t get over how seamless you are when it comes to all the different poses. You must be really flexible,” mat comments.

“It’s funny you say that. I actually used to do ballet. I started at a really young age- maybe 3 and it was the love of my life at the time, of course. I actually got injured at 15 and I was never able to get back to normal,” you say solemnly.

“So you went into modeling? That explains why you weren’t a child model or something like that.”

You nod your head in agreement, “yeah. It’s crazy because everyone in my family, even friends, would always say that I belonged in the modeling industry. I guess that was true. I wouldn’t change things. I love modeling. It’s probably the best thing to happen to me,” you finish your small story.

“I’m sorry about your injury, but I’m glad you’re in your rightful place,” mats speaks.

“It’s ok. It’s weird, though. You’re the first person who noticed my flexibility. No one I have ever met or worked with has ever noticed.”

“I’m glad I noticed because if I hadn’t, I would never know that little story about yourself,” mat is so sincere with his words, it makes your heart melt. Also making you grow a new appreciation for this handsome man that just came out of nowhere.

“What about you? You’re probably flexible too,” you guess.

“Not really,” he chuckles.

“I don’t think I can do a split or an even a high kick,” he continues.

“I don’t think that’s true. The way hockey players move during the game means you definitely have to have some kind of flexibility even if it’s a little,” you add in.

“You watch hockey?”

And you were caught.

It’s not like you didn’t want it to be a secret that you watch hockey, you just didn’t want mat to think that you were lying about knowing who he was when you met him for the first time.

You truly didn’t know anything about him, but you knew that he looked familiar. When he told you that he played hockey, the puzzle pieces weren’t hard to put together- especially because you had just been at an islanders game the past week.

“Occasionally. I’m more of a baseball person, but i watch hockey every now and then, live or on tv,” you inform him.

“Another interesting fact about you. What team do you root for?”

“If this is your way of asking if I’m a rangers fan, you’re not slick,” you tease with a wicked smirk.

“Well, I’m not a rangers fan. I actually quite enjoy the islanders,” you finish.

“Hmm… I like that answer.”

“Ok, hotshot. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You both laugh at the same time before trying to calm down and breathe in some air.

It was crazy how easily you could laugh with him.

There’s a pause in conversation as you both take drinks from your cups and bites from your pizzas.

It’s a comfortable stillness, you’re taking in the nice evening you’re having with mat and secretly hoping you can do it more in the future.

“I actually have to tell you something,” you say slowly, trying not to worry him, but also being worried yourself.

He nods his head for you to continue.

“When you had told me that you played hockey, I kind of figured out who you were. When I met you, you were so familiar to me and the hockey thing made everything click. I did know you. Well, of you. I recognized you from the game. I hope that doesn’t freak you out or anything,” you blurt.

“It doesn’t freak me out nor does it bother me. As long as you don’t look me up or anything crazy,” mat responds.

Huh. Why didn’t he want you to look him up?

“Yeah , of course!”

“I am so full. Did you want to get desert?” Mat asks.

“I will have to take a pass on desert. I’ll probably just eat some fruit at home,” you answer.

“Sounds good! Well as much as I enjoyed shadowing you for the day, and trying your recommendation for pizza, I have an early morning tomorrow so I should get home.”

“Oh yeah! I don’t want to keep you too long or ruin your schedule,” you tell him.

“Do you live far from here?”

“Not really just a couple of minutes from here actually.”

“Mind if I walk you home?”

You heart melts just a little bit. He is so sweet, you think to yourself.

“As long as you don’t leak my address,” you tease.

“No promises,” he teases back.

As you’re walking back home, it’s silent but it’s only because you’re thinking about how good this day has been and how you hope it was just as good for mat.

“I guess your job isn’t exactly private either,” you speak your one nagging thought out loud.

“Not really. Which is why I wasn’t necessarily surprised when you said you had recognized me. Although, I’m sure my life is a bit more private than yours,” you’re now wondering if he thinks you had lied about knowing him when you first met. You hope that isn’t the case.

“Kind of. Especially when I’m pictured out with other famous people. I did a shoot last year with Bella Hadid and that sort of skyrocketed my career in the right direction, so now I’m always having the paps follow me, but only when they think I’m doing something secretive or interesting,” you explain.

“That’s crazy. I’m only recognized on the streets every once in a while.”

“You’re still recognized, though.”

“True. It’s honestly weird to be known,” mat said.

You nod your head in silent solidarity.

The conversation fades after mat’s last sentence, but the silence is comforting. It allows you to soak in mat’s charming and intense presence. You almost don’t realize that you had just made it to your home.

“Looks like this is me,” you interrupt the silence.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to leave you just yet,” mat responds.

“Dito. Today was really nice.”

You both are facing each other, not daring to break the strong eye contact. He brings his finger to drag it along the length of your forearm before stopping at your wrist. Your heart is pounding. You’re afraid it might jump out of your body in attempt to land in his large, warm hands.

“I enjoyed today. Best day I’ve had in a while. This may be a bit forward, but will you go out on a date with me, y/n?” Mat pulls you a tad bit closer to him.

“Hmm… you’d be pretty lucky to get to spend another day with me.” You lightly poke at his chest.

He laughs and walks backwards down the steps of your building. He has the cockiest expression adorning his face and glint in his eyes.

“I’ll see you next tuesday at 6:30,” mat exclaims.

“You’re pretty confident, hotshot,” you fire back, a bit of shock and amusement displayed on your face.

“Got to match confidence with even more confidence,” he says referencing your undying confidence.

“HA! I’ll see you at 6:30. Don’t be late, barzy!”

“You’re a dangerous one, y/n,” mat finishes with one last smile as he watches you go inside, patting himself on the back for successfully getting a date with you.

a/n: it’s been a little bit since i posted the last piece but hope you enjoy this part!!

[trainerfangirlsmile]

I went to see the second to last show in the Anastasia The Musical run in Mexico and oh my god:

So first of all, this was the first Mexican production that I ever saw in an established theater as opposed to a tour production (that was the Cats Mexican Tour back in 2019) so I was a little excited about that fact and how it would feel.

I had heard one negative comment about it, mainly how the sets and costumes didn't make justice to the original production (this couldn't have been MORE WRONG they were absolutely breathtaking)

There was a young girl (couldn't be more than 9 y/o) that was asked if she had seen the original movie and her answer was no, which made me think that for a lot of young kids the show could've been their first approach to Anastasia and I think that's beautiful

Now onto the musical itself:

The 3rd call for starting was made by little Anya and her voice was so adorable! She also made the call for starting the 2nd act during intermission

Most of the songs were adapted from the Madrid version rather than from the Latin American Dub of the movie (where the songs were sung by a popular Mexican singer called Thalia) and while at first it slightly disappointed me, it didn't affect the value of the production at all, I found myself vibing to the music all the time

Gleb's actor had a higher-pitched voice than Ramin, which at first surprised me, but he also managed to make a much more awkward Gleb that you could, not root for per-say, but understand him and his motivations from the start? One of my friends knew nothing about the changes in the musical, but this is how they felt about it (also please take into consideration it had been some time since I had last seen a "grand duchess slime tutorial", I may have forgotten some stuff)

Vlad was a delight to see on stage, he was funny and charming, every time he came on stage you knew you would laugh, also he was shorter than Lily's actress, and it made funnier some jokes, we stan an unhinged couple

Dimitri amazed me. He was very tall and had a great singing voice, I was so nervous for the adaption of My Petersburg, but you can imagine my surprise when he made a great rendition of it, also ohmygoshhhh him in In a Crowd of Thousands? I kid you not, his yearning almost made me faint, seriously, he and Anya left almost no space for Jesus and I was over there in the second floor gasping for air when he said "your highness", the chemistry was off the charts

Lily was a riot the whole time she was on stage as well, funny, sarcastic, you named it she had it. Land of Yesterday was one of my favorite choreographies from the original production and it did not disappointed me!

The Dowager Empress had this ring in her voice that kinda reminded me of older Mexican dubs? Which makes no sense considering her age but at the same time it does considering her character, such talent she has! She and Alix's actress also made it more obvious through their short interactions that they weren't in the best of terms which I thought it was a great Easter egg for historical fans

The ensemble was amazing! They were all so incredible to watch, during Quartet at the Ballet, the dancers got such a big applause that it warmed my heart, they were seriously so amazing!

A song I was surprised that shook me emotionally was Stay, I Pray You; I had always enjoyed the song and think it is beautifully written, especially because it reflects how one may feel leaving your country "by choice" (I may be projecting a bit into it) but seeing it live and in my native language just broke me, beautifully done by the cast

Mariana Davila as Anya was such a treat to see live! I wish I had been able to meet her at the stage door, because she was just breathtaking! Her voice was so beautiful and it left me speechless so many times during the 2 ½ hours of the show, I hope she gets so many more roles and that I can keep watching her! Again, her chemistry with Dimitri was amazing and she also looked beautiful in Anya's dresses.

I left this as my last point because I think it was my favorite part but, as I had said before, a lot of the songs were adapted from the Madrid cast which, if I remember correctly, had been adapted from the Spanish Dub of the movie.

A lot of movie fans had voiced their disappointment at not being able to hear songs like Once Upon a December with the original lyrics, and Mariana had said that they had tried to change them to the ones we were used to

Upon starting the show and realizing the new lyrics, I thought, "Well, maybe it was just for some specific shows or dates" and proceeded to enjoy the show

AND THEN COMES THE END OF ACT 1 AND GUYS

Journey To The Past was sang with the exact same lyrics as the Latin American Dub from 1997.

I am not joking when I tell you that the second that I heard "No me falles no..." I looked towards my friends and was already getting my eyes welled up with tears, it was such a flashback to being 5 years old coming home from blockbuster on an early December day and just, gosh, it was too much emotionally, I really cried throughout the whole song

Also, last year, I went on an exchange program, and some of the trips I was able to make were to Paris (since it was really close to were I was studying at the time) and just, seeing the images from Paris was also a reminder that I had been able to make many dreams come true in the last year, including watching this musical

It didn't help that the lights started from the seats towards the stage, it was so poetic, I still feel emotional thinking it and it has been like 23 hours since I experienced this.

Mexico is so talented, I hope we can continue to enjoy these experiences, and not only in the capital city, everyone in all the 32 states deserves to have a magical time

[pigeonwhumps]

Homecoming

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinggrounds

At the age of eleven, Gemma was forced to attend a boarding school for powered children due to the potentially dangerous nature of her powers. Now she's eighteen and finished school, she's coming home.

2.1k

CWs: referenced minor whump, past abuse, difficulty coping, fear of abandonment, mentioned abandonment, touch-starved, mentioned public punishment, past isolation, fear of punishment, very brief flashback

Gemma steps down from the coach, blinking rapidly as her eyes attempt to adjust to the harsh sunlight. It's July, the end of the school term, and she's finally leaving Meadows Ridge for good.

There's few people around at the drop-off point at the edge of the city. A gaggle of nosy onlookers, curious to see what the notorious 'school for heroes' has produced this year, and a few family groups. Not enough for everyone being dropped off though. A lot of families... don't want their powered child back.

And there'll be provision for those who have nowhere to go, for appearances sake, but she's sure it won't be nice.

She hopes her parents are here. Please, please let them be coming. They said they would, she wrote them a letter and they promised, but they could be lying, it doesn't matter how well they treat anyone else because she has powers and so they can treat her how they like and no-one will care. They never care.

Gemma clutches her parents' response tight in one hand and Sophie the stegosaurus in the other. They said they'd come. She has to believe that.

It's been seven years. Will she even recognise them? Will they recognise her? Will they just... not know it's her and go home and abandon her to even more of Meadows Ridge's care?

She swallows a sob. No. No, they can't do that, please, she can't spend another day there. They have a photo, right? Right?

But nobody calls her name. The coach drives off, leaving one of the teachers behind to collect stragglers, and still nobody calls.

She's distracted by an old, brown car sputtering up the hill. It's polished to a shine but it's not moving very well. She wonders if they'll have to get out and push.

They don't, the car eventually jerking to a stop in the car park, but it's close.

Both front doors open at once and a man and a woman exit, arguing. Their conversation drifts up to Gemma as they head for the payment machine.

"This is why we divorced! If that rusty, banged-up old box made us miss our daughter's homecoming I'll kill you!"

"You say everything was why we divorced, Jemima. Just let me finish paying for parking so we don't get a ticket."

"Screw ticketing, it's been seven years, I need to see my daughter."

Gemma covers her mouth with her hand. Jemima. That's her mum's name, she knows it is. And the car...

They went to ballet practice in it, once, and it broke down halfway. How is it still functional?

"Mum?" she croaks. "Dad?"

She thought she was quiet, but the man turns and– is it? Is it him, is it, is it?

He swallows. So does she. She's rooted to the spot, she can't move, stuck like she's in class and someone's power is holding her there. She can only watch as he drops his wallet and starts to run.

He almost collides with her, stopping at the last minute and placing his hands on her shoulders instead. She flinches, and he starts to withdraw but–

"Don't. Don't let go, please."

She barely recognises her own voice, it's been a long time since she's tried making a request to anyone her senior, but her dad listens. His hands are big and warm and she moves closer, letting him envelope her.

It's hard to keep herself from tensing, flinching, she can't see what he's doing but– it's her dad. And she sinks into his arms, trying to hold back tears.

It's been a year since Aisling left Meadows Ridge, longer since Ethan. And although she's happy for them, she hasn't had a hug since. They're the only two people in that place who ever touched her with affection, with something not carefully calculated to hurt in the worst ways.

"My little gemstone. Oh, I'm so sorry we sent you there."

Gemma shakes her head and cries. She shouldn't be crying, she's an adult now, she should be in control, she doesn't want to get into trouble, but there's absolutely nothing she can do to stop it now.

She was going to be strong for her parents. She was going to pretend that nothing's wrong, nothing happened to her, she's fine. But all that's out the window now.

Another hand touches her shoulder-blade, above her rucksack, and she jumps three feet in the air before remembering who's there. Her heart pounds.

"Sorry. Sorry."

"It's okay, baby girl," her mum murmurs. "I didn't mean to startle you. Shall we go home?" Gemma nods. "Do you have any more luggage?"

She shakes her head. This small rucksack is everything. She wasn't going to bring her school uniforms, aside from the one she's been forced to wear today, and she's not a fan of the regulation pyjamas or free day clothes either (not that she ever got many free days). There's a box with letters and homemade presents from Aisling and Ethan, and messages from her parents, and a copy of the contract she signed this morning, but that's it. She's carrying Sophie.

What would be the point in bringing home things she hates? It's not like she needs a notebook filled with school rules, painstakingly copied out in an empty white room with an ache inside her and heavy metal on her wrists.

She clings to her parents as they make their way to the car. She's an adult now, but right now she doesn't feel it, and she doesn't want to be taken away from them again.

The car is familiar, with that lingering old-smoke smell that still hasn't faded and the seats that are so soft but she knows have zero suspension. She climbs in the back and kicks off her shoes and socks immediately, the hated things, the itchy and scratchy blazer going next.

She's never wearing socks again.

Then she curls up against her mum's side, stroking Sophie. The stegosaurus is old and worn and very, very well-loved after all the years, the side she's currently stroking almost worn through with the constant nervous movement.

"Some of the family were planning to come for tea later, to celebrate your return, but we can postpone it," says her mum gently. "If you're not up to it, they can wait."

"It's okay. They can come." She can't refuse anything. She knows the consequences, even if they're not likely anymore. But anyway. She can handle it. It's only her family. It's not like a public punishment or anything. Just a few hours of eating and talking and whatever else.

It will be fine.

_

It turns out that it is not, in fact, fine.

Every laugh sounds like they're laughing at her. Every time someone raises their voice she thinks they're shouting at her. Every time the dishes clink too loudly, when someone drops a fork, she thinks someone's made a mistake, they're going to be punished, publicly, or she'll be punished in their stead if she speaks out. She tenses every time someone says her name, not used to it being called neutrally. The food is too rich, it has flavour, it's no longer beige, and she feels sick.

Someone proposes a toast to her, and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what's expected of her. All eyes are on her, and she tries not to cringe away, to flinch from the chorus of voices. At least she manages not to break into a flood of apologies and pleas.

She can't even fetch a plate for herself, too worried about doing it wrong and being punished to try. Someone else has to do it for her, and she murmurs a thanks but doesn't really notice who it is. She can't speak loud enough to be heard either, not after seven years of being punished for it. Not that she's sure she wants to be heard. She mimics the facial expressions of those around her, hoping to convince them that she's doing fine, she doesn't need any help, they can stop looking at her weirdly now. No need to be hostile. No need to hurt her.

The tension thrums through her as she tries to cope. She's got to cope. Why is it so hard?

And this is only a buffet, in front of people she knows (thinks) (hopes) mean her well. How can she ever get used to being around people again?

She can't. She can't. She knows people will be disappointed (of course they will be, they always are, for someone like her disappointing people is the best she can hope for because at least it's not anger), but she slips away, up to what used to be her bedroom, what her parents say is again. The bed's too soft but the dark blue walls with the dinosaurs are nice and calming and she nests instead, climbing into the centre of the pile of blankets her dad helped her make earlier (when it was so desperately obvious what she wanted but she couldn't move to do it herself, she couldn't, the rules in her head wouldn't let her). She curls around a mound of dinosaurs and sobs.

She should've shut the door, but she couldn't bring herself to, that level of privacy isn't allowed, and she can hear the sounds of people still celebrating downstairs. Doesn't seem to matter whether she's there or not then.

There's footsteps on the stairs and she freezes. Step-clunk. Step-clunk. That's the sound of the dorm manager coming to get someone, a cane always on him. She wonders who it'll be and hopes, guiltily, that it's not her.

Someone knocks on her door. She doesn't respond. She doesn't really remember how. She's not sure it actually matters. Nobody ever knocks on the door of someone like her.

The knock sounds again.

"I'll leave you alone if you like, gemstone, but not unless you tell me that," comes a gruff voice. "Those schools don't teach autonomy."

Gemma jolts. She's not there anymore, is she?

"Granda?"

"It's me. No company."

She scrambles to sit up, wiping the worst mess off her face. "Come in."

Her granda limps into the room and sits down on the edge of the bed with a groan. "After my son was forced to send you to that place, I had hoped they'd improved since my time. But your friends, and your face, suggest not." He eyes her critically. "You look terrible."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise, my girl. There's nothing wrong with actually looking traumatised."

Gemma doesn't say anything. She can't object, but she knows it's not true. Instead, she changes the subject.

"My friends? You've met them?"

"Met them? Gemstone, Aisling stays with us when she's not off learning to be a doctor. We haven't heard from Ethan for a couple of years though, of his own choosing. Your dad's gone to pick Aisling up from school so I don't know how long they'll be."

Gemma swallows. Ethan... she hopes he's alright.

"And– and you? You said you..."

"Aye. First generation to do so. Powers must've skipped a generation. If your parents had asked my advice I'd have told them not to get the prenatal power tests done, but alas." He sighs heavily. "At least we have you back now."

Gemma isn't entirely sure what he's talking about, and he doesn't seem to have realised. "Can I ask you something? Please? I don't want to, to annoy you or anything, sorry, I–"

"Go ahead."

"How did you recover? How do you cope? I can't even have dinner with normal people. Maybe I should've just stayed there, because I don't know... how do you not fall apart?"

He smiles, a little bitterly she thinks. "I do fall apart. Life is hard. But if you want advice from an old codger like me, take it slow. One step at a time. One day at a time. Get whatever help you need and don't be ashamed of that. Don't drown yourself in regret, it won't help, believe me. Don't be scared to do what you need to do, don't give up if you slip back sometimes, and never be ashamed of who you are."

Gemma's not much of a person to be proud of, by herself or anyone else, but she thinks that maybe she can manage not to give up just yet.

[kayandthegoldendays]

the days are spinning on this tiny island and I feel so grateful. it feels like it’s been ages since I returned from Nicaragua but it’s only been two full weeks (going on almost three)!

when I landed the babies came fast and furious so I was in survival mode getting through my first wave of March babies. In between the chaos, I met back up with my knitting circle, went on amazing long runs, caught up with every friend new and old before swapping to night shift for this week.

I went to work smiling in bliss and it’s still carrying over which reminds me of how powerful rest is.

yesterday an old friend called to tell me of her fears, entering into a new career field but unsure of what and the overall transition of life she’s in. I listened intently and offered reassurance.

in the last few weeks it’s been a constant theme hearing friends vocalize how much they dislike their work, or desire to pursue work they’ve always wanted to…maybe this is thirties?

And as I thought about this, I recognized what a damn privilege it is to have fallen in love with my work at a young age. I vividly remember being told I was absolutely bonkers…there was a solid five years there that I panicked thinking I should have chosen something more tidy…more linear with a path that gives a start and an end.

but each decade I fall more deeply in love with my work and I sometimes become worried by how moved I am by it because it will never be a vocation that …. can equally give back. it’s one that is so deeply rooted in serving women and children. but I have decided that I would rather be all in and learn to sustain myself with loving boundaries than choose anything else that doesn’t light up my world the way this work does.

the fall semester is coming so soon and I am a bit nervous but it feels so reaffirming to know that I’m chugging along towards the dream. catching babies on my own 🌸

1) my custom nail color!! it’s a blend of ballet slippers and egging it on.

2) I finally purchased new sneakers!! first pair of non-running shoes since 2019.

3) my little brother is having a baby 😳 so I’m knitting a baby cardigan for my new project

4) I am firmly in the middle of my training plan and the half marathon is in April!!!!

[augment-techs]

What happens now? Do we have another go?/Do we bow out and take our separate roads?- Allies or enemies by the crane wives

Kim and Sharkie

(I'm not gonna lie, this was really hard and after five drafts, this was also as far as I could get without tossing my computer out the window. I apologize.)

Of course since Tommy had a tragic backstory, it really did stand to reason that maybe Kim had one too.

Not tragic, not fully in the style of Shakespeare or Bronte, but...less than idyllic.

Kim was made for the bright lights, big city setting of Los Angeles; born and raised, and raised in the manner of the upward mobility of her family money and "good breeding" as her grandparents used to say when she saw them at holiday parties that included fake snow on pine trees three stories tall and covered in decorations that cost more than some families made in a year. She went to ballet when she was three and moved onto gymnastics when she was five; had the best tutors and trainers and parents who (she thought; was pretty sure) loved her and only wanted the best.

She also went to a private school before they moved to Angel Grove, from kindergarten to Freshman year, with her best friend that, well...

Sharkie reminded her of Bulk and Skull, when she thought about her between being a Ranger and her so-called "normal" life.

Pretty girl with a petty, mischievous attitude, a preference for nonconformity that often left her in trouble with teachers, and a complete disinclination to ever use her real name--though why, Kim never understood; Stella Angel wasn't such a bad name.

(It was the roots that the name carried that the girl didn't like to think about. If she had told Kim...well, she might not have fully comprehended what it was to be an immigrant and an abuse survivor, but she might have been more sympathetic. Even though there was no certainty in that, either. Kim could look back and realize she was rather innocent in her sheltered life and in that way, ignorant.)

Sharkie picked Kim up off the floor in gym class the day she got her first period and thought she was going to die, the other girls sneering and giggling and the teacher trying to keep Kim calm as she hyperventilated. Sharkie just told the others to get out of the way and carried the tiny brunette princess style into the shower room so she could rinse off and calm down, and handed her a thick pad for the spare underwear she yanked out of her own locker (they were cute and purple with a pair of pink ribbons sewn into the sides no bigger than a dime) and asked rather calmly if she would have preferred a tampon, "Since they last longer and you won't have to freak out if the pad leaks a little."

Kim had been too out of sorts to really think about it at the time, except that she didn't want to put anything inside her that looked like it would hurt, and the instructions weren't very helpful. Sharkie had merely shrugged and gave Kim a couple for later in case she changed her mind.

She walked out to tell the teacher Kim could talk to her, and spent the rest of the week tormenting the "little bitches" that tried to give Kim a hard time about something, "Totally normal; not her fault her parents weren't looking out for her with basic information."

Kim had her own sort-of friends, and her parents had their expectations of her that kept piling up and stifling her as they got closer and closer to the date she wasn't yet aware of that marked their moving to Angel Grove and away from all that she knew, but she tried to be something close to friendly with the girl that had looked out for her best interests in her own abrasive little ways.

They had lunch together in the art room sometimes, Sharkie chewing on a tongue sandwich between drawing charcoal shadow monsters and breaking glass and ceramics just to paste them back together into something else entirely that looked both scary and wonderful; kind of like her.

They went to the mall, sometimes, when being at home got to be too much for Kim, trying to block out her parents sniping at each other, and Sharkie sometimes goaded her into trying out new styles; grunge and punk and extremely femme or academic or--something that nobody would ever see the pictures of or Kim would walk directly into the bottom of the ocean--honest to god southern gothic. Everyone at school gave them a wide berth for a week when they made a bet that Kim couldn't handle wearing so much black and makeup and Sharkie couldn't handle going for something so pastel and girly.

They both lost because it was the summer five days before Kim's parents told her they were moving; Kim came close to suffering heatstroke and Sharkie almost caught on fire from showing so much pale skin without remembering to put on sunscreen for the boardwalk or getting Kim to go to the fair before it moved on.

When Tommy talked about Tyler and growing up in New York in the aftermath of her being so fucking mad at him for going off on his own to infiltrate a secret society of ninja, she didn't let up on her pouting and guilt tripping, but she could understand the need to do what you could for someone that cared about you when you didn't know you needed someone like that.

He showed her a photo they took at one of those little booths for tourists, tiny and with clothes too big for them, but happy in the moment with each other.

Kim showed him one similar, but not quite after the Eltarian War and the new surge of rebuilding sites and feeling like she kept missing running into a familiar face she almost didn't think about so often, phantom feeling of her hanging out in the girl's bathroom that almost none of the teachers went into, smoking a joint with the dates Bulk and Skull had at their failed Homecoming.

*

"A drug Renaissance in Angel Grove? Really?"

"Yeah, I know, it's fucking stupid, but Grace asked if I--if we, actually, because I am not good at this--could look into this on the down-low because the police are worthless and some of Grace's employees are worried about their kids dropping like flies at the college."

"Is it really that bad?" Matt steepled his fingers like the roof of a house before waving them a little back and forth, thumbs hooked and reminding her--awkwardly--of a little child trying to make shadow puppets.

"Bulk beat the shit out of some guy that offered to sell him some last week for distribution after the guy had already tried his luck following Skull around like a creep and asked basically the same thing but, like, the wrong way? And the poor bastard reported him to the school security guard under the impression that he was gonna snatch some Freshman. So, yeah, I'd say it's pretty bad."

"No, I meant the drugs--although, thank you for that information; that actually explains...some stuff going on with those two," the two of them keeping court with the other loners and stragglers and being less impulsive and more protective lately came to mind, but Kim needn't comment on that when Matt knew too, "Anyway, is it something like meth or cocaine?"

"Eh, I think it's more like some fast acting roofies? Terona tried to explain it like I'm five, but all I got was that the first symptoms are usually waved away as just general dizziness from drinking, followed by either lowered or increased body heat, and then blacking out of memory even while conscious at the time. Most of the people reported not remembering anything beyond looking for water or a bathroom and then waking up in various states that heavily implied assault. Two college students ended up in a coma because the offenders used to much of the drug and just left them to the elements after...Just after."

Kim sighed, thinking of all the schoolwork she already had piled up, the little class of beginner gymnasts as Ernie's she needed to teach the next day, the promise to take Aisha on a girl's only shopping quest after realizing both their closets were in sorry need of improvement...

Still, she was getting better at doing the right thing, and the words just fell out with as much ease as anything else in her life, "Yeah, yeah. Lemme just talk to the others. Maybe me and Billy can get Bulk and Skull talking about the party circuit they mentioned and we can grab an invite without seeming too suspicious."

*

Salt and water poured in a glass and pressed to her lips.

Between the swallow and the burning of the vomit it brought up--bright blue, never a good sign when she'd been drinking her precious color from the wine cooler selections she'd heavily watered down--Kim was aware of the girl holding her hair back and the look of distaste across her face as she told Skull to get Bulk and start clearing out the drugged drinks (bless him, bless him for noticing and getting someone with more experience; she'd hate to think what would have happened otherwise).

When she was done vomiting up the foam and toxin, and blinked at the other girl, Kim suddenly felt as though she'd scratched open an old wound without realizing it.

"Hope you didn't develop an eating disorder with all the monsters that run around here, Kimmy."

The hair was longer and wilder, the clothing not too different from what Kim expected the girl to grow into liking, the makeup popping in such a dark shade compared to such gray skin. The accessories of silver hoop earrings and black pewter knuckle rings shouldn't have drawn Kim's eyes, but they stood out in the kitchen as she slowly came back into some semblance of her right might and kept her from looking directly into the other (beautiful) face.

Then she doubled up and puked on the combat boots that went thigh high and looked expensive, yet well used.

"I was kidding."

[lunatic-fandom-space]

Sissi, die junge Kasierin (1956) [Sissi, the Young Empress]

This was a really good one and I had a great time watching it. I felt a little bit of dread towards the end, but not nearly as much as in the first film, and I think that was mainly because it somehow just feels wrong to have a film about Elisabeth end happily, but thats a me-thing

And I mean, the throughline of the film was Elisabeth and Sophie fighting over her daughter so there were some scenes there that I did find as upsetting as that scene in the first one where they talk during the ball, but that 'upsettingness' didnt stick with me after the ending because that conflict ultimately does get resolved. Also, this ending of her being crowned queen of hungary didnt give me that feeling of "oh noooooo, Im just watching this poor girl lock herself in this horrible situation" that the wedding at the end of the first movie gave me. I also thought the tone of this film was a lot better overall, the first one really frontloaded all of its romantic silliness and then most of the drama was in the second half, whereas this one felt a lot more balanced. It also felt a lot less like it was actively trying to be funny, like there were a couple of jokes curtesy of that comic relief-major from the first film, but it was mostly just a little silly, which I liked a lot

Other than the stuff with Sophie, this film also dealt with politics regarding hungary and Elisabeth and Franz Joseph becoming king and queen of hungary which I thought was pretty interesting, even though that plotline did feel pretty shallow. It was basically just, Elisabeth loves hungary and the people of hungary love her and Franz Joseph wants to mend relations with hungary and he does that with the help of Elisabeth with basically no issues other than 'his mom and ministers dont like that' and it all works out fine. But idk, I did still like it

Then there was of, course, Elisabeth and Franz Joseph's relationship which I thought was very cute. I was really rooting for them, which is surprising because I was honestly expecting to really dislike him during the Sophie-stuff and him taking his mother's side, and I mean, he's not my favorite but I mostly just wanted him to listen to Elisabeth and work things out with her, like I wasnt mad at him at any point. Now that I think about it, I wasnt really mad at Sophie either even though I feel like she was about as hateable as you can get without going completely over the top. huh. I guess these characters just dont inspire a lot of emotion in me, other than Elisabeth but that goes without saying, Im sure you could already tell that I sympathize with her a lot from my last review lol

I think the sets were of about the same quality as the ones in first film, but the costumes were soooooo beautiful, much better than the ones in the first one imo. I especially liked the light blue dress Elisabeth wore when she went back home after having that big fight with Sophie and Franz Joseph, the dress she wore to the ballet and her coronation dress, they all looked absolutely gorgeous. The only outfit in this whole movie that I thought looked bad was the one she wore when she accepted becoming queen of hungary. It was this red dress with white accents and she wore a green jacket over one shoulder like a cape and its like "oh, I get it, its the hungarian flag colors" except the jacket is a completely different shade of green than the one in the flag and it clashes with the dress and it looks bad. Also, this isnt something that looked bad and its not even really a complaint per se, but all the women were wearing this bright red lipstick and I found it very distracting. Theres even a scene with Elisabeth's younger siblings (who I think are like 4-10 years old) where you can see that one of the girls is wearing it which was pretty weird. But I guess that was just the trend at the time

Anyway, pretty much my only real criticism of this film, other than it being kinda shallow which isnt really a criticism I have anyway because I still think its good, is that the editing was kinda choppy at times. Like, sometimes they would cut from one scene to another scene and it would feel really jarring and abrupt, or they would do a fade-transition but instead of smoothly fading from one scene into the other or fading to black before fading to another scene, they would start to fade out and then have a hard cut to the next scene before the previous one was even gone, it was quite unpleasant.

I dont have anything to say about the actors, they were the same ones from the first film giving the same good performances, so that's pretty much it. It's a good film, I liked it a lot better than the first one and Im very excited to watch the grand finale of this trilogy, Im very curious what theyre gonna do there.

I only have one last thing to say that didnt really fit anywhere else:

Im having a lot of trouble wording this properly, but you can really see how this film ended up influecing Elisabeth: das Musical. Like, during her big argument with Sophie and Franz Joseph, Elisabeth ends up saying something along the lines of "So youre on her side in this, against me" (thats a pretty bad translation tbh but Im not in good headspace for that rn) which is very similar to one of her lines in Die ersten vier Jahre

[bilightningwhumper]

Seven Minutes in... Heaven?

Shadow of a Shield one-shot

Masterlist

Summary:

This is a companion piece one-shot to Shadow of a Sheild. I'm planning on making it a flashback in the main story, but in case it doesn't make the full cut, I didn't want it to never be unread. (It won't be the only one either, I have a few more planned since I can't write in order to save my life.) Set about a year and a half or so before the first chapter of the main story, Jamie is at her ballet program's winter show wrap-up party. Someone suggests a game that puts her and her best friend alone in a closet together. But Anna's in love with Simon and he's in love with her, so Jamie doesn't want to get in the middle, even if her feelings desperately wish otherwise.

Ao3 Link

     “Does anyone want to play Spin the Bottle?”

     Jamie looked over from where she was chatting with Simon at the snack table. Ella was holding up an empty root beer bottle, grinning wide as her friends looked embarrassed beside her.

     “Not after last year,” Anna said, snatching the bottle from her hands. “We’re not having another hormonal jealous stand-off.”

     Ella stuck out her tongue. “Killjoy.”

     “What about Seven Minutes of Heaven?” Martin suggested, leaning on the back of the chair he sat backward in. “No one has to kiss and we can add a house rule of backing out when anyone’s uncomfortable, regardless of the seven minutes.”

     Everyone looked at each other, but no one disagreed.

     As names were written on pieces of paper to go into a hat, Jamie leaned closer to Simon and whispered, “What’s this game?”

     He leaned towards her, his warm scent softly washing over her. “It’s kind of like an intimacy game, but with more boundaries. We get picked in pairs to go into a closet or room on our own with a timer set to seven minutes. In most of the versions you see on tv or in movies, the pair kisses or has sex or whatever. But in the way we’re doing it, seems more like just a chance to talk privately or share memes instead of the other intimate stuff.”

     Jamie nodded, fiddling with her drink. That made sense with the backing-out rule. Glancing at her fellow ballet classmates, she really didn’t know a lot of them that well. The idea of staying in a close-quarters room with any of them for one minute, let alone seven, was discomforting.

     The first few pairs went well. Only one couple came back blushing, Andre and Sam, though everyone had been waiting for them to make a move for months.

     As Jamie’s name was drawn, she stiffened, only to relax as Anna’s came out as well. Glancing to the side as she walked over to her best friend, she saw Simon watching them a little… wistfully? Sadly? She couldn’t tell as they walked into the closet and shut the door behind them.

     Anna sat down on the floor, patting the spot in front of her as she set a timer on her phone.

     Sitting across from her friend, Jamie broke the silence first. “So… what do we do now?”

     “We can just talk,” Anna said, resting her elbows on her knees, head propped on her hands. “Like how’s the search for your bio dad going?”

     Jamie made a face, humming. “Slow going. He might have disappeared like everyone else, which doesn’t help much.” She hated lying to her. But it’s not exactly as if she could say, ‘Yeah, my dad is Captain America, but I can’t tell him who I am yet because time travel is weird and he doesn’t know I exist yet.’

     “I wish I could help.”

     She shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t spent my whole life up till now without him. Not to mention, there are only so many forms I can fill out until I’m eighteen to find him. Liam and Nika have helped as much as they can, but if the documents are sealed, they can’t do it for me. Besides,” Jamie mimicked her friend, leaning on her elbows. “What’s going on with you and Simon? Has he asked you out yet?”

     Anna immediately started blushing, hiding her face in her hands. “No. I don’t know if he even knows I like him yet. And I don’t even know for sure if he likes me.”

     Jamie gave her a flat look. “Right, and I’m a piece of cheese.”

     She snorted, giggling before looking back up at Jamie, leaning her chin in her hands again. “Right, I forget how well you can read scents.”

     “Better than faces.” Then she nudged Anna with her foot. “Now quit changing the subject. If he’s not asking, why don’t you?”

     “I mean, I don’t even know how I would start? All three of us are friends and I don’t want anything to change or leave you behind. Like, I know you have Royce, but still,” Anna held out her hands to Jamie. So Jamie sat up, offering them out as Anna took her hands, gentle though shaky. “You’re my best friend.”

     “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me change isn’t always a bad thing?” Jamie teased softly, linking her fingers with Anna’s. Her heart clenched the more this went on, but she pushed her own feelings, her own wants, aside. “He loves you and you love him. Someone has to take the leap of faith.”

     Anna made a face, leaning back on her hands, away from Jamie instead of how close they had been. She went quiet for a second, surveying Jamie with a look she couldn’t read and her scent wasn’t helping much either, still just as warm and apprehensive as it had been when she brought up Simon.

     “It’s just…” Anna looked away and Jamie could just see the blush on her face again in the dim light. “I haven’t even kissed anyone. Like, not meaningfully, just the brief stuff from our performances. What if it’s the whole cliche thing after a first date, but I manage to mess it up?”

     “You could kiss me.”

     They both froze. Anna stared at her with that same expression Jamie couldn’t read.

     “I mean, if you want,” Jamie mumbled, looking down, feeling a blush grow across her face and down her arms. “For like, practice or whatever.”

      The silence closed in on her the longer Anna didn’t respond. It felt like hours even if it was barely seconds. Jamie could hear the beat of the music, the chatter of their friends, Simon among them.

     “You, you don’t have to, I just-”

     She was interrupted as Anna pulled her forward, tilting her chin up for their lips to collide, grinding her thoughts to a screeching stop.

     Warm. Soft. So, so, soft…

     Jamie’s eyes fluttered shut as the kiss deepened, Anna’s hand cupping her jaw, pulling her closer. It was so different from Royce’s kisses, always too rough and sloppy. Vastly different from Mariya’s possessive grasp that threatened to swallow her whole.

     Anna’s scent surrounded her, like a hug or a blanket. Her lips tasted like the snacks at the party. Weird, but not unpleasant. Though that could be from the feeling of Anna’s hand on her waist, steadying her as Jamie realized she had been leaning closer, hands shakily clenching her friend’s shirt.

      Eventually, they parted, leaning their foreheads together as their breaths mingled between them. For once, Jamie wished she wasn’t on scent blockers so Anna could know how she felt.

      That thought made her breath catch, which Anna must’ve noticed. Of course, she noticed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Jamie’s ear.

      “You okay?” she whispered, touching her nose against Jamie’s.

      Before she could answer, the phone timer chimed loudly next to them, startling Jamie backward. Clearing her throat, she said, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Standing, avoiding Anna’s gaze, she feigned brushing something off her pants. “Simon’s gonna be a lucky guy.”

      Then she walked out of the closet, interacting with everyone as if nothing had happened. If anyone noticed anything off, they didn’t say anything to her. As subtly as she could, she texted Liam to come pick her up early.

      Everything blurred by as her thoughts consumed her. Saying goodbye as Liam came in to take her home. The drive back to Brooklyn was a haze, her eyes closed as she leaned back in the passenger seat to ignore the bright lights and sounds of a city that never slept.

      All she could think about is what Royce would do if he found out. Was it cheating? He’d probably see it that way. As much as she knew this relationship was unhealthy, his possessiveness barely masked as protective, it was still familiar. And it’s not like she didn’t deserve it. She needed someone to keep her from forgetting that she was just… her. Not unique. Not special. Just a lost little lonely omega that needed to be kept in line. Even if Liam, Nika, and Wong tried to tell her otherwise. They didn’t get it.

     Once she got home, Jamie rejected having dinner with her guardians, going straight to her room instead. She didn’t miss the worried looks they gave her. Of course, they noticed all her masks and knew she was cycling again. But it was fine. She was fine.

     All of her instincts yanked at her desperately to make a nest of her neat and organized bed. Closing her eyes, she took some deep, shaky breaths and ignored them, sitting at her desk instead.

     Pulling up her laptop Ironlad had modified for security and privacy, she watched the live feed from the bugs she’d placed in her dad’s apartment. It felt vaguely creepy at times to be doing this to one of the few Avengers left, but right now, more than anything, she wished she was there. Steve was in his kitchen, horribly burning something again as music from the… the 20s? 30s? Music Mama used to play when she danced around the kitchen with Jamie.

     She couldn’t go to him. Not yet. Mama was very specific and insistent. ‘Don’t go. Not until he knows who you are. I don’t know why, but I know you’ll figure out the right time, darling.’

     Jamie buried her face in her arms. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

[talbottoabbott]

I wanted to explore how food, movement, and bodies can be woven together and captured in an image. For as long as I can remember, food and dance have been two fundamental parts of my life. Born and raised in the Bay Area to a family of food lovers and cooks, weekly farmer’s market runs and baking at least ten pies for Thanksgiving were the norm. As a toddler, I recall (reluctantly) observing my mother's dance classes on Saturday mornings. I went on to study dances from around the world in high school, then focused on classical ballet and contemporary dance in college. These creative forms continue to be sources of inspiration for me.

I found that the types of food-related images that translated most successfully in black and white film were those that represented the whole ingredient–a bunch of bok choy or a singular strawberry–as opposed to a cooked or prepared dish where the ingredients are difficult to identify. Other images I found to be successful were those where bodies interacted with the food, conveying the innate sensualness and pleasure that is part of food and eating. I felt drawn to capture more of this idea in my images–the suggestiveness of eating a juicy strawberry, the intimacy of holding an heirloom tomato in the palm of one’s hand. Throughout the process I thought about the advantages and/or disadvantages of shooting food in black and white versus in color. Obviously, the vibrancy and distinctiveness of color is lost. But at the same time, this leaves room for the perception of other details that might otherwise be overlooked in a color image. For example, the lines and forms of a root vegetable, a water droplet on the back of a leaf, each individual seed of a strawberry, goosebumps on bare skin. 

The sensations of smelling a ripe peach at the farmer’s market and the nostalgia of baking pies with my mother have stayed with me. My hope is that my affection for moments like these come across in one way or another, though I feel like I’ve only skimmed the surface. There is much more to explore in this world of food and movement.

~ Manami Takashina

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

Snippets part three cause why not

The Conquerors

From the moment the leading couple went up on the stage until their escape to their dressing rooms, they constantly lied through their teeth. It wasn't really a lie (not to them anyway), but the audience, if they had known, would've been scandalized. They were descended from some of the most famous stars with the most illustrious theatre heritage in the past century, or so everyone thought.

In reality, they were nobodies. They came from families of old money that had never accomplished an artistic thing in their entire genealogy. Having been disinherited from their families long ago, the two kept their secrets behind closed doors, and wanted to keep them that way.. The press could be fickle, and could turn on them quickly if they weren't careful.

Aztlán

“Our language was stolen from us, replaced by that of the Spanish. They said we were godless, barbaric in our speech. Now you wish us to learn yours for the same reasons. What makes one language better or worse than any other? What makes one god better than another?”

Caín

Father Turrell, if pressed, would admit that the kitchen was his favorite room in the church, if only for its delightfully ugly, old fashioned yellow and brown interior, and the trooper of a coffee pot. It was about as old as his grandad, maybe older, and churned out liquid heaven with little work, no fancy buttons needed.

“Can you grab some mugs? Over in the cupboard?” The man shuffled over, grabbing two chipped mugs before shuffling back over to Father Turrell. “How do you take your coffee?”

“In a cup.” Father Turrell snorted.

“Black then. The only way to go.” He pushed a mug over to the man, sitting at the linoleum table. He gave a murmur of thanks before blowing on the scalding drink. Father Turrell has no such compulsions, downing half his mug in a few short gulps. He leaned against the fridge, noticing how the man’s eyes kept flickering to the machine’s door.

“Hungry?”

“I couldn’t—“ Father Turrell yanked the door open—it tended to stick—and began to root through.

“Let’s see, what do we have—“

“That’s your dinner, Father, not mine.”

“Only meals I get comes from the trooper over there.” He jerked a thumb at the coffee pot. “You look like you need something that’ll stick to your ribs.” He frowned, finding only a few leftovers. “If we had enough of—well, anything, I could make my famous chili. That’s fill you up.”

“You’ve already given me coffee—“

“Shush, I’m thinking.” Father Turrell waved him off, stopped, then sighed. “I guess leftovers will have to do.” He threw everything into various bowls, leaving a scattered trail of styrofoam and takeout containers.

“This is too much—“ The man protested.

“Probably would have gone to waste anyway,” Father Turrell said, trying to be gentle. He didn’t want to scare the man off. “Eat as much as you’d like.”

About halfway through inhaling his third bowl, the man stopped to breathe, and asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion,

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being nice to me.”

Father Turrell was confused. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

“People usually don’t like me.” The man said, and any witty remark the priest might have made died before it left his lips.

“Why?” Tact wasn’t in his nature, though the man didn’t seem to care at the question, he didn’t answer. They sat in silence for a moment, sipping coffee. Father Turrell had begun to count tiles in the ceiling before his mouth got the better of him.

“You got a name?” The man blinked in sunrise that the sudden question.

“Carl.”

“I’ll believe that if you believe I wanted to be a ballet dancer when I was a kid.” Father Turrell snorted, then said seriously. “I actually wanted to be a tap dancer.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Semantics.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Did you expect me to?” He arched a brow. ‘Carl’ muttered under his breath. “You don’t look like a Carl.” Father Turrell paused thoughtfully. “Does anyone actually look like a Carl?”

“Not anyone you want to meet.” The priest furrowed his brow at the strange sentence, but began to collect dishes, running lukewarm water in the sink.

“Anyway, Carl or not, you’re free to have coffee with me anytime you wish.”

“Thank you, Father…”

“Turrell.” The man nodded again, and left once Father Turrell shooed him away from helping with the dishes.

Carl showed up a week later, bags under his eyes deeper than ever.

“You can nap on the pew if you’d like…” Carl shook his head.

“You said I could come here for coffee. I’m here for coffee.”

The trooper chugged on, and Carl got through three cups before he crashed, falling asleep at the table. Father Turrell winced. That did not look comfortable.

Wick the Clown

High Point highschool was like any other school. They had a decent track team, they had a lumbering mass of students, who groaned with every test given. They had an uncaring faculty, all with fake smiles, and plans to run away as soon as they hit the age of retirement.

They also had a demon that loitered beneath the school, but no one really acknowledged that.

“C’mpne, Samantha, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“You’re such a jerk Chad, I’m not scared…The blonde eyed the dripping pipes with distaste. “I don’t even see anything.”

“You will, “ Chad promised with a wide grin. “It’s just through that door.” The door before them sat heavy and unopened.

“The abandoned pool?”

“Jesse Sorenson swears he saw a shadow the other day, creeping through bleachers.” He mimicked arms outstretched and hands clawed as he walked.

“And you believed him?” Samantha said skeptically. “Jesse Sorenson is the biggest liar in school.”

“He’s also the only dweeb brave enough to even walk through that door.” Chad stood beside her. “You ready?”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Age before beauty, Chadwick.” She pushed him forward. “Move.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving!” Chad’s hands trembled as he pulled the heavy door open, peering into the dark.

“Are you going to walk in?”

“Don’t rush me, Sam. Catching a demon takes some precision.”

[auspicious-manner]

Hi! I love your stories. Can you a story where Dodge and the reader visit one another while they are at their personal hobbies (Dodge, his rodeo stuff and with the reader dance classes). And they spend some quality cuddling (or something?) time after they are done with their stuff because they been busy with panic and that stuff.

thank you so much! hearing things like that make writing worth it for me. not the likes, reblogs, or comments, but the people that like what i do ❤️ as an ex-dancer, i’m super excited to write this one!

female reader x dodge

warnings: super short mentions of losing a loved one

Passionate

•

panic was an extremely time consuming game. it was always so hard for Y/N and dodge to get together given their conflicting schedules with the games. on days without challenges, dodge would practice and participate in rodeos, and on his days off, Y/N was always at dance.

people always asked them why they stay so busy all the time. and every time, both would answer the same thing: it was their passion.

dodge liked the thrill of the rodeos. he lived for the roar of the crowd as he was flung every which way while riding the bull. it gave him an adrenaline rush like no other.

Y/N loved the freedom and exploration she felt with dance. whether she was doing ballet, jazz, or contemporary, her day would feel incomplete if she didn’t do some kind of dance. the movement felt therapeutic to her.

outside of the games, they agreed to not talk about panic. talking about it together made them even more stressed. instead, they put all of their fear into their activities.

this upcoming weekend was a long one for both dodge and Y/N. on saturday, dodge had a rodeo tournament he was participating in and on sunday, Y/N had a dance competition a few hours away. unbeknownst to each other, they planned on surprising the other at their events.

dodge’s tournament was only an hour away, so Y/N gladly drove to surprise her favorite boy. he let her know what times he was competing, and she hurriedly drove down the interstate when dodge said he was competing in the finals soon.

she arrived at the stadium and parked her car, wandering the arena until she spotted dodge’s cowboy hat and back in the distance. when he didn’t hear her sneaking up behind him, she gave him a hug around his waist from behind.

dodge flinched, and he turned his head to see the outline of his girlfriend. “Y/N?” he asked, turning around to fully face her and lift her into a hug. he smiled ecstatically at the sight of her. she moved her arms so they were wrapped around his neck. “what are you doing here?”

dodge set her down, and Y/N grinned from ear to ear. “i came to watch you, seeming as i haven’t been able to in a really long time.”

he placed his hands on her shoulders. “i’m so glad you get to be here to watch me in the finals. i’m the last to go.”

“i’ll probably stick around for the results, and leave after that. i would totally spend the rest of the night with you, but i have my competition in the morning.” she briefly paused. “i really wish you could see me tomorrow.”

dodge had previously told Y/N that he wouldn’t be able to see her at her competition because he was going out of town for a few days. in reality, the only reason he was going out of town was to see her.

“i know, sweetheart,” he said gloomily. “i wish i could be there too.”

“dodge, you’re up in five!” an older man yelled. dodge looked at him, and looked back at her. “guess that’s my cue.” he said to her.

she leaned up and kissed him. “i’ll be rooting for you the whole time. good luck, don’t be nervous, you’ll be great!” Y/N said quickly before patting his chest as he turned away, a blush creeping on his cheeks. dodge went over to the gates and got ready to ride the bull.

Y/N leaned against the fence. she would never admit it to dodge, but every time he participated in a rodeo, she was scared for him. what if he fell and got seriously injured? she always tried to push these thought into a box in the corner of her mind. she just had to trust that dodge knows what he’s doing.

when it came time for dodge’s turn, he climbed onto the bull. Y/N noticed him take a deep breath in before turning his head and winking at her quickly. then, the gates flew open, and dodge was off.

Y/N gripped the fence tightly, cheering dodge on. she held her breath, hoping he was able hang on. dodge was flung every which way, but remained stable on the bull. after what seemed like ages, he fell to the ground and the crowd let out a cheer.

he stood up and waved to the crowd, Y/N clapping and yelling for him maybe the loudest of them all. he immediately left the field and approached her with the widest smile on his face. both dodge and Y/N knew he gave the performance of a lifetime.

she gave him a double high five. “that was so good!”

dodge held onto her hands after the high fives. “i did it for you.”

shortly after dodge went, it was time to announce the top five cowboys, along with the winner. dodge held onto Y/N’s hand tightly, waiting for the awards. fifth place, fourth place, and third place were announced, and dodge was not one of them. both Y/N and dodge knew his performance was worthy of top five, so he had either gotten second or won the rodeo.

the couple tensed up just as second place was announced. when his name wasn’t called, they knew dodge had won it.

“and winning the texas rodeo championship in the junior division is dodge mason from carp, texas! along with his title and trophy, he will be receiving a $500 cash prize.” the announcer said, causing the crowd to go wild.

dodge and Y/N hugged once more. “i’m so proud of you!” she told him. they let go of the hug, and dodge went back into the dirt field, waving to the crowd like a superstar. Y/N watched him in his element. this was his happy place. she just wished dodge would be able to watch her in her element.

the next morning, Y/N woke up bright and early for her big dance competition. she didn’t get home from dodge’s tournament until late, and was running on only a few short hours of sleep. as it wasn’t a team competition, she was performing just her solo for the judges. her mom never liked to attend the competitions, so Y/N was all on her own for the day.

she did her stage makeup in her bathroom before she left, and her hair. the makeup look was a regular smoky eye with dark red lipstick. her hair was left down for her solo, so all she did was lightly curl her hair and spray it with hairspray to look like natural beach waves.

she put her costume on, which was a plain black dress. her solo was a contemporary piece, and in the dance, she was playing a character. she was playing a person who had recently lost a loved one. before performing the solo, she would always listen to sad music and really get into the character so it looked as authentic as possible on stage.

she threw her team jacket and sweatpants on before leaving the house, and she got in her car to drive three hours away to the competition. little did she know, dodge was also on his way there.

the entire car ride there she spent getting into character. today, she was out to win. she wanted to have the same feeling on that stage as dodge did at his tournament.

she arrived to the convention center hours later, and found a place to park her car. the place was filled with mothers and their children in tutus and costumes, and the booming music coming from the room with the stage. Y/N made her way through the crowd to the dressing room, where she could touch up her makeup and hair and warm up.

meanwhile, dodge had pulled up to the convention center, and had to quickly make his way to the audience without being spotted by Y/N. he walked in, made sure the coast was clear, and got into the audience. she found a perfect spot not too close to the stage but not too far away. before sitting down, he was given a program that laid out the schedule for the dances, and he saw that Y/N’s solo was only three more dances away.

Y/N had warmed up and stretched, and she ran through her few tricks. she was nervous, because she had yet to win this dance season and she so badly wanted it this time. the closest she had gotten is third.

two dances before hers, a girl in her division performed her solo, and it worried Y/N. it was incredible. as much as she hated it, Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes off of her. she knew that soloist would be a contender to win.

then, another solo was performed, and then it was time for her to go onstage. the announcer called her name and the name of her solo, and Y/N got into position on stage. she tried not to think about the other girl that had just performed.

dodge watched as his girl took the stage. the instrumental music started, and Y/N was immediately a different person. he watched as she conveyed the feelings of loss through movement. it was an insanely emotional piece, shown through her graceful thrashing that signified the pain of losing a loved one. the movement wasn’t just regular movement, it was telling a story.

she moved effortlessly across the stage. she showed off her legs with a few elegant kicks, and her ability to soar through the air when she jumped. the dance wasn’t filled with many tricks; her beauty came from her style, movement quality, and meaningful choreography. the lighting hit her features in a stunning way, and really elevated the whole experience.

as dodge watched, he saw the pain in her face and eyes and she danced. it was a truly moving performance. by the end, he found himself on the verge of tears simply because Y/N had given a spectacular performance. when she hit her final pose, he saw tears streaming down her face too. the audience grew silent, letting what they watched soak in before erupting in applause.

Y/N stood and smiled before taking a bow and running off stage. dodge removed himself from the audience to go meet up with her backstage. he walked out of the room, finding the door from the outside hallway labeled “dancers only”.

when he got to the stage doors, Y/N had just come out. she saw him and took a step back, not realizing it was actually him.

“dodge, you came!” she exclaimed, running into his arms. he lifted her off the ground, and she asked, how are you here right now? i thought you were out of town!”

“i lied. when i said i was going out of town, i meant i was going out of town to see you.”

she paused. “you watched me dance, right?”

he set her down. “i did, and you were incredible. that was the best time i’ve ever seen you dance. i almost cried.”

Y/N laughed. “you did better than me, i was crying onstage. that’s never happened to me before. i guess i just got really into character this time.”

dodge took her hand as they walked down the hall. “how do you think you did?”

“i feel really good about it. the girl that went on shortly before me was amazing, but i hope my score is enough to beat hers.”

dodge shrugged. “sure, she was good. you were better, though.”

“only time will tell.”

they had another hour before the awards began for her division, so dodge took Y/N out for a nice lunch. it had been a long time since they were able to do something like that because of panic. they had missed each other’s company.

afterwards, it was time to head back to the convention center and wait for awards. Y/N sat on the stage with the rest of the competitors while dodge watched from the audience once again.

the time came to announce the senior division soloist winners. as they announced the top ten, Y/N waited patiently for her name to be called.

they reached the top three, and when Y/N’s name wasn’t called, she knew it was between her and the other girl that was amazing for first place.

“there was only 0.05 points separating second and first place. for these two dancers, know that you left it all out on the stage and you should be proud no matter what. now, can we get a drum roll…” the announcer said into the microphone.

the audience stomped their feet, and the dancers onstage pounded their palms on the stage below them. Y/N prayed her name wouldn’t be called for second.

“and in second place with a score of 299.85 out of 300 is Y/N L/N!”

Y/N’s heart sunk, but she didn’t let her expression show it. her competitor had won first place only 0.05 points ahead of her. she stood up and took her second place plaque, smiling into the audience. she was happy for the other girl, she definitely deserved it. but that one part of her was crushed that it wasn’t her.

after the awards, she met up with dodge again. he approached her, dismally.

“hey, second place is still amazing. you beat, what, like seventy other dancers today? that’s impressive.” dodge told her.

she looked down. “i know, and i am truly happy with second. that’s the best i’ve done this season. but i really thought i had it this time.”

dodge stepped closer, placing two fingers under her chin and tilting her head up. “keep your head held high. you made me proud, and you made yourself proud. you gave it your all, and that’s all that matters. you may not have gotten first, but you won in my eyes.”

Y/N smiled. “you always know how to make a girl feel better.”

dodge smiled back. “we’re both champions.”

[itsnotyouithink]

ONE LAST SORRY

_________________________________________

poppy blossom x fem!reader

summary: the story of poppy blossom and reader, a tragic love story set in the 1960s.

warnings: mentions of abuse, slight smut (nothing bad) and tragedy.

_______________________________________

Poppy Blossom and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were sitting in two comfortable arm chairs in the Thorn Hill mansion, Poppy owned. Before you, there were Velma, Tammy, Bitsy and Elaina. It was a casual group meeting amongst some of the housewives of Rivervale, even though Poppy was not married. You were discussing the topic of Baileys Comet, something you were particularly fascinated about.

“…Wendy Weatherbee has been arrested for conspiracy. I believe we should stop talking about this subject.” Bitsy warned, the fears of being arrested in her mind.

You gulped, “Wendy? She’s more American than all of us combined. She preaches the Bible on Sundays and got John to the ballets early.”

“That is why, we must not risk it. Talking about the worries of Sputnik or the Comet…It’s a bad idea.” Velma quickly spoke. It was clear everyone in the room was rather worked up about the topic.

Poppy calmly sighed, “Ladies, let us not get worked up about this. I believe, harmless discussion in the privacy of their own homes is no harm. But, we shall move on from this rather conspiring topic.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat across from Poppy on a long red couch in one of her many rooms, you nervously picked at the fabric of your dress. One that Poppy thought complimented you perfectly. “(Y/N), you know I love your company, but, I’m getting the sense that this is something serious. What’s wrong, darling?”

You glanced up at her, “I’m having worries about my marriage, Poppy. It’s not the same from when we first said our, I do.” She titled her head to the side in confusion, “What’s the problem?”

You hesitantly sigh, Poppy getting the memo, she stood from the comfortable arm chair and walked to your side on the red couch, her hands taking yours in her lap. Glancing up at her, “He’s not the same, Poppy. He’s different…violent, even. It started with him not wanting to pursue me, three times! Three times, Poppy. That’s embarrassing! He would rather go out drinking watching boxing than sleep with his own wife!”

Poppy sighed, “He is oblivious to what he has, darling. Have you thought about, maybe, divorcing John?”

“What? Of course not. I couldn’t do that to, Anne. She’s only 8.” You shook your head in protest. The fear of your child turning numb due to the divorce of you and your husband was a sight you could never bare to see.

Poppy nodded her head sympathetically before standing up and walking to a glass cabinet behind you. Coming back, now standing directly in front of you with a small glass bottle. “(Y/N/N), here’s vine root. Sprinkle some of this in his coffee or tea and his anger and violence will disintegrate.”

You stood up quickly. The gratitude and gratefulness you felt towards Poppy growing every time you saw her. You couldn’t deny the way Poppy was undeniably gorgeous. The way her hair effortlessly looked amazing in the mornings or when you would run into each other at Pops or on the sidewalk while coming back from the park with Anne. You loved the way her lips looked and the way they turned up with a smile when you brought cherries to the salon. You couldn’t deny the feelings you felt for Poppy, even with a husband at home. You just knew Poppy was special and would always have a place in your heart.

It happened rather quickly. At first you were standing, hugging Poppy, than you were sitting face to face with the redhead. You were giving her a list of gratitudes and how you were so grateful for her, when your glance went from her hands that were intwined with yours to her eyes…than her lips.

God, those lips.

Your train of thought went silent and hushed when your eyes continued to glance in her brown eyes that you frankly adored. Than to her red painted lips you wish you could feel on yours—You did feel them. You honestly don’t know what had gotten into you.

Your eyes went to her lips once more before you connected your lips with hers. It was a fast, feverish, and passionate. Your hand went to her cheek and as Poppy had started kissing you back, just as passionate, your hands quickly went to her cheeks and the side of her head. Her lips were very thing you imagined and more. The rhythm of both of your lips moving the same pace.

The loving air flowing around the both of you turned hot. Pushing the gorgeous redhead to lay on the couch, quickly straddling the unknown witch. The feeling of Poppy’s lips that were once on your soft, pink lips going to your jawline. Your eyes widened at the sight of the candles around the room lighting on their own. “John is an idiot for not knowing what he has.” Poppy whispered against your neck.

She guided her hand down the length of your body, stopping to safely lay on your ass. You had brought your hand to swiftly turn her blushed and flustered face to you, kissing her hard.

It was when you felt your own tongue re-explored that you had snapped back into reality.

“Oh my God, Poppy, I am so sorry!” Your eyes widened and quickly jumped off of your red headed friend. “Oh God, I shouldn’t have done that! Poppy, I am so sorry.”

You sped to the other side of the room, Poppy standing from the couch, making her way to you. “No, no, (Y/N/N), it’s okay! Everything’s okay. I promise, my love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks were something you had not experienced since you had met John in high school. Every other day at 8 am, the newspaper would be at your front door with twelve glass bottles of milk and your Mail. The mail would consist of bills, ads and letters from foreign family members on trips. Now, it consisted of love letters—from Poppy.

Dear (Y/N/N),

The opinion that French is the language of love is something I strongly agree with as, every time I hear you speak the beautiful language my heart strongly flutters of a million butterflies.

I have the feeling that even if we see each other every Friday for our group salon, it is not enough. Would it be such a crime to want to see you? I don’t believe so. Maybe it’s the feeling of attachment I now have or a feeling I would never admit too like, jealousy from seeing you and your husband at Pops.

I would be lying if I said that when he yells at you in the parking lot it does not make my blood boil—for it does. But, I do understand the circumstances we are in and I do know why. I just hope you, my darling, are being treated well. Like how I would treat you til death—even in hiding.

I can’t wait to see you, love.

With everything,

Poppy xx

That was one of the many you had received. Every time you had gotten a letter from Poppy, your heart would flutter—no doubt.

Your relationship with John, your husband, had gotten no where but South. He was more violent, more physical. There was no happiness in your relationship that you had once thought about killing him. Three weeks ago, you had been early for the group salon meeting. Now, you come late because of your husband constantly yelling at you about the most stupidest things.

Like tonight. You had taken John and your daughter, Anne, to the local diner. The parking lot and diner were seemingly packed with residents of Rivervale. Everyone in town were here for the same reasons; National Milkshake Day. It was a stupid tradition amongst the town however, Anne wanted to get one of the infamous Pops milkshakes.

So, here you were, watching as your daughter drank her milkshake while arguing with your husband. “—Let me be, (Y/N).”

“John, we haven’t had any family time together. For the sake of your own daughter, at least talk to her!” You quietly begged, you hands on the table as you leaned over.

A distant Poppy looking.

“(Y/N) I’m going to watch the fight. You can pay for your own meal.” He scoffed and walked towards the exit of the diner. You glanced at your young daughter who was too distracted by her milkshake to notice her absent parents in the booth.

“God, your a sick excuse of a man! You can’t even bond with your wife anymore, let alone your own daughter.” You tainted, quickly following him out to the parking lot. John rubbed his forehead, “I’m doing this for us! For our family! I’m telling you, my love, these bets I have on this fighter—”

“Stop with the gambling!” You exclaimed. Both of you standing at the back of Pops. “It’s been getting us no where but debt! We are still paying off the debt you have dug us in too.”

He angrily sighed, dragging his hand across his face. “You just watch, (Y/N). When I’m rich and your at my doorstep begging for a chance…I won’t take you in. You’ll have to sit there and watch me have a new family. A better one.”

With that, he stormed off.

You sighed before walking the corner of Pops and back into the diner. Treading your way back to the previous booth you had left your daughter in. Only, the place that you had previously sat in was filled.

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say the sight in front of you didn’t make your heart flutter and glow—because it did. It felt like a million butterflies flew in your stomach at the sight of Poppy and Anne sitting in the booth lightly giggling with each other.

“Well what’s so funny?” You lightly laughed, sliding into the opposite seat across from them. Poppy smiled, “I was just telling Anne about how her gorgeous mother almost slipped and fell today. The Angel had quiet a fit, until I kissed the small scratch on her knee.” The redhead winked.

You rolled your eyes but non-the less giggled along with them. You looked out towards the sky, not even noticing the darkness surrounding the diner. You sighed, “Well, we should get going. Anne has a play date with Velma’s little girl, tomorrow.”

Anne squealed with excitement and climbed over Poppy and bridled to her mothers side. “We need to go home, now!” The little girl smiled and turned to Poppy. “Wait. Can Poppy come too?”

You looked toward the redhead with a raised eyebrow, “Poppy has a tight schedule—”

“—What? I don’t recall me having anyone tonight or tomorrow. I can certainly come over for coffee.” She smiled.

~~~~~~~~~

Seated on your gray couch, you had your legs over the redheads lap. Both of you sipping wine, giggles filling the room. Anne was fast asleep in her own bedroom, dreaming about her upcoming day.

They both giggled at what Poppy had said. You took a sip of wine before sighing, twirling a piece of Poppys fiery hair, “You make me feel really special, Poppy.” You moved your hair that was stuck between your back and the end of the couch. “More special than John ever could.” You kissed your teeth.

Poppy softly smiled, looking down at the black fabric. She admired the dress you wore. The dark fabric with a line of red going up and down the sides complimented you well. The collar at the top with the buttons undone went with the society norms for women—besides the buttons.

You cleared your throat, reaching over and placing the wine glass on the coffee table beside the both of you. Slightly giggling at the offended expression on Poppy’s face when you took her glass as well.

It was a good idea. This was a good idea. It is a good idea.

You straddled the lap of the Blossom, your hands loosely wrapping around her neck as you felt her manicured fingers guide themselves to your hips, caressing the fabric below her fingertips.

You could feel your heartbeat picking up as the butterflies flew around your stomach, the love confession at the tip of your wine covered tongue. “What is on your mind, my love.”

My love.

God, she wanted to be called that forever. Forever coming from Poppy’s lips. It slipped out so naturally, like she had said it billions of times before.

“I love you.”

It was so natural. So swiftly coming from her tongue. The confession she had only done with one person. The confession she was pressured to feel all those years ago. This time it was real. Real love. She was flustered just by the fact of living a life with Polly—a real life.

Poppy smiled up at you, her hand reaching to caress your cheek. “I love you too, darling. Forever and ever.”

A smile broke out on your face, leaning down to capture the lips of the Blossom in your own. Both moving in synchronized movements like two doves.

The redheads hand snaking under the black dress her lover was wearing. Her hand squeezed gently as it went to your ass. Squeezing turned to massaging, to gripping. Low moans coming from you at the feeling.

Your moans were being swallowed by the Blossom as she hungrily kissed you. The faint sound of lips together were the only thing heard in the room. The taste of grape wine being shared between the both of you.

The zipper of your dress was being pulled down, the dress falling down making a pool of fabric at your waist. The redhead smiled, “You are gorgeous, (Y/N/N).”

The butterflies.

Her lips went to your neck, sloppy and delicate kisses littering your collarbone. Her cherry lips made their way down, kissing the length of your chest, before settling her way back up to your moaning lips.

Taking you by your hips, she moved you so your back was against the comfortable pillows of your couch. Kissing you deeply, both of your eyes full of lust, she slipped two fingers into you.

It was the euphoria that came next. The pumping of her fingers, the phrases whispered in your ears, the multiple love confessions, the compliments, the hand holding when she would thrust her magical fingers into you while she kissed you deeply or placed a delicate love bite in an area only she now was allowed to see.

It was so euphoric. That’s why when everything went to Hell, you weren’t surprised as the universe simply hated you.

You described yourself as smart. I guess just not smart enough to hide the love letters. Poppy describes herself as stone faced, but I guess not enough to not cry at the scene in front of her.

You were pulled to the Blossoms front door by your angered husband who clutched the recent love letters you had received. You watched with tears in your eyes at he knocked on the door severest times until the redhead you adored opened the front oak doors. “Well, what a surprise. What can I do for you, John?” She asked in a polite tone, her eyes scanning your face that failed to reach her eyes.

“I know what you are doing with my wife, Poppy.” He shoved the letters into her chest, “I know what you’re trying to do, it ain’t gonna work.”

“I do not understand.”

“You stay away from my wife—my family.” He grabbed you by the forearm towards him. “Tell her, (Y/N)”

You gulped and finally met Poppy’s now tearful eyes. “I’m in a happy marriage, Poppy. I apologize if you had gotten the wrong idea.”

John stepped towards Poppy, leaving you behind him watching Poppy with a sorry expression.

“If you even think about my wife, I will kill you.” He turned back to you, “Let’s go. Now.”

There was one last letter sent to Poppy Blossom from you. It was just one last sorry. She read it on the day of the comet, the blazing light passing her as she read the final love note she would receive from you.

Dear Poppy,

I wish for you too know; that I don’t regret a single thing we did. This letter is a reminder of two things.

One: keep doing your magic. You are helping people, no matter what those male imbeciles say.

Two: I will forever love you, Poppy. I love you now and I will love you forever and ever.

With everything,

(Y/N/N)

[interact-if]

Day 4 of our Asian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month Featured Author Interviews, continuing with Jinx!

Jinx author of Elsinore: After Hamlet

Once upon a time, a prince avenged his father’s death. If only he could have foreseen his own.

The year is 2021—or maybe 1602? Hamlet the Younger has just tragically died and Fortinbras the Younger, King of Norway and newly-conquered Denmark, has a lot of cleaning up to do. Elsinore: After Hamlet is a text-based interactive fiction exploration of William Shakespeare's Hamlet as a plague text and a reckoning of Asian American identity during these trying times. Also contains bad puns and glowing text.

Read more about Elsinore: After Hamlet here.

Play the Game Here.

Tags: Fantasy.

Jinx is also the author of The Harrowed and the Hushed and Rougi.

[INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!]

Q1. Hello! Could you tell us a little bit about to yourself and your project?

Hi! I’m Jinx (she/her), longtime listener and first time caller, writer, and lover of the cute and the gothic.

I’ve always loved writing and first got into interactive fiction during the first lockdowns in 2020. I fell in love with the medium and it’s been such a wonderful adventure since. My first project, Elsinore: After Hamlet,deals with a lot of the frustration and uncertainty I felt during that time as an Asian American with the rug pulled from under all of us. I’m currently working on The Harrowed and the Hushed, a low fantasy murder mystery set in Victorian London, and Rougi, a social intrigue mystery about a cursed ballet in Belle Époque Paris. I really enjoy working with illusions, intrigue, and how we can find ourselves in the strange and monstrous.

Q2. What inspired your current project?

My current projects, The Harrowed and the Hushed and Rougi, are rooted in my undying love of the late 19th century and gothic literature – I love me a good dramatic mystery too, which I’m sure comes as a surprise to absolutely no one. H&H draws a lot from the genre of sensation fiction, which aims to elicit physical reactions in its readers with sensationalized, page-turner plots. The genre traditionally deals very heavily with metaphors of social and identity anxieties, which also made it a very natural source of inspiration for me since those are themes that I really love exploring with my writing. H&H is essentially a love letter to a lot of things I adore, garnished with references to Gothic, Romantic, and Decadent literature, plus my own cultural spin on things. (If you were wondering if some of my characters were named in homage…the answer is probably yes.)

Rougi, which was my entry to interact-if’s January game jam, really came from me looking at color theory and running with it. Based on the “red herring” theme, I knew I wanted to do something with a very strong aesthetic component, so I went back to my bunhead roots and turned it up to the max. I love ballet and as a former dancer, I felt like drama backstage and onstage was the perfect backdrop for a mix of possibly supernatural, definitely interpersonal intrigue. Also, Art Nouveau is so gorgeous and I wanted to write about pretty things (possibly with ugly insides wink-wonk).

Elsinore: After Hamlet is my very first IF project and a real testament to the tangled state of mind I experienced for the bulk of 2021. That spring was so chaotic – lots of sleepless nights and worries gnawing at me from the inside out. E:AH originally started as a final project for a class on medicine and literature, and very quickly became a surprisingly intimate way for me to create some kind of catharsis while the world seemed to fall apart. (Shoutout to the professor who was very chill with me submitting literal plague doctor memes for class discussion, she made Zoom U much better.) I am a self-professed Shakespeare nerd, and looking at one of my favorite plays through a very personal, emotional lens was such an intense experience. I didn’t expect that the development process would break me out of the apathy I’d fallen into at all, let alone so fiercely, but it was a welcome change from feeling scared and dissociated almost constantly.

Q3. Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

My identity definitely influences how I approach narratives. E:AH was a direct product of the stress I felt juggling my responsibilities as a student, pressure from the pandemic, and my fears as an Asian American woman in a space that became incredibly hostile and unstable. It’s really a slice of how I was experiencing life at the time, and I hope that resonates with players and gets them thinking. For Asian players, I hope that E:AH is a cathartic experience; for non-Asian players, I hope that it shares a different, impactful perspective.

As a kid, I really fixated on the few instances of Asian representation I found in media, so as a creator now, it’s incredibly empowering to be able to include characters who reflect my own experiences and hopefully connect with my audience too. Decentralizing whiteness, particularly in traditionally eurocentric narratives, is very hard-baked into what I create. On a lighter note, food as a love language is also a big cultural influence on my writing and that definitely shows, haha. I’m a huge foodie IRL as well, so coupled with my synesthesia, my writing definitely falls heavily on the sensory side.

Q4. What are you most excited about your project?

E:AH is deeply personal and combines two of my greatest passions (Shakespeare and ~ being melodramatic ~), so while it’s a little scary to have something so near and dear to me out on the internet, I’m absolutely blown away by the response it’s received so far. I’m super excited to see how the playing experience changes (for me personally and in general) over time – I can already foresee it becoming a little like a diary entry preserved online.

As for the two projects I’m currently working on, I am so excited to see how players react to the twists and turns I’m writing into Rougi. I was a little overambitious when planning it out for the January game jam I crafted it for, so I can’t wait to flesh it out fully. Rougi is also my first project written in Sugarcube, so the transition has definitely been a learning journey and I’m excited to show off what I’ve learned.

With The Harrowed and the Hushed, I think I’m most excited about sharing all the lore I’ve built up. Fantasy is the first genre I fell in love with, so getting to create and share my own magical vision is really, really cool.

Q5. What has your experience writing an IF and with the IF community been like?

My introduction to IF came during a lot of turmoil, and the community has been so friendly and supportive. It’s been a blast diving into all these amazing projects and meeting lots of wonderful people! Learning to code has been fun frustrating a very unique and rewarding journey, and it’s seriously such a fantastic feeling to see all the pieces – drafting, Twine-wrangling, writing, UI building – fit together to make a final product. I’m so thankful that my experience with the community so far has led me to make very dear friends and interact with kind and thoughtful readers.

Q7. What piece of advice would you give to fellow creators?

*Shia Laboeuf voice* JUST DO IT. No, but seriously: your story is uniquely yours and there is no one better to tell it. Storytelling is such an intrinsic part of human history and I think it’s one of the most beautiful records of our presence and our world. Despite the obstacles and frustration that comes with being a creator, there’s nothing like the satisfaction of fulfilling that scene you’ve been dying to write, or finally nailing the code you’ve been struggling with. Take care of yourself, and always remember the excitement and passion that led you to where you are now. I’m rooting for you!

That, and don’t code or debug when you’re sleepy. The bug will still be there (unfortunately) after you sleep, and you run far less risk of falling asleep at your computer and waking up to several pages of random characters in the middle of your stylesheet or having to hunt down every time you misspelled a variable…I may or may not be speaking from personal experience.